All Alone [Worm AU]

[Argentorum]

This will end in tears.

And dead people. Lots of dead people.

 

[Zackarix]

Danny is almost certainly going to die. It would be sort of funny if Taylor died too and the "All Alone" title referred to Sophia.

 

[Ack]

All Alone

Part Six: The Consequences of Failure



[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: This fic is being pulled from the voting round by request, so that it can be commissioned for later chapters.]



Even before she opened her eyes, Taylor knew that something was badly wrong. Her nose was one huge throbbing balloon of agony and she couldn't breathe through it. In addition, she had a splitting headache, and both her left eye and her mouth throbbed with ongoing pain. The ribs on the left side of her body ached abominably, merging with her stomach and chest. Memory came and went: a shadowy figure, shouting curses, looming over her, kicking at her. Repeated blows, each one driving her closer to the brink of darkness.

She was sitting upright, she realised, head hanging forward. Her arms were fastened behind her, at an angle which threatened to pull her shoulders from their sockets, while her legs refused to move at all. Her tongue explored cuts on the inside of her mouth then discovered the gaps of two missing teeth. Several more were loose, as she discovered when her tongue moved one and it pressed on a nerve. Involuntarily, she winced.

"I think she's waking up." It was a man's voice, unknown to her. It was dull and rough, overlaid by the rasp of way too many cigarettes.

"Still think we shoulda got some while she was out." The other speaker was also a man, but his voice was wheedling and unpleasant. It had a breathiness about it, as if he was gloating over a secret that only he knew. "Best way to wake a bitch up."

"You'll get your chance. Hey, girly, open your fuckin' stupid eyes." Suddenly, Taylor's hair was grasped and pulled backward sharply, bringing her head up. She fought to keep her eyes shut—eye, really, as her left eye didn't want to open anyway—but a rough double slap across the face made her head recoil to one side, then the other. Gasping in pain, she opened her right eye; her left was closed to a slit by the swelling, so she gave that up as a bad job.

"Hey!" shouted the ten-packs-a-day voice. Even if Taylor's head hadn't been ringing too hard for her to focus on them, her glasses had disappeared somewhere and she couldn't see anything clearly. "Where's fucking Shadow Stalker, you little bitch?"

"Wha …?" she mumbled. She didn't know whether to be happy that they hadn't gotten Sophia or worried that the other girl might not be able to save her. Muzzily, the thought of Sophia abandoning her crossed her mind, then vanished just as quickly. She's not like that.

"Where's fucking Shadow Stalker, I said!" he screamed into her face. She tried to wince away from the acrid gust of drug-stinking breath and the spray of spittle that came with it, but his grip on her hair prevented her from going anywhere.

"Right … behind … you," she mumbled. It was the most defiant thing she could come up with, and she was rewarded with an involuntary curse from the other guy. The one who was holding her hair jerked his head around, making her wish that Sophia had actually been there.

"Fuckin' clever bitch." The guy drove his fist into her gut, driving every scrap of air from her lungs and reigniting the pain in her ribs. Agony bloomed out in all directions and she tried to double over, but the bonds held her in position. Coughing, she sprayed what tasted like blood from her mouth. Each spasm jolted her already-damaged ribs, sending iron spikes through her chest. She felt her head grow light from the effort of dragging air into her lungs, only to cough it out again.

The other guy dragged deeply on a cigarette, then took it out of his mouth and touched the glowing ember to the corner of her swollen left eyelid. He did it so simply and quickly that she had no time to brace for the pain, if she'd even been able to do so. She tried to scream, which was harsher on her throat than the coughing had been, but there was just no air. Choking, she desperately swallowed blood so she wouldn't drown on it.

Darkness wavered behind her eyes as she fought to draw oxygen into her lungs. The burn on her eyelid shouldn't have mattered so much compared to the rest of her injuries, but somehow it stood out in sharp relief to what had already happened to her.

"I said, where's fuckin' Shadow Stalker?" screamed the guy into her face. At least he wasn't hitting her, so she was gradually able to get her breathing under control. Talking was still basically impossible, but he must've mistaken her silence for defiance. She whimpered and cringed as he drew his fist back again. Wherever he hit her, he was going to do damage. She wasn't going to survive this, she began to realise. He was going to beat her to death, asking her questions she had no way of answering.

Before he could land the blow, the other guy grabbed his arm. Through the thundering of blood in her ears, she heard a vague mumbling. She concentrated on breathing, trying not to push herself into another fit of coughing. Gradually, her head began to clear. She refused to be thankful for the respite, seeing how the asshole had burned her eyelid with his cigarette. It stung like a motherfucker.

The guy holding her hair turned back to her. "Okay, smart bitch," he said. "Who the fuck is Shadow Stalker? What's her real name?"

Sophia. "S—" she began, then cut herself off. "Shadow Stalker?" she mumbled. "Dunno."

"She's lying," said the other guy, in his wheedling, breathy tone. "Can we get some now?" Taylor heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down. "Hold her still an' make her open her mouth."

With a growing sense of dull horror, Taylor connected the dots and realised that things could indeed become worse than they already were. "I'll bite," she mumbled.

The other guy's hand moved, and she heard a sharp mechanical click. Something glinted in his hand. Due to the grip on her hair, she couldn't turn her head to look directly at it, even if her one good eye had been able to focus on it, but she already knew what it was. "If you fuckin' bite, girly," promised the breathy voice, "I'll carve out your fuckin' eyes. Now hold still an' suck what I tell you to suck." His giggle sent shivers down her spine. "Then I'll get you loose from that chair, an' we'll really have some fun." His free hand made a cupping motion around his crotch, and for once she blessed the fact that she couldn't see any details at that distance.

"You and your fuckin' E," sighed the first guy. "Fine, be my guest. Don't use her all the way up, though. I wanna see the look on her face when—"

<><>​

Sophia came in through the window. Some small part of Taylor thought that the entry should've been a lot more dramatic, with splintering boards and shattering glass, but of course Shadow Stalker didn't play that way. Shifting from her shadow form to normal, she straight-armed her crossbow at the guy holding the switchblade. There was a sharp twang and the guy shrieked in pain; a tight, ugly sound. "Get away from her!" she screamed, her voice savage and feral.

"Keep away!" The guy holding Taylor's hair hauled her head back. "I'll fuckin' kill her!" He fumbled behind him, and suddenly there was something metallic pressing up under her jaw. Not sharp; it wasn't a switchblade. Oddly enough, even in the crime-ridden city of Brockton Bay, she'd never actually seen a gun up close before. But she'd seen enough TV that the metallic click-click clued her in.

"Point that thing at me, you fucking coward." Sophia's voice had become low and deadly. She crouched, her cloak hiding what her hands were doing. Taylor knew anyway; she was reloading her crossbow.

"I'm not fuckin' stupid," he gritted out. "I point this thing away from her, an' you'll do that mist thing, an' I'm fuckin' dead. Not this fuckin' time, you little cu—"

On the floor, the other guy stirred, groaning. Sophia's shot had put him down but not out. During their talks, Sophia had complained about how some druggies had a ridiculous capacity for pain. Something to do with the way their habits fucked with their nervous systems. And now this one was getting up again, which would divide Sophia's attention. And it's all my fault.

Taylor jerked spasmodically. She couldn't move her arms or legs, but her head was only restrained by the guy's hand tangled in her hair. As she wrenched her head around, she felt hairs tearing from her scalp, but Sophia had distracted him just enough that he didn't pull her away in time. The wrist of the hand holding the gun was right in front of her, and she sank her teeth into it.

"Ahhh!" he screamed. "You fuckin'—"

As he ripped his wrist free of her mouth—fresh blood filled her mouth as his flesh tore, and a stab of pain in her gum heralded a loose tooth becoming a lost tooth—Sophia came across the room like an avenging angel. Her chair lurched then fell over sideways, tearing more hair from her scalp as the guy lost his grip on her. There was a metallic clatter somewhere out of Taylor's sight, which she hoped was the gun hitting the floor. She struggled to get free of the ropes, but her entire weight was resting on her right arm and there was something wrong with the shoulder. In addition, the impact had made her ribs flare up as well as knocking the breath out of her, yet again. Half-blind, with ringing ears, unable to move, barely able to draw breath, she'd never felt so helpless in her life. Is this what it was like for Emma?

Behind her, Sophia took on the guy who'd been holding her. Taylor had no way of analysing the sounds of the fight. All she could do was hope that Sophia took the guy down fast. From what she'd seen of the room, Sophia didn't have a lot of room to manoeuvre, and the one opponent was going to shortly become two again. Normally, Sophia would simply have retreated, hoping to draw her opponents into a more favourable battleground. But with Taylor a static hostage, she was being forced to stay and fight where she was. This is my fault.

She heard several heavy thumps, then a thud shook the floor. "Right," panted Sophia. "Now, let's—"

BANG

Taylor jerked as the shot echoed through the room, almost as if the bullet had torn into her. But while pain still wracked her body, no new indignities had been inflicted on her. She got the vague impression of fast movement behind her, then two more shots were fired. The ringing in her ears faded, leaving behind the sound of Sophia's swearing.

" … motherfucking kidnapping sonovabitches …" Sophia knelt down behind Taylor, and she felt fingers fumbling at the ropes holding her. "I should kill all those sick fucks. You okay, Night Girl?"

It took a second for Taylor to register that Sophia was addressing her. The ropes holding her wrists parted, reducing the strain on her left shoulder and providing a welcome relief from a little bit of the pain. "Been better," she mumbled. "So glad you're here." Tears spilled out of her eyes and she wanted to cry. Sophia was here. Everything was going to be okay.

"I wasn't going to leave you hanging," Sophia said firmly. "Did they … are you …"

Taylor hissed with the sensation of returning circulation as she brought her left arm around to try to support some of the weight that was pressing on her right. More rope parted, and she rolled away from the chair to lie face-down on the floor. "Hit me a few times," she slurred, working to get her hands under herself. As much as she wanted to just lie there, she knew she had to get up and move herself. Pins and needles were still sparking along both arms, but only the left one wanted to respond. Any time she tried to move the right, it just resulted in lots of pain. Vaguely, she guessed that it might be broken. Dad is gonna be so upset.

A strong hand hooked under her left shoulder and gave her a boost upward. With that assistance, she was able to stumble to her feet. "Come on," Sophia urged her. "If there's anyone else around, they'll have heard the gunshots. We need to be gone now."

"My glasses," Taylor mumbled. "Can you see my glasses?" She knew it was a stupid, inane request, but those glasses meant the difference between being sighted and near-blind to her. Between being helpless and able to run away.

"Nope. Sorry, but you're just going to have to get a new pair." Sophia sounded short of breath. "We're going. Now."

"Okay. Sorry." Taylor pushed herself as hard as she could, stumbling along with Sophia to the main door of the hangout. This yielded after a shove and a grunt from Sophia, and they were out in the cool night air.

Taylor was getting back the feeling in her legs by now. Holding her right arm close to her body with her left, she followed Sophia down a short alley and out on to the street. "Where are we?" she asked, looking around and squinting with her good eye at the patchy street-lighting.

"Docks," Sophia said shortly. "Come on." She picked a direction and led the way down the street, with Taylor following behind. They'd gone about a block before the dark-clad vigilante stumbled and went to one knee before climbing to her feet again. Just for a moment, she stood there, one hand against the wall and the other pressed against her side, swaying slightly.

"Shit, are you okay?" asked Taylor, coming up alongside her. This close, she realised that Sophia's costume, already dark, was oddly shiny around her lower left side. "Did he hit you?"

"I'm fine," Sophia grunted. "I'll be fine." Then Taylor caught sight of the hand she had pressed to her side. There was a red sheen over the fingers.

"Sophia, you're bleeding! Did that guy shoot you?" Taylor's right arm was still too painful to use, so she reached out with her left hand. "Let me see."

Reluctantly, Sophia pulled up the padded shirt she wore on that side, and Taylor leaned in close. She gasped with horror as she saw the tiny hole, so small she could've plugged it with her finger. Blood trickled from it in an unending stream. "Shit, we need to get you to a hospital!"

"I'll be fine," Sophia said. "I'll put pressure on it. I've had worse." Working one-handed, she pulled a pad and a bandage from a pouch on her belt. With Taylor's help, she put the pad over the hole, then fixed it in place with the bandage, winding it around and around her torso.

Taylor eyed the way the pad had instantly turned red, and how it was already soaking through the bandage. She didn't like that at all. "We need to get you to the hospital," she reiterated.

"Maybe," conceded Sophia. "But we can't do it as Shadow Stalker and Night Girl. We'll say we were kidnapped by the Merchants and we got away, and I got shot doing it." She swayed, and Taylor automatically steadied her.

"Okay, that'll work," Taylor agreed. She would've agreed to just about anything by now. Sophia had been hurt because of her stupidity, and she was willing to do anything to put it right. She was already feeling bad about losing the baseball bat. "We've got to get rid of the costume stuff, though. So they don't realise you're Shadow Stalker." She herself was just wearing dark clothing, and the scarf she'd put around her face to hide her identity was looped loosely around her neck.

"Shit, you're right." Sophia shook her head and swayed again. "Not thinking straight." She pulled off the hockey mask and cloak, and Taylor helped her wrap it around her crossbow, the remaining arrows and the utility belt. "Stick it behind there. We'll pick it up in a couple of days." She indicated an overflowing dumpster which obviously hadn't been emptied in weeks.

Taylor did as she was told, then turned around to see that Sophia had slumped against the wall again and was beginning to slide to the ground. "Hey," she said urgently. "You can't pass out here. I've got to get you to the hospital." She hurried back to Sophia's side and helped her stand up straight again. Ducking under Sophia's right shoulder, she wrapped her arm around the other girl's torso, just above the bandage. "Come on, let's do this. Where's your phone? We'll call for an ambulance."

"Not … yet," Sophia mumbled. "Too … close. Those Merchant assholes … come back, we're dead." Leaning on Taylor, she staggered forward one step, then another.

The teenage vigilante had been right so far, so Taylor re-settled her shoulder under Sophia's and helped her along. Her left arm and her legs were about the only things that didn't throb with pain in tune with her steps, but she couldn't give up. She couldn't give up on herself, or on her best friend. Down one deserted street after another they stumbled, until her friend's legs gave out and she slumped to the ground.

"Hey!" Taylor said urgently. "Hey! Sophia!" But the dark-skinned girl didn't respond. Taylor was pretty sure she was still breathing, so she checked the bandage. It was sodden through with blood, and Taylor had the horrible feeling that a lot of it was fresh. "Fuck," she muttered. "I've got to call that ambulance." Sprawled on the ground, Taylor realised for the first time that Sophia looked small and fragile.

It felt weird to be digging into Sophia's pocket to retrieve her phone. Taylor had never used one of the new smartphones, and it took a little bit of fiddling and pressing buttons to make it wake up. Crouching protectively over Sophia's supine body, she awkwardly keyed in 9-1-1 with bloodstained fingers.

"You have reached nine-one-one emergency. Do you require police, fire, ambulance or PRT?" The operator was a woman, and she sounded bored.

"Ambulance … ambulance, please. My friend's really badly hurt and I think she's dying. The Merchants kidnapped me and she came and rescued me but they shot her and she's bleeding really badly and comehelpuspleasepleaseplease!" Taylor babbled the words out, feeling herself slipping closer to hysteria with each word. Her right arm was still too painful to move, so she pressed hard on the bandage with her knee.

"Honey, I'm going to need you to take a breath. Can you do that for me?" The woman was no longer bored. Her voice was professionally calm. "The best way you can help your friend is to tell me exactly what's going on. Can you do that for me?"

Taylor dragged a breath into her lungs, ignoring the ache in her ribs. "Y-yes. Just hurry, please."

"We're doing the best we can. Now, are you injured, and are you in immediate danger?"

She took stock of herself, then looked up and down the street. "I'm, uh, pretty beat up, but I'm okay really. It's Sophia who's hurt. Um, we're in the Docks. I can't see anyone around."

" Good. That's good. Can you tell me where you are?"

"Oh, uh …" Taylor looked wildly around. There was a street sign nearby. Not wanting to be parted from Sophia for even a moment, she nonetheless climbed painfully to her feet and staggered toward it. "There's a sign here. It's been pretty badly vandalised, but …" She squinted with her one good eye. "I think it's Thompson Street and … Davidson? Davison? I can't tell. We're in the Docks. There's nobody around. Does that help?"

"That helps a lot. You're doing well here. Now, I need you to check her pulse and her breathing. Do you know how to do that?"

"No," confessed Taylor. "I don't know how to do any of that." She began to feel more and more inadequate. I don't know how to fight, I don't know how to do first aid. I shouldn't have told Sophia I was ready to do this.

The lady at the other end of the line never faltered, however. Step by step, she explained how to find Sophia's pulse and to make sure she was breathing. Then she asked Taylor to detail Sophia's injuries. Finally, she explained how to put Sophia into the recovery position. This wasn't easy with one hand, but once she put the phone on speaker she was able to do it.

"Okay," she said breathlessly. "What do I do now?"

"Now, I need all the details that you can give me about you and your friend. Names, medical history, anything like that …"

<><>​

The police car arrived first. Taylor had expected lights and sirens, but neither eventuated as it nosed around the corner then accelerated down the street toward her. It slowed dramatically and came to a halt a good ten yards away. Two officers jumped out as the ambulance turned the corner. One of them pulled his gun immediately and began to scan the surroundings while the other crossed the distance to Taylor.

"I'm told police and ambulance are on site now," the lady on the phone said in her ear. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," Taylor said in breathless relief. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Sophia would be all right now. It was still all her fault, but Sophia would be all right.

"Miss Hebert, is it?" It was the officer. "How badly are you …" He trailed off and looked sick as she raised her face toward him. "Oh, shit."

"It's not me you need to be worried about," Taylor said hastily. "Sophia's really badly hurt. She passed out awhile ago, and she's been bleeding badly. I've tried to keep pressure on it, but her pulse is getting really bad."

There was a clatter of something metallic, and then two EMTs, or paramedics, or whatever they were called, ran toward them with one of those rolling stretchers between them. "GSW," the cop said to them as they arrived. "Non-responsive, heavy bleeding."

"Yeah, we got that," said one of the EMTs. He looked at Taylor, then turned to his partner. "Tell Joe to get the other gurney out. We got two passengers tonight."

"What? No!" Taylor winced as the intensity of her protest sent a wave of pain through her body. "Sophia's the one that needs help, not me!"

"We're going to be helping her," the EMT said patiently. "But you need help, too." There was a clatter from the direction of the ambulance. "Has your friend suffered any spinal injuries?"

"Uh, no, she was walking before she passed out," Taylor said.

"Good," said the EMT. "Excellent. Let's get her on to the gurney." The two paramedics did something to the stretcher, and it collapsed down to almost ground level. Taylor went to get up out of the way, but he gestured for her to stay where she was. "Miss, don't move. We need to put you on a stretcher and get you checked over."

"I don't really need it," Taylor said. "I'll be fine. Help her, please."

"That's our job," the man said, not unkindly, then turned to his partner. "Okay, on three. One … two … three." With the smoothness of long practice, they got Sophia up on to the … gurney, that was what he'd called it, then lifted it back up to waist-height with a smooth clattering of metal. Then they started moving it back toward the ambulance, muttering things like "thready" and "expanders" to each other. She couldn't see properly, due to her seat on the gutter, and her legs really didn't want to get up.

The driver came up with a second gurney. "Miss … Hebert, was it? We need to treat you too." he collapsed the gurney beside her. She had to admit, the thin mattress looked very inviting. "Come on, I'll help you across."

"Okay," she said dubiously. She forced her legs to move, lifting her up and across on to the gurney, holding her right arm to stop it from moving.

He helped her ease down on to her back, then frowned. "What's wrong with your right arm?"

"I think it's broken," she mumbled. "I fell on it." She didn't want him to touch it. Even thinking about it made it hurt more.

"The shoulder looks wrong," he said. "Could be dislocated. I can try to put it back, but it's gonna hurt."

"More than it already does?" she mumbled. She found that hard to believe.

"For a little bit, yeah," he said frankly. "The alternative is, once we get you into the ambulance, we can give you some painkillers. When you get to the hospital, they can put it back in and you won't feel a thing." He clipped something on to her index finger, then started checking her over, asking professional questions about where she was injured.

It only took a minute or so for her to be loaded into the back of the ambulance alongside Sophia. With the oxygen mask over her face, Sophia looked even smaller and more fragile than when she was lying at Taylor's feet in the gutter.

"We're going to need a statement about who did this to them," one of the cops said, leaning into the ambulance.

"Follow us to the hospital," said one of the paramedics tersely. "This one needs serious medical care, stat." He gestured to the driver, who pushed the doors shut. Briefly, he turned to Taylor. "I can put you on a drip—"

"No!" Taylor said hastily. "Don't put me out. I want to be here for her."

He seemed to be about to say something, then one of the machines they'd attached to Sophia went beep, and he shrugged and turned his attention away from Taylor. "Whatever. If you change your mind, give me a shout."

The ambulance engine started first, then the siren. Taylor did her best to hang on as the ambulance peeled out of there.

<><>​

The ambulance ride was the most harrowing experience that Taylor had ever undergone, and that included the torture session with the Merchant assholes. The pain that still spiked through her body wasn't the worst part. She wasn't getting inured to it, so much as it was becoming her new normal. At worst, it was a distraction from watching what was going on with Sophia.

Of course, she didn't know what was happening with Sophia. All she could do was guess whether it was good or bad. She didn't know how to interpret the outputs of the machines, and the terse conversation of the EMTs didn't help much either. Their expressions and body language worried her, a lot. But they kept working, which meant Sophia was still alive. Be okay, she prayed. Please be okay.

Distantly, she heard the wailing siren of the cop car as it sped ahead of the ambulance. It carved through the minimal traffic, making a way forward so the ambulance didn't have to slow down or stop.

When the ambulance did screech to a halt, Taylor looked around in confusion. "Why are we stopping?" she mumbled.

"'Cause we're here," one of the paramedics said. A moment later, the rear doors opened. "This one first!" the paramedic continued, pointing at Sophia. "First name Sophia. GSW, internal bleeding." The rest was lost as he jumped down to the ground and assisted in pulling Sophia's gurney out of the ambulance.

Next up was Taylor's gurney. Willing hands hauled it out of the ambulance, even as she was considering scrambling out—as much as she could scramble right at that moment—to see where Sophia had gone. The cops were waiting as she emerged.

"How soon can we talk to her?" asked the one on the right.

"Christ, have some sensitivity," said a tired-looking doctor with wispy blonde hair framing her face. "Her friend's been shot, and she looks like she's been worked over with a baseball bat. Before anyone talks to anyone, I've got to make sure she's not hurt worse than she looks."

Taylor wondered about the doctor's sensitivity, but she had other matters to worry about. "Sophia," she slurred. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I'm sure she will be," the doctor said automatically. She picked up the chart. "Says here you've got potentially fractured ribs. Do you have any trouble breathing? Sharp pains when you inhale?"

"No." Taylor shook her head, then winced. "My ribs just hurt. Head hurts. Eye hurts. Nose hurts. Face hurts. Mouth hurts. Teeth hurt. Arm hurts." She twisted her neck to look toward where Sophia had disappeared to. "I want to see Sophia. Make sure she's okay."

The doctor sighed and pushed her hair back out of her eyes. "Sweetie, we're not going to know one way or the other until Doctor Branson's had a chance to help her. In the meantime, I need to check you over. Have you been given any painkillers yet?"

"No," Taylor mumbled. "I told them not to. They needed to help Sophia. Besides, it's all my fault she got hurt."

"Why's that?" asked the cop. "Miss, if you can tell us anything about who did this to you, it would help a great deal with our investigation."

"One second, boys," the doctor said curtly. "Miss … Hebert, wasn't it? Hold still, please. Look straight at the light." She leaned over Taylor with a flashlight in her hand, holding her eyelid open with one hand. "Okay, I don't want to mess with the other eye until that swelling goes down, but pupil reflex seems normal." She looked more closely. "Though we're going to have to deal with that burn. Did someone put out a cigarette on your eye?"

Involuntarily, Taylor clenched her eyes shut, which made the burn—heretofore having merged with the background noise of her ongoing pain—jump all the way to the front of the queue again. "Uh huh."

"Can we ask her some questions now?" asked the cop.

"Might you at least wait until I give her something for the pain?" asked the doctor tartly. Her lips tightened. "This girl has been through the equivalent of a car accident."

"Doc, she's a skinny thing," said the other cop in a reasonable tone. "How sure are you that your painkiller won't knock her out altogether?"

"Don't knock me out," mumbled Taylor. "I want to make sure Sophia's okay." Her guilt swelled again.

The cop seized the opportunity. "Okay, then. What the hell happened to you, anyway?"

She almost blurted out the truth, then caught herself in time. "She … we … we were going for a walk. There were some guys, in a car. They came out of nowhere. They grabbed us and beat us up. We got knocked out. I woke up first. We were in some kind of Merchant den. They tried to do something with me, but a cape busted in and beat them up pretty bad. Sophia and I got out, but she got shot. I don't think the cape who saved us knew that. She was gone by the time we got outside." Her voice trailed off. It was near enough to the truth, and she didn't have to worry too much about recalling awkward details.

"Jesus shit." It was the other cop. "Motherfucking Merchants." He scribbled in his notebook. "You'll be able to show us where this was, right?"

"Maybe, I guess," Taylor said. "It all happened pretty fast."

The cop nodded and took a note. "Did you at least get a look at the guy who grabbed you? Or the ones in the place the cape got you out of?"

"Not really," she confessed. That bit had happened too fast.

"This cape," said the first cop. "You said 'she'. Did you get a good look at her, at least?"

"Who else is it gonna be?" asked the second cop. "Ten gets you one it's that shadow girl. The one with the crossbow."

"She kill any of them?" asked the first cop. "I won't be complaining if she has, mind you."

"I don't know," Taylor said, and it was true. She didn't know, but she certainly suspected. Neither man in the hideout had been moving or making a sound when she and Sophia left. Not that this made her feel any better about the whole affair. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's all my fault.

"So, uh," said the cop. "I'm just wondering. Your friend got shot, but there's not another mark on her. You look like you tangled with Hookwolf on a bad day. Any idea why they went so rough on you?"

Taylor was still searching for an answer when another gurney came in through the doors. "Got a bad one!" called a voice. "Crashing hard! Code blue, code blue, code blue!"

"Shit," muttered the blonde doctor. She turned her head to look; almost involuntarily, Taylor's eyes followed hers.

What happened next would be imprinted on her mind's eye forever. The gurney was rushed past with people on either side, a doctor actually performing CPR on the run. An oxygen mask had been placed over the person's face, but that didn't matter. She would've known that face anywhere. Covered in blood, looking as beat up as she felt, she still recognised him instantly. "Dad!"

"What?" The two cops looked at each other, then at Taylor. "That's your father?"

"Yes!" Weakly, Taylor began to try to struggle off of the gurney. "What's happening? Where are they taking him?"

"Emergency surgery," the doctor said crisply, putting her arm across Taylor's chest to keep her on the gurney. Flicking her eyes to the nearest cop, she went on. "Find out what happened. I'm taking Miss Hebert to an exam room to clean her up and get some painkillers into her."

Taylor struggled weakly, but the doctor flipped the restraints across her and clipped them down with the ease of long experience. With only one working arm, Taylor wasn't going anywhere. Realising that she wasn't getting free in a hurry, she slumped back on to the gurney. "Dad," she whispered. "Sophia." Her world was beginning to crumble around her in slow motion. The two pillars of strength in her life—one old and one new—were grievously injured. How and why her father had been hurt, she had no idea, but she instinctively knew it was somehow due to her actions. Did he go out looking for me and get into trouble? She had no way of knowing.

Once in the examination room, the doctor drafted a nurse into checking Taylor over properly, while she updated the chart. A painkiller and a muscle relaxant were administered, whereupon the nurse quickly and efficiently put Taylor's shoulder back into place. Her nose was likewise re-set, then splinted into place. Careful examination of her eye revealed that while there was a little damage to the sclera from the heat of the cigarette, the major problem from that would come from scarring to the eyelid itself.

Taylor was just starting to drift in the embrace of the painkillers when there was a knock on the examination room door. The doctor answered it, and Taylor heard the voice of the cop from before. Due to the quiet in the room, she heard nearly every word.

" … about eight of them just drove up to the house and kicked in the door. Neighbours called nine-one-one after the ruckus started. He put up a good fight. Half of them are gonna need treatment and there's a couple they don't think are gonna pull through. But they sure went to town on him. Still dunno why …"

Taylor sank back on to the mattress, the temporary good feeling from the painkillers having altogether disappeared. Oh, god. They somehow figured out who I was, and they attacked Dad over it. Over me. Her mood, which had cautiously begun to elevate with the cessation of pain, plummeted once more. The machine to which she was hooked up immediately began to beep warningly.

"Okay, thank you. You can go now," the doctor said hastily. She shut the door and hurried back to Taylor's side. "What's the matter? What happened?"

"I have no idea," the nurse said. "A minute ago, she was fine." She turned to Taylor. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

"Dad," whispered Taylor, squeezing her good eye shut and feeling hot tears force themselves out. "I did this. It's my fault."

"It's not your fault," the nurse said briskly. "Whoever attacked your father, it's on them. Not on you." She reached for the painkiller drip, probably to increase the dose, but there was another knock on the door before she got there.

"What is it now?" muttered the doctor. She went to the door and opened it. Taylor saw two different nurses' aides standing outside. "Whatever it is, can it keep?"

Just for a few short seconds, all sound in the room ceased. It was the sort of silence that can fall into a crowded room when everyone pauses at once. Into that silence dropped nine words. Even though they were spoken over each other, Taylor heard them all perfectly.

"Mr Hebert—"

"Sophia Hess—"

"—passed on."

"—didn't make it."

Dad. Sophia.

Taylor's world crashed and burned. Every last fragment of it exploded into ruin. Her heart swelled in her chest, then disintegrated in a maelstrom of fury and loss. The machine beeped louder and louder until it was one long unending tone. Every part of her body locked up as she screamed.

When she opened her eyes again, the world looked utterly different. All was darkness. Mere material objects were ghostly white objects here and there. Colour had fled her world, as had ordinary light. There were four beings clustered around her; one close by, and three a little distance away. More could be seen through the immaterial walls that surrounded her.

Each of the beings consisted of a white ghostly skeleton beneath a glaring light so bright that she had to shade her eyes and look away. The lights were constellations of supernovae, intricate but still too bright for her to look at directly.

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. All the pain had gone away, and she felt stronger than ever. Cords attached to the beeping machine impeded her progress. She didn't need or want them any more, so she pulled them all off of her. One was attached to her wrist, but she yanked that one off as well.

"Holy shit!" That was the nurse, but her voice was now much farther away, sounding through an echo chamber. "Miss, you need to get back into bed." She went to push Taylor backward, but a simple brush of her arm sent the skeleton with its attached light sprawling to the floor.

"No, I don't." Taylor moved toward the door. It didn't matter that her glasses were long gone. She had no trouble focusing now. "Take me to Sophia and my father. Right now." She'd let them take her away from the two people she cared most about in the world, and that was on her. No more.

"Miss—" The nurse, climbing to her feet, tried to protest again.

"Hennessy, keep back." That was the doctor, her voice also hollow and far away. "Do you see her eyes? Congratulations, you just witnessed a trigger event. Be glad you're still alive. Miss Hebert, can you understand me?"

"I understand you." Taylor was understandably cautious, although a little confused. A 'trigger event' was where someone got powers. She knew that much from popular culture. Did I just get powers? Am I a cape now? "Where are Dad and Sophia? I need to see them."

"Are you sure?" asked the doctor. "You've already been through a lot today. Putting yourself under more stress—"

Reaching out, Taylor took hold of the door handle. It felt lightweight and flimsy, the type of handle the lowest bidder might put on a hospital examination room. Still, before today, she could not have done what she now did. Taking a firm grip—with her right hand, even—she twisted hard. The snap echoed oddly in her ears, and she tossed the bent metal handle on to the floor. "I'm sure," she said.

" … right." Even as unused to the hollow tone as she was, Taylor thought the doctor's voice held more caution than before. "I'll take you to see them."

"Thank you." Taylor followed the doctor out of the examination room. She seemed to recall that there'd been a mirror in the room but if there was, it didn't seem to work in the odd shadow-space that her eyes were currently inhabiting. Around them, people kept up the regular business of a hospital, visible through the ghostly walls. "Does this happen often? Trigger events, I mean."

"Not in the hospital, thank God," the doctor said. "When they get here, the worst is usually over. Yours is an unusual case." She made a motion with her too-bright head as if she were looking Taylor up and down. "You're moving much more easily. Did you just heal all your injuries?"

"I guess so?" Taylor shrugged. "I don't know how this works any more than you do. All I know is that I need to see Sophia and Dad right now."

The doctor sighed sadly "I suppose closure is important. In here."

An insubstantial-looking door opened before her, and Taylor stepped into a room that felt a few degrees colder. On gurneys in front of her were two skeletal forms like everyone else she'd seen, except for the heads. The constellations were still there, but now she could look at them directly. Moving forward, she stared at them in fascination. Slowly, she put out her hand toward the taller one, who she guessed was her father. The guilt almost drove her to her knees.

I'm sorry, Dad. I should've been a better daughter. I wish I could change places with you.

After a few moments of silence, she turned to Sophia. Her miscalculations and idiotic decisions were coming back to haunt her, all over again.

I got you killed. I'm sorry. If I could go back in time and fix this, I would.

Silently, she stood there for several minutes, eyes closed, tears trickling out from under the lids and running down her face. There was nothing she could do or say to alleviate the pain she felt at her own inescapable mistakes. The fact that she seemed to now have minor super-strength and weird vision was now just a layer of shitty icing on a horrifically crappy day. I killed my Dad and my best friend, and I got powers out of it. How is that fair?

With one final sigh of regret, feeling as drained as though she'd just run a marathon, she turned toward the door. "Okay," she said out loud. "I don't know—"

Something moved behind her. She turned to look, just as she heard the doctor's almost silent whimper. Sophia had just sat up on her gurney and was looking around. No longer merely a skeleton with a constellation for a head, it was actually Sophia. In this world of darkness, she stood out like a beacon against a black hole. On the other gurney, her father had also just sat up with a bemused expression on his face. The wounds that had been inflicted on him were still in evidence, and his pants were covered in blood.

"Well, that's different," said Sophia.



End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[NavigatorNobilis]

That... Is one hell of a trigger. I mean, they all are, but damn. Kidnapped, tortured, rescued, finding out your dad was also tortured - because of you - and then you find out your saviour and your father both died on the operating table.

And what is her power even? Bit of brute strength, healing, some sort of Ringwraith shadow state which allows her to see... Minds? I'm gonna say minds... And bring back... Ghosts?

Very interesting. I can't wait to see the fallout of this.

 

[Dr. Mercurious]

Necromancy.

You fucking gave her necromancy.

My god, Contessa's going to invent a time machine so the Kill Order can be written last week. Either that, or she's going to rob Aladdin of his lamp and give it to Taylor as a sign-on bonus.

 

[Slayer Anderson]

Earth Bet needed a second Fairy Queen that wasn't limited to parahumans!

Im sure Emily Piggot will agree after she drinks herself to death and gets raised as an undead minion.

 

[Ack]

That... Is one hell of a trigger. I mean, they all are, but damn. Kidnapped, tortured, rescued, finding out your dad was also tortured - because of you - and then you find out your saviour and your father both died on the operating table.

And what is her power even? Bit of brute strength, healing, some sort of Ringwraith shadow state which allows her to see... Minds? I'm gonna say minds... And bring back... Ghosts?

Very interesting. I can't wait to see the fallout of this.

Click to shrink...

Her power's actually a lot less complicated than that.

Oh, and Danny wasn't tortured. They just attacked him, he fought back, and went out like a boss.

 

[Zackarix]

For a second I thought this story was to have Taylor lose everyone. But triggering with some type of necromancy? Depending on how extensive it is Taylor could very quickly find herself as one of the most in-demand capes in the world. I curse you for taking this story off the voting list.

 

[GW_Yoda]

For a second I thought this story was to have Taylor lose everyone. But triggering with some type of necromancy? Depending on how extensive it is Taylor could very quickly find herself as one of the most in-demand capes in the world. I curse you for taking this story off the voting list.

Click to shrink...

I asked him to take it off of the voting list so I could commission it. I've always wanted to see more of this since the beginning and I was tired of being patient. Once Price of Blood is finished, we all should be seeing more of this one, as well as DARK.

 

[Ack]

All Alone

Part Seven: A New Lease on Death


[A/N: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


Taylor

"Dad? Sophia? You're alive? You're alive!" I flung myself into my father's arms, holding him tightly. "Oh, god, they told me you were dead and I thought I was all alone, and—"

"Breathe, Taylor." Dad squeezed me in his arms. "I'm all right." He paused. "Well, I'm alive, and I don't seem to be in much pain, and I'm not nearly as agitated as I should be, given that my last memories seem to be of being attacked by a bunch of lowlives … hmm."

"I am so, so sorry about that," I babbled. "They beat me up, like a lot, but I'm pretty sure I didn't tell them anything about me, but they must've somehow figured out where I lived, and …"

"And Merchants be Merchants," Sophia filled in. She was looking down at where her clothing had been cut away around the bullet wound. "Huh. I've still got a hole in my side, but I'm not bleeding." Experimentally, she prodded it. "That's weird, too."

"Well, don't stick your finger in it!" I let go of Dad and went to look. Sure enough, there was no blood coming from the wound. "I don't know why it's not bleeding, but we've got to get it checked out as soon as possible. Your stuff too, Dad." Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wondered why they weren't freaking out as badly as I was.

"I've got to call this in." The doctor's voice, still giving the impression of someone shouting down the length of a train tunnel, intruded on my thoughts.

I turned, quickly. "No!" If she informed the authorities, they might take Sophia and Dad away. I might never see them again.

There was real regret in her tone. "I'm sorry, but I have to."

She was at the door already; I was too far away to stop her from leaving. But Sophia literally blurred into action, crossing the room in her shadow state and reforming next to the doctor. "If Taylor says you stay, doc, you fuckin' well stay." One hand closed the door again, while the other plucked the doctor's hand from the handle.

"Leave me alone!" The doctor tried to pull away from Sophia's grasp. "Let me go! You're hurting me!"

Sophia shoved her almost gently; she staggered several steps back. "Don't be such a wuss. I barely touched you."

"Don't hurt her, Sophia." I took a deep breath. "Doctor, I really, really don't want you to call the cops or the PRT or whatever. And I don't want anyone at all to get hurt. Can we just work together on this? Please?"

Dad's right hand had been badly mangled, the fingers twisted every which way. As he spoke, he pulled the fingers straight, one at a time. I flinched and looked away.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Taylor." His voice was calm, almost speculative. "Why are your eyes glowing like that?"

"My eyes are glowing?" The doctor had told the nurse to look at my eyes. I supposed that was what she'd meant. "What do you mean, glowing?"

Sophia lounged against the door, but kept half an eye on the doctor anyway. "He means your eyes are basically glowing pure white. And you haven't blinked in forever."

I was pretty sure I'd blinked, but eyes glowing white? That was definitely new. "So, uh, doctor, what are the legal ramifications for bringing my father and my best friend back to life?" I wondered how long-dead someone would have to be before my power wouldn't work. Then I wondered where I could get a shovel from. Emma.

The doctor shrugged; that gesture, at least, I could see on a ghostly skeleton. "Well, legally speaking, it would normally be considered interfering with a corpse, but—"

Sophia made a rude noise. "Hell with that! I'm no corpse and anyway, I'm right on board with whatever she did. So they can take their 'interfering' and shove it where the sun don't shine."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that … Sophia, was it?" Dad's voice was calm, analytical. He had two fingers from his now-straightened right hand pressed against a spot on his left wrist. "Can you find a pulse? Because I can't."

"What?" Sophia's eyes widened. "Oh, hell nope." Quickly, she duplicated his action. A look of intense concentration crossed her face.

"Can you find one?" I asked. Please let her find one.

Looking irritated, she swapped hands. "No, dammit! Let me try again."

"You won't find one." The doctor sounded more tired than scared now. "Your gunshot wound isn't bleeding and it hasn't closed. There's no blood circulating in your body." She held up something flat and round with vague lines leading off from it. A stethoscope? I was pretty sure she'd been wearing one around her neck before all this happened. "I can make certain, if you want."

"So what does this mean?" I asked Dad. "You guys are walking and talking, but you don't have heartbeats? What's happening? What should I do?"

"Before we jump into decisions, let's see how the doctor goes with Sophia," he said soothingly. "There's a chance we're all missing something really obvious here."

Dubiously, I eyed a nasty cut on his left arm. It looked really painful, but it wasn't bleeding and he didn't even seem to have registered that it was there. "Hold still," I said, and reached out to pinch it closed. As I did so, something seemed to flow from me into him, and the cut just … healed. All that was left was a faint red line. "Whoa, ugh," I groaned as the room wobbled around me.

"Honey, are you okay?" His strong arms supported me. "What just happened?"

"I don't know." I shook my head, then regretted it as the room spun in directions physics wasn't meant to go. "I didn't like seeing you hurt, so I tried to hold the cut together. Then it closed on its own accord, but it felt like I just ran a marathon or something."

"Here, have a seat." I could barely see the chair, but he guided me into it. Sitting down was a relief. He prodded the closed cut. "Well, that's definitely impressive. I think you healed it."

"Damn." I breathed deeply, feeling the dizziness begin to recede. "Okay, I'm feeling better. Let me see what else you need to get done."

"Don't push yourself too hard," he cautioned me. "The glow from your eyes isn't nearly as strong as it was earlier."

"Seriously?" It was kind of irritating for him to be able to see how my power was doing when I couldn't. "Well, I'm not surprised. I wonder if that's how Panacea does it, and if it is, how she does it. Closing one cut wrecked me."

"She's been doing it for a lot longer." He shrugged. "Maybe it takes practice?"

"Don't give me that!" Sophia's voice rose from where the doctor was examining her. "I'm walking, all right? I'm talking! I'm about thirty seconds away from kicking your ass! I'm not fuckin' dead!"

But something about her protest sounded … off. Just as Dad was being far more cool and analytical than anyone in his position should rightfully be, she sounded like an amateur actor reciting the lines she'd been given. Almost as if she thought she should be making a fuss, so she was, but more out of habit than actual emotion.

"I'm guessing you found no life signs?" asked Dad, raising his eyebrows at the dirty look Sophia sent him.

"None whatsoever." Even through whatever was making her voice hollow and distant, the doctor sounded … resigned. "Sophia's body is gradually losing heat. There is no discernible pulse or other bodily function going on. Pain response is dulled, and every nervous reflex I tested is either absent or nearly so. Were it not for the fact that she is consciously responsive to stimuli, I would have no hesitation in signing a death certificate."

"I'm going to presume that the same will apply to me," Dad said. "But you can check if you like." He pointed at the healed cut on his arm. "I'm interested in what you might make of that."

"What?" The doctor leaned forward, forcing me to look away from Dad or be dazzled by the light of the supernova that made up her head. "Did you just heal that? How did you just heal that?"

"I, I wanted it to be fixed," I confessed. "So I … did it?"

"Okay, now I know why they all told me not to go into parahuman medicine," the doctor muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "You'll be making the rules up as you go along. Got it, guys." She took a deep breath. "So, the people you bring back can't heal themselves, but you can fix their injuries? Can you do it again?"

"I guess I can? But it tires me out to do it." Then I looked at Sophia and my resolve hardened. She'd come back to save my sorry ass, and gotten shot in the process. It was my fault, and my fault alone, that she was dead. Maybe if I fixed the wound that had killed her, she could come alive again? I had no idea what I was doing, not really, but I was willing to give it a damn good try. "Sophia, come here."

"Sure thing," she said, sauntering over. "Hey, Taylor's dad. Keep an eye on the doc here? Don't want her running off and blabbing to everyone what Taylor can do, huh?"

"The name's Danny," he retorted, giving her a dry look. "And if I'm reading between the lines correctly, I get the impression that you're the one behind my daughter getting powers and me getting killed. If I were still alive, I suspect I'd be extremely angry about now."

"Ooh, I'm scared." But the retort lacked sting. My suspicion that she was running on teenage reflex grew stronger than ever. "Okay, Taylor, do your thing."

I reached out and covered the bullet wound with the palm of my hand. Gritting my teeth, I prepared to draw on whatever I'd used to heal Dad before.

"Wait!" The doctor came closer. "Do you have to cover it? If I could observe the process, that could yield invaluable data."

"Geez, doc, buy me dinner first, huh?" Sophia shook her head. "Fuckin' geeks."

"I'm a fuckin' geek," I said without heat. Shifting my hand, I moved my thumb so that it and my forefinger were framing the wound. "Geeks make the world go round. Or at least we make the trains run on time."

"Yeah, but you're different." Sophia's contrariness ran bone-deep, I decided. I got the impression that her first word had been 'no', and she hadn't changed her attitude since. "You're not boring. And you're willing to learn how to kick ass."

I looked up at her, raising my eyebrows. "So when were you going to teach me how to kick ass, instead of throwing me in at the deep end? I had no idea what I was doing, and it got you and Dad killed. It nearly got me killed." Before I could change my mind, I fixed my attention on the wound, and pushed.

It was a good thing I was sitting down. The room spun in great circles, and my vision flickered. Sophia staggered, as if I'd gut-punched her. "Oof," she grunted. "Warn a girl first, will you?"

I fought not to pass out, taking deep breaths of air. It didn't help that what I was seeing kept switching back and forth between a normal room and the weird x-ray vision of before. The doctor, leaning in, had a look of utter fascination on her face, replaced intermittently with the light of a thousand suns.

"Taylor." Dad sounded moderately concerned. "Your eyes are going out."

"I … they're what again, now?" The weird vision had been the norm before, but now it was extremely tiring to maintain. When my eyes flicked over to normal vision, I didn't feel nearly as exhausted. "Like this?" Consciously, I made the switch. Dad and Sophia still looked the same, but the surrounding room was just a boring room again, and the doctor was a human being instead of a supernova atop a skeleton.

"Like that." Sophia's voice was dry. "Except now they're bottomless pits of blackness. Congratulations, you're now even creepier than before."

"Says the girl who turns into shadow," I retorted. "Can I get a mirror or something? I need to see."

"Mm, hang on." The doctor looked like she wanted to strap Sophia to a table and examine her to within an inch of her … whatever passed for 'life' these days, but she dragged her attention away to look at me. "Oh. Definitely different. One second."

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she fiddled with it, then turned the screen toward me. I saw myself for the first time since … well, since sneaking out of the house as Night Girl. Fuck, that was a stupid name.

Where before my eye had been massively swollen, to the point that I couldn't open it, I merely had a fading bruise on the cheekbone. The burn in the corner was no longer visible. My nose was still broken—which was possibly a problem, because it had healed that way—and there were a few other scars on my face. In summary, I looked like shit.

But even that paled before the fact that everything inside both eyesockets was … black. Not just dark, but the kind of impenetrable blackness that I imagined someone would see if they went to the edge of the universe and looked outward. And it wasn't just my eyes themselves, but the lids as well. When Sophia had called them bottomless pits, she hadn't been exaggerating in the slightest. There was no depth to them, or maybe the depth was infinite.

There was a click and I was looking into the beam of a penlight torch. "Hey, do you mind?" I grumbled. I squinted, which made it easier to bear.

"It's not a cover over your eye," the doctor reported. "Or if it is, it's absorbing absolutely all the light that's hitting it. But I doubt it. There's no reflection, no indication that there's anything there at all. Are you sure you've still got eyes?"

Bringing my hand up, I closed my eye and rubbed my fingertip over the closed lid. "Yeah, pretty sure."

The doctor muttered something along the lines of 'powers are bullshit' before clicking the penlight off. "Yeah, I'm not going to learn any more with this."

At that moment, the door opened and a young man leaned in. He was dressed in scrubs, which I figured made him some sort of nurse or intern. "Doctor, I heard a noise. Is everything— holy shit!"

"Everything's fine," the doctor said hastily. "Don't hurt him, please." The addendum came because Sophia had once more crossed the room using her Breaker ability, and dragged him inside.

"Nobody's gonna get hurt, but your boy here's got a big mouth." Sophia waved her finger in front of the guy's face. "Shut it."

The guy's eyes swivelled sideways to the doctor. "Uh … weren't they dead? I'm pretty sure they were dead."

Sophia's hand closed into a fist and drew back. "I said to shut it!"

"Sophia!" I said sharply. "Don't hurt him." I was brand-new to this kind of situation, but I could still figure out that hurting medical personnel was a one-way ticket to a Bad Scenario.

"Yes, Rodney, they were dead," said the doctor wearily. "Now ... I'm not sure what they are. It's a powers thing, apparently."

"Are you kidding, doc?" Rodney yanked his arm free of Sophia's grip, which surprised me; from the way she'd been manhandling the doctor before, I'd thought she was stronger than that. Going by her expression, she was more than a little taken aback as well. But Rodney was still talking. "Dead people getting up and walking around? What does that say to you? It says 'zombies' to me!"

"Hey, I'm not a fuckin' zombie!" Sophia grabbed him again. "I'm as alive as you and the doctor there!" She forced his arm into a compliance hold. "Could a zombie do this?"

"Ow! Hey, maybe." He struggled and nearly pulled free, but she maintained the hold. "You could be a fast zombie."

Dad sighed. "Sophia, let him go. Young man, is it really the best idea to convince the person holding you that she might be a zombie?"

"And can we not throw around the 'z' word, please?" I moved over to where Sophia was still holding Rodney and tugged on her arm to make her let him go. She did so reluctantly; he pulled away and stood there glaring at her. "That's got all sorts of bad connotations." I waved my hand in front of his face to get his attention. "I'm talking to you. This is my dad and my best friend we're talking about, here."

"Which raises an interesting point." The doctor pointed at another drawer. "We have a guy in there, no next of kin. We're pretty sure he's a Merchant. Came in the same time as you three. I'm wondering if it's the emotional connection that allowed you to bring your father and your friend back, or if you can do it with anyone."

"I'm not sure if this is a good idea." Dad moved closer to me, protectively. "Taylor is still very new to this, and she just wore herself out fixing Sophia's injuries."

"Which, if anyone's interested, are totally gone," Sophia announced, prodding the area of skin where the bullet had gone in. Now, only a tiny puckered scar marked the spot.

"No, wait, this is a really bad idea." Rodney waved his hands frantically. "In the movies, it always starts with let's see if we can raise one more person from the dead and ends with a zombie apocalypse."

"Young man," Dad said firmly, "do I look like the sort of person to involve myself in an apocalypse of any kind?"

"Yeah." Sophia gave Rodney the finger. "Now shut it before I give you a Shadow Stalker apocalypse." She saw my expression and said, "What? He's already seen me go to shadow. If he knows what's good for him, he'll keep his mouth shut."

"I'm willing to give it a try," I said slowly. Not only was I curious about the point the doctor had raised, but it would also give me the chance to observe my power in action, rather than just doing it by accident.

Suddenly, Rodney turned and bolted from the room. The door slammed behind him. Puzzled, I looked at Sophia.

"What?" she asked. She was halfway across the room, having given chase far too late. "Little shit was too quick for me."

"He wasn't earlier," I pointed out.

"Caught him by surprise, then," she said grumpily. "And I didn't think chasing him would be a great idea. It would be really hard to convince everyone else that I wasn't a fuckin' zombie."

I blinked, impressed. Sophia, thinking before acting?

She glowered at the closed door. "And besides, I was a lot faster earlier. Stronger, too."

"Okay, that's weird." I looked at her and Dad, concerned. Did my power have a time limit? Were they about to collapse and die all over again? I didn't feel like anything was counting down.

The doctor also looked concerned, but her attention was directed toward the closed door. "Rodney's always been a little excitable," she observed. "Zombies, indeed. The very idea." Her tone was uncertain, as though she was trying to convince herself of what she was saying.

"I know, right?" Sophia rolled her eyes. She didn't seem to be running out of energy. "Trust me, doc, I have no desire to eat your brains." A frown crossed her face. "Matter of fact, I'm not hungry at all. And it's gotta be well after midnight."

"Well, no circulation means we shouldn't need to eat or breathe," Dad pointed out. "Which we can try out at any time. Right now, I'm also curious about whether Taylor can revive other people."

"I have no desire to create anything that can be mistaken for a zombie horde," I said hastily. "Not an expert here, but I'm reasonably sure the PRT wouldn't be too happy about it."

"Yes, but think of the assistance you could give to the police," the doctor exclaimed, gesturing excitedly. "How easy would it be to solve murder cases if they can ask the victim who did it?"

I shuddered as a mental image occurred of me reanimating a skeleton, then handing him a pen and paper to write down his testimony. "That could get really creepy, really fast."

"Why?" asked Dad blankly. "I'm willing to testify against everyone I can identify who attacked me."

"If you're dead, are you still considered a person capable of giving testimony?" I was more than a little dubious about this. "And what if they decide I'm just a Master who's controlling you like puppets?" A sudden doubt crossed my mind. "Shit, what if I am just a Master who's controlling you like puppets?" I knew how Sophia and Dad acted, after all. And in fact, they had been a little 'off' since I'd brought them back. Here I thought I had them alive again (for an extremely lax definition of the word 'alive') while in reality I might just have been guiding them in a sick reunion fantasy. And if I was far enough divorced from reality, I might not even know I was doing it.

"Pfft, as if." Sophia scoffed at the very idea. "No asshole Masters me. And I know you, Taylor. You wouldn't pull that shit on me or your dad. You're too much of a straight arrow."

"Yeah, but what if I don't know I'm doing it?" I didn't want to give voice to my fears, but someone had to hear them. "What if this is all me with … I don't know … multiple personalities pretending to be you and Dad? How would I know the difference?" I felt my heart rate increase. Was I about to lose Sophia and Dad again? Had I ever really gotten them back?

"For fuck's sake." Sophia stomped over to me and grabbed the front of my shirt. "Get a grip on yourself, Taylor! You're not fuckin' Mastering me! Here, I'll prove it!" Letting go with her right hand, she pulled it back in what was obviously going to be a bitch-slap of epic proportions. I winced but braced myself, closing one eye. If this was what it took to prove her point, I'd wear the slap.

But it never landed. I opened my eye and looked at her; with a baffled expression, she was staring at her hand as it hung half an inch from my face. "The fuck?" she muttered.

"What just happened?" I asked.

"Her hand just slowed and stopped." The doctor looked fascinated. "Did you consciously prevent her from hitting you?"

"No!" I looked at Sophia, who glared back at me. "I swear, I didn't do anything. And I didn't make you do anything."

"So how come I can't hit you?" Sophia headed over to Dad and slapped him without warning. The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the room. "Okay, I can hit you. So why not her?"

Dad seemed barely ruffled by the impact. "Maybe it's a safety mechanism on the part of the power?" He rubbed his chin, thinking. "This might actually prove that she's not a Master. If the power has to make sure that none of the people she revives can hurt her, then she's not controlling them in any meaningful fashion."

"Or Taylor is controlling you two like a puppet theatre and she can't quite bring herself to get slapped," the doctor countered. "Not that I think that's the answer, but it also fits the scenario."

We stared at each other, temporarily at an impasse. I didn't want to consider that I might be walking Sophia and Dad's corpses around like puppets, talking through their mouths and making them do things, all the while thinking that they were doing it of their own accord. But I couldn't figure out how to prove that I wasn't.

"Wait!" The doctor snapped her fingers. "Taylor, you know your dad well, obviously. But how well do you know Sophia?"

"Uh, kinda?" I hazarded. "We've hung out a bit?"

"Have you been to her address? Do you know where it is?"

My eyes widened as I realised where she was going with this. "No. No, I don't."

"Stonemast Avenue," Sophia recited immediately. "Number thirty-three. In fact, I can do better than that, doc. Got a phone?"

"Yes, of course." The doctor pulled out an older-model smartphone from her pocket and woke it up then handed it over. "What are you going to do?"

"You didn't know my last name, so you didn't get next of kin." Sophia said as she tapped in a number. "I'm just calling my big brother. His name's Terry. You can ask him if he's ever met Taylor." She held the phone to her ear. "Of course, it helps if the asshole actually picks up his phone once in a while."

A moment went by, during which time we watched Sophia fidget. I hadn't often seen her bored before, and she had a crapload of tells. First, she played with her hair, then she checked her nails, then she swapped sides with the phone so she could check her nails on the other hand, then she scratched her ear, then she pinched her earlobe between two fingernails … all in about thirty seconds.

"Oh, hey, bro," she said brightly. "Did I wake you? Sorry, not sorry. Listen, I'm kinda in a situation where I've got to identify myself, and … yeah, I'm not in bed. I'm not asleep. I'm out and about … what? Seriously? I can take care of myself." Dad raised his eyebrows at that, and she gave him the finger. "Anyway, Imma just gonna give the phone to someone and you can talk to them, okay?"

From the squeaky sounds coming out of the phone, her brother was not exactly pleased with her. I wouldn't have been either, to get woken up by phone call from a theoretical little sister at whatever the time was in the morning. Especially when that sister should really have been in bed asleep at the time.

The doctor took the phone and held it to her ear. "Hello? This is Doctor Frasier, at Brockton Bay General Hospital. Who am I speaking to, please?"

Okay, now I had a name for her. Good.

"Terry? Oh, good. Thank you." Her eyes widened and she nodded, then gave me a thumb's up. I felt a wash of relief; I hadn't known about Terry, much less his name, until Sophia told us. This meant I wasn't piloting a mindless corpse around under the delusion that it was actually my friend in there. "No, Sophia isn't in trouble with the police. There is a situation that you need to be filled in on, but it's not the sort of thing I want to do over the phone. No, it's not urgent. Sophia's situation is … stable. Unique, but stable. Yes, you can speak to her."

She passed the phone back to Sophia, who rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so it's no big. You can come over in the morning if you want … what, you're coming over now? Who's gonna be watching the brat? Wait, shit, you're waking Mom? There's a reason I called you and not her. She starts her shift in a couple hours. Fine. Fine. Fine. Knock yourself out."

With a huff of annoyance, she ended the call and handed the phone back. "He's coming in now," she explained unnecessarily. "And Mom's probably coming too, and they'll bring the brat, and Mom'll be giving me the third degree, and Terry'll back her up, and they'll find out that I was being Shadow Stalker when I got hurt, and it'll be so ugh." She finished with the back of her arm over her eyes in what was probably more of a dramatic gesture than she really intended.

"As a parent, I think it's important that you fill your family in on what's happened," Dad pointed out mildly. "You were killed, after all. That's something a parent needs to know about. Trust me on this one."

"But I got better!" she protested. I could hear her trying to keep the whine out of her voice, and not entirely succeeding. "It's all good."

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Actually, you're still dead," I reminded her. "I didn't bring you back to life. I'm just … I guess I'm just letting you ignore it."

"And yes, you are going to have to tell her. Even though Taylor is letting you ignore it." Dad made his voice firm. "This is your mother. She deserves to know."

Sophia looked like she was sucking on a lemon. "Okay, so can we just tell her that I got popped in a drive-by or something, not that I was being Shadow Stalker?"

Dad sighed. "By now, it's probably halfway across the hospital that you're Shadow Stalker. I sincerely doubt you'll be able to keep it a secret from her. And secrets you admit to will be less likely to bite you on the ass than ones that she needs to drag out of you."

"No, not that I am Shadow Stalker," she said. "That I got hurt being Shadow Stalker. She knows about my powers already, but if she found out I got shot while I was out and about in costume, I'd never hear the end of it."

Dad met my eyes, and I shrugged. It seemed that Sophia's idea of an important priority was a little different to everyone else's; mine and his included. "I won't tell her if she doesn't ask," I temporised, "but if she asks, I'm not gonna lie."

"So what are you going to say if she asks why you were out and about at this time of night?" Dad asked Sophia. "Because I know what I would've said and done if I'd caught Taylor sneaking out tonight."

I had an idea of how he would've reacted, too. It wouldn't have been pretty, but it would definitely have been justified, given the actual result of me going out and about to fight crime with zero training and experience. Hindsight, as they said, was twenty-twenty.

The irony was all too obvious. Had he caught me and punished me, I would've been resentful and upset that he wasn't letting me do what I wanted. I might even have snuck out later anyway.

"Gonna lie my ass off, duh," Sophia said immediately. She shot me a sly grin. "Maybe I'll tell her Taylor's my girlfriend and I was sneaking out to see her, and some Empire assholes saw us kissing and decided to teach us a lesson or something."

I made a time-out gesture. "Wow, really? When were you gonna tell me that plan? Because it's got all the hallmarks of something that'll make me feel super awkward then go horribly wrong. Or to put it another way: if you try to kiss me, I will punch you in the face."

She smirked, Dad chuckled and even Doctor Frasier hid a smile. "That's fair," Sophia allowed. "Though I still think it's total bullshit that I can't even slap you."

The door opened, and we turned to look. A grey-haired man stepped into the room. Behind him was a large man wearing a security uniform.

"Ahem," he said. "Pardon my intrusion, but … Doctor Frasier, perhaps you can explain why Mr Stafford is running around in my hospital, telling people that a zombie invasion is imminent?" He paused and looked at me. "And young lady, whatever is the matter with your eyes?"

I guessed that 'Mr Stafford' was otherwise known as Rodney. "I'm a parahuman," I said bluntly. It wasn't like he wouldn't figure it out on his own, given enough clues. "I triggered tonight," I said. "So you won't have heard of me."

Doctor Frasier sighed and rubbed her thumb and forefinger over her forehead. "Rodney is doing that because Taylor here apparently has the ability to bring people back from the dead." She indicated Dad and Sophia. "Doctor Cartwright, meet Danny Hebert and Sophia Hess, both deceased shortly after arrival here in Brockton General. Danny, Sophia, meet Doctor Cartwright. He's the head of this wing."

Doctor Cartwright's eyebrows inched up on his forehead as he took in Dad's battered appearance. "Good morning, sir," Dad said, holding out his hand. Looking somewhat bemused, Cartwright shook it.

"Back from the dead, you say?" Cartwright said, turning back to Doctor Frasier.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Frasier indicated Dad and Sophia. "They can both pass for being alive. Quite easily, in fact. But their hearts aren't beating, their body temperatures are dropping, and most of their involuntary reflexes are absent. If it wasn't for the fact that they're not just conscious but walking and talking …" She let the sentence finish itself.

"I see." Cartwright looked more than a little disturbed. "So of course young Stafford imagined that you were perpetrating a zombie invasion upon us." He gave me an intense examination. "Well, young lady?"

"Well, uh, what?" I asked nervously.

"Are you attempting to start a zombie invasion?" he asked.

"No!" I protested. "I just wanted Dad and Sophia to be okay."

"A laudable goal." He turned from me to Dad. "Mr Hebert. Do you truly believe that you are dead?"

"I'm not sure what to believe," Dad confessed. "I was attacked in my own home by a bunch of men who beat and stabbed me to death, or so I'm told. My last recollection is of the fight starting. But since regaining consciousness, I've found my emotional responses to be somewhat flattened, I don't have a pulse, and breathing seems to be an optional extra for me. Everything I know says this is impossible. But we live in a world where the impossible merely takes a little longer."

"I still don't believe I'm dead." Sophia spoke up defiantly. "I feel great. Maybe I was just in a coma, and Taylor can heal people like Panacea can."

Doctor Frasier sighed. "Sophia, I examined you. You showed no signs of life, apart from the fact that you're walking and talking."

"There are several steps that need to be taken, post-haste." Cartwright clapped his hands together briskly. "First, I need to contact the PRT. Normally, we wouldn't worry them except pass on the word that someone triggered, no details needed. But I suspect that the Director will be most interested in knowing about someone who can bring back people from the dead, however temporarily."

Doctor Frasier nodded; I recalled her words about assisting the police with my power. "What else do we need to do, sir?"

"Well, then." Cartwright rubbed his chin, pinching the flesh together with his fingertips. "Once the PRT arrives, they will wish to take Miss Hebert away to their base where they can test her power; with her agreement, of course."

"Can I actually say no?" I asked dubiously. I didn't want Dad and Sophia tied down and dissected or something, just to test how effectively my power worked on their bodies. As Dad's next of kin, I figured I had the legal say over what happened to him. If Sophia's brother Terry didn't get here soon, however, the PRT might just decide to grab Sophia as both a parahuman and a raised person.

"Certainly," Cartwright said. "You've committed no crime, and any cooperation with them has to be by definition voluntary. You aren't a member of the Wards or the Protectorate, so they can't give you legal orders. What do you wish to do?"

"I … I guess, go home and get some sleep," I said. "Let me make it clear, spending time unconscious does not go toward sleep." I looked at Dad and Sophia. "I don't even know if you two even sleep any more. But there was also …" I trailed off.

Cartwright tilted his head. "There was also …?" he prompted.

Now I wished I hadn't said anything. "We were talking about testing my power on someone without any next of kin. A gang member. To see if everyone I brought back was friendly to me."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin again. "That makes a certain amount of sense. And one they would be hard-put to test at the PRT building, unless they have recently-deceased cadavers. Which, to be honest, I would not be surprised to find out." His gaze sharpened on me. "How many people can you raise at once?"

"At least two," I said truthfully. "More, I'd have to find out."

He nodded. "And can you cut the connection with someone once you've raised them?"

"What, make them normally dead again?" The idea sounded weird in my head, like pulling the plug on someone who was on life support but still capable of communication. "I guess. I don't want to try it on Dad or Sophia, in case I can't bring them back a second time."

"It would be a good idea to find out as early as possible," he suggested. "Before the number of people you have returned to life becomes untenable." He turned to the security guard. "Simon, secure that door."

"Yes, sir, Doctor Cartwright," responded the guard. He was as tall as Dad but a lot bulkier across the shoulders. Going to the door, he snapped the lock over then stood in front of the door, arms crossed.

"Uh, sir?" Doctor Frasier seemed almost tentative, in stark contrast to her earlier enthusiasm to perform tests with my power. "Are we sure this is a good idea? Health and safety regulations—"

"We have here a young lady who seems capable of returning the dead to a strong semblance of life," Cartwright interrupted. "It is in the best interests of the city that we determine immediately what the limits of her power are." His eyes gleamed. "And, just between us here, I've often wondered how I would fare as a mad scientist. But I shall deny I ever said that, if anyone repeats it."

"It's alive! It's alive!" quoted Dad, with a wry smile.

"Very much so," agreed Doctor Cartwright. "Now, then. Doctor Frasier, I believe I heard mention of a cadaver that had no known next of kin?"

"Yes, sir." Doctor Frasier pointed at a hatch several places down. "This one came in tonight."

"Good." Doctor Cartwright actually rubbed his hands together. "Open it up. We shall see if Miss Hebert can work her magic upon it, or if she has already reached her limit."

Obediently, Frasier opened the hatch then pulled on the drawer. It slid out on its rollers, then clunked to a stop. The man lying on the stainless steel looked like he'd had a hard life, then been beaten to death with something blunt. I looked at Dad. "Chair," he murmured.

So this was one of the men who'd gone to attack Dad. I didn't know how I felt about that. On the one hand, it was a perfect test of whether I could bring back someone I didn't know or didn't like from the dead (and this guy hit both categories dead centre). And on the other, it was an equally good test to see if people I brought back were automatically under my influence or not.

Thirdly, of course, it would be good to know if my power could handle three people at once. And fourthly (if that was a word) I wanted to know if I could return people I'd revived to a state of actually being dead. This guy was the embodiment of 'expendable' on all counts.

Slowly, I stepped up alongside the cadaver. In death, his features had relaxed, so he looked a little puzzled or confused, instead of angry. Dad had landed a good one across his head, so his skull was a little indented there. This would also be a good test of whether brain damage was a deal-breaker, I guessed.

"Okay, everyone, get ready," I said. "I'm gonna do this." Putting my hand on his arm, I concentrated on making him come back to life.

Nothing happened.

I tried again, visualising him sitting up.

Still nothing.

Recalling what I'd done when I brought back Dad and Sophia, I turned away from him and walked toward the door. I got all the way to Simon before I stopped and looked around.

The guy was still dead.

"Damn it," I muttered.

"Is there a problem?" asked Cartwright.

"It's not working," I said. "I don't know what I did before that made it work. I guess I thought wanting it to happen was enough."

Sophia and Dad raised their hands at the same time. I looked at them. "What?"

Dad looked at Sophia and nodded. She smirked. "Your eyes were glowing white then, not black."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Pissed off with myself for totally forgetting that important detail, I concentrated on shifting back into the shadow-realm vision. It came more easily than I'd expected. Around me, the world changed. Walls became translucent, while the two doctors and Simon were now animated skeletons topped by overbright lights. Dad and Sophia were unchanged, and the guy on the slab was a skeleton with ordinary lights twinkling and slowly dying in his head.

Marching back to the table, I put my hand on his arm. "Wake up, already," I said irritably.

This time, because I was paying attention, I felt the tiny ping that kicked the transformation over. The guy on the slab went from skeleton to gang member over the course of about two seconds, then he opened his eyes and sat up. "What the fuck?" he asked, then stared at me. "Fuck, you're that bitch the guys caught. The fuck are you doing with me?"

"Calm down," I said, trying to hit a soothing tone, while fighting the urge to beat crap out of him. Call me a bitch, will you? "Things have changed. A lot."

"Fuck off!" he yelled and kicked at me, but his foot swerved then came to a stop half an inch from my gut. "The fuck?"

This guy had a serious potty mouth, but we'd already answered a few questions. It also seemed that a lot of his aggression was instinctual rather than thought-out. Either that, or he'd had serious anger issues in life.

"Hey, assmunch!" Sophia flowed into position as the guy scrambled off the far side of the slab. "Do what you're told or I'll kick your ass!"

He lunged forward, swinging a punch at impressive speed. She went to shadow and let it whiff through her, then turned solid and hammered both fists into his kidneys.

Which did exactly nothing.

I watched him turn his gaze from Simon at the door to the two doctors. "C'mere, bitch!" he snapped, and darted toward the shorter of the two, whom I assumed to be Frasier.

Belatedly, I realised that when I was in this state, people I raised were faster and stronger. That included Merchant assholes. Of the two, Sophia was the superior combatant, but without her crossbows, she had to depend on hitting weak spots on the human body; being dead, the Merchant had none.

"Dad!" I shouted, being on the back foot. "Stop him!"

Just before the guy got to Doctor Frasier, Dad intercepted him. When last they'd fought, the guy'd had the advantage of numbers on his side. He'd also probably been high as a kite, so his pain tolerance would've been insane. Now, only the pain tolerance remained.

Dad was taller and had a longer reach, and while he wasn't as angry as he would've been, he was still determined. I'd seen that determination last long past any normal person's endurance, day after day, year after year, working minor miracles to keep the Dockworkers afloat.

They came together with a bone-crunching thud, Dad actually driving the guy back a step. As the doctors hurriedly backed off, the two clawed at each other, punching and ripping and tearing. The only sounds that came from their throats were the grunts of pure exertion; neither had time for words.

And then I remembered the other question we'd had. With a sigh of something resembling regret, I looked at the guy currently wrestling with my Dad and thought, no.

Instantly, the pseudo-life went out of him. He reverted to a glowing skeleton, falling to the floor. But instead of a faint constellation in his head, his brain was totally black. There was nothing there. I was pretty sure that I could never bring him back.

Dad stumbled a few steps forward, then looked down at his opponent and back up at me. "You do that, Taylor?" he asked, as calm as ever.

"Yeah." I shrugged. "Sorry. I should've thought of it earlier."

"Not to worry." He smiled as he came over and laid his hand on my shoulder. "That was just a little bit satisfying, to get my licks in again. I don't suppose you could bring him back for another round? I just thought of some more moves I could use on him."

I shook my head. "I don't think there's anything in there I can use anymore. He's dead-dead."

"Good." Sophia came over to us and gave the corpse a kick. It shifted, but only to roll over from the force of the blow. "I didn't realise that he wouldn't feel things like kidney punches."

"Yeah." I looked around at Doctor Frasier. "Looks like this has been a learning experience all round. You okay over there?"

Her supernova shifted back and forth in what I assumed was a nod. "Yes," she said in her hollow, echoing voice. "I had a bad moment there, but your father got in the way."

"We are definitely going to have to institute more stringent safety precautions if and when we try that again," Doctor Cartwright said, his voice equally distant. "Still, I think the information we've collected is very interesting."

I shifted my perspective back to the real world. Dad looked a little the worse for wear, but I told myself I'd fix his injuries once we got home and I'd have time to recuperate between sessions. "I'm sorry," I said to the room at large. "I thought he'd be more reasonable."

There was a banging on the door, and I jumped. So did the two doctors, and the security guard. Dad and Sophia merely turned to look at it. "Wow," I said to Sophia. "Your brother really wants to see you."

"I don't think that's—" she began.

Untouched from our side, the lock clicked over. The door opened. "PRT!" shouted an armoured trooper. "Step aside!" As Simon hastily obeyed, the trooper entered the room. He was followed by a second and a third.

"Ah, shit," muttered Sophia. Silently, I echoed her.

The PRT had arrived.


End of Part Seven

 

[Kitty S. Lillian]

(Traditional response to Ack story: I love it but you make me want more that isn't there yet!)

staring at her hand as it hung half an inch from my palm.

Click to shrink...

I didn't think "bitch-slap" was anything but face. Should that therefore be "half an inch from my cheek" [or other face-region bit]?

 

[Ack]

(Traditional response to Ack story: I love it but you make me want more that isn't there yet!)
I didn't think "bitch-slap" was anything but face. Should that therefore be "half an inch from my cheek" [or other face-region bit]?

Click to shrink...

Dang it. I meant face. Will fix.

 

[NavigatorNobilis]

Now, let's just hope the PRT responds with calm and reasona-snrk!

Yeah, no, I can't even type that with a straight face.

Hey Ack, when should I ready the next batch of popcorn for?

Ah screw it, it's salty air anyway; I'll just keep making and munching the stuff until the next update!

 

[Ack]

All Alone

Part Eight: What Zombie Apocalypse?

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


Taylor

Doctor Cartwright's shout cut across the room. "Stop right there! Identify yourselves! Are you aware of the situation? Is your armour sealed against infectious pathogens? Why did you open that door?"

As could be imagined, that brought the soldiers to a sudden halt. All three looked back at the doorway, which was currently occupied by the fourth soldier. The tableau froze for a few seconds, then the intern (Rodney, as I recalled) leaned in past the soldier and pointed at the gang member on the floor. "That's the one they were bringing back as a zombie!" he shouted.

"Mr Stafford!" thundered Dr Cartwright. "What is the meaning of this? Are you responsible for this intrusion?"

The trooper in front came to some sort of attention. "Lieutenant Grant, Parahuman Response Teams. We, uh, we were informed that there was a parahuman in this hospital who was raising dead people to create a zombie army." He looked around the room, at Doctor Frasier, then Dad, then Sophia, then finally me. "Miss, are you the parahuman he was talking about?"

I sighed. It looked like my secret identity was going to set a world record for brevity. "Yes, but not in the way that idiot seems to think."

"Those two were dead!" shouted Rodney from the door, pointing at Dad and Sophia. "They're zombies, I'm telling you!"

Sophia sneered and gave him the finger.

"Mr Stafford. Raise your voice one more time and you will be facing a disciplinary board." Dr Cartwright's tone was implacable. "You are already skating on very thin ice." He turned to the soldier. "We were just about to contact you with a more complete account of the situation," —his eye sought out Rodney once more— "but this young man seems to have jumped the gun with wild and completely inaccurate accusations."

"I see." It was impossible to determine the trooper's expression from the sound of his voice, but at least I hadn't been shot or covered in containment foam so far. "Is there a pathogen hazard in this room?"

"As far as I am aware, no," Cartwright conceded. "However, before you so precipitately entered, you had no way of knowing it was safe. This is a hospital and you had been made aware that there was a parahuman involved. There could have been anything in the air in here."

"And my report will reflect that," agreed Grant. "However; moving on. Can the young lady actually raise zombies from the dead?" His helmet turned until I could see a distorted reflection of my face in the visor, dead-black eyes and all. "And is she capable of turning that effect off?"

"No, she can't raise zombies," I snarked, my patience finally driven to an end. "And she can only change 'that effect' from one mode to another. She is also present in this room, and she can both hear and understand every word the Lieutenant is saying. Perhaps he could be so courteous as to address his questions to me instead of speaking as though I'm not even here?"

He cleared his throat, sounding a little embarrassed. "My apologies, miss. Why do you think that man claimed you were raising a zombie army?"

I had to give him credit. While I couldn't see his face, he didn't sound as though he was so much as cracking a smile. Of course, he undoubtedly had recording equipment going, so bursting out in laughter would probably not be good for his career.

"Because he's an idiot who didn't bother listening to a word I said," I said with a sigh. "I can kind of wake up people who died not long ago, but they aren't zombies." With the last two words, I glared at Rodney.

"Excuse me for sounding ignorant, miss, but would you mind defining the difference?" As Lieutenant Grant asked the question, I noted that he hadn't actually lowered his weapon very far. It would only take a few degrees of elevation and a twitch of his finger to cover me in containment foam.

Dad took that one up. "According to popular culture, zombies aren't very smart and usually have a taste for brains. Or at least, human flesh. Since my daughter reanimated me, I've experienced no indication of being hungry at all, much less any desire to be cannibalistic." He raised his eyebrows toward the officer. "As for my intelligence, feel free to test that at your leisure."

"And even if I was looking to chow down on some asshole's brainmeats, I'd skip that moron," sniped Sophia with a gesture at Rodney that became a middle finger raised in his direction. "He's so stupid, I'd end up hungrier than when I started."

Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Sophia. Not helping."

"Hey!" objected Rodney. "I'm not—"

"Mr Stafford." Dr Cartwright broke in, his tone freezing. "Go and mop the west wing corridors. Speak to nobody about this. I'm invoking patient confidentiality. Do you understand?"

"Uh, which corridors?" asked Rodney. "There's five floors—"

"Did I perhaps stutter?" Dr Cartwright raised his voice slightly. "All of them. Simon, go with him. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere else."

"Yes, Doctor Cartwright," responded the burly security guard.

I felt a little bad for Rodney as he left the room with Simon in tow, but not that bad. If he'd had his way, the PRT would've come in guns blazing (or at the least, containment foam spraying) and I would've been on the way to a holding cell right at that moment. Or a body bag.

The last thing I wanted was anyone creating panic over a hypothetical invasion of the undead, when it was really nothing of the sort.

"So the young man was correct, sir, and you … were dead?" Lieutenant Grant's voice hitched slightly, as if he wasn't quite sure about what he was saying.

"I suspect I still am, son." Dad threw in a warm chuckle, probably in an effort to put the guys with guns at ease. "Doctor Cartwright there says that I have no pulse and that my body temperature is gradually dropping. I personally feel no need to breathe, and I'm feeling no pain from any of my injuries."

"And you say your daughter brought you back? Are you sure it's not a high-end level of healing, like Panacea can do?" Lieutenant Grant certainly didn't want to let go of the point. Of course, phrases like 'back from the dead' tended to be met with a certain level of incredulity. "Or perhaps you've triggered with a power like Aegis has."

"If it's healing, then it's very idiosyncratic," Dad pointed out. "No pulse. No respiration. And if I've got a power to avoid having to do that, then the young lady here has the same power. I'll let her explain how impossible that is."

"Impossible?" asked Grant. "How is it impossible? I've heard of people getting the same power from the same event before."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "It's impossible," she said bluntly, "because I'm already a damn cape."

That definitely pulled him up short. Neither Dad nor I had much knowledge of powers in general, and this was the first time I'd ever heard the term 'trigger' in reference to getting them, but pop culture was pretty firm on the fact that capes couldn't just spontaneously manifest a new ability at the drop of a hat.

Well, someone like Eidolon could, but that was one of the things that made him so cool. Most capes were stuck with the powers that they started out with. Just getting a new one at random wasn't even in the ballpark of possibility. I got the impression Lieutenant Grant knew a lot more about this stuff than me and Dad, but it didn't seem like he had a good argument for that.

"Alright," he said after a moment. "Let's assume for the time being that you are in some way allowing your father and your friend to act as though they're alive when they're actually dead." He pointed at the gang member. "Who is that, and why's he on the floor?"

Dr Cartwright cleared his throat. "That … was by way of being an experiment. He's a member of the Merchants with no next of kin, who was involved in the murder of the young lady's father. He was killed in the attack, and I suggested that we determine the limits of her resurrection ability. It turns out that one, people come back with much the same personality and values that they died with … and two, she can withdraw her influence from them at any time, returning them to a state of normal death."

"Because that's not creepy at all," Sophia said, just loudly enough for the PRT soldiers to hear.

"Again, Sophia, not helping," I grumbled.

She smirked at me. "Hey, I just calls 'em as I sees 'em."

Lieutenant Grant cleared his throat, possibly to cover a chuckle. "Be that as it may, is there a time limit on how long someone has to be dead before it's impossible to wake them up again?"

I waved at Dad and Sophia, then at the mook on the floor. "Three people, in the last half hour, and they were my first attempt. Now you know as much as I do about it. The longer dead they are, the less I've got to work with."

"But you can fix 'em," Sophia piped up, poking at the scar in her side. "Maybe even if their brains have gone all mooshy. Bring 'em back up to scratch."

"And what if that's actually how I make a zombie? No memories, no personality." I shook my head. "I wouldn't want to do that to anyone."

"Merchants have personalities?" Sophia scratched her head and looked dubious. "You sure about that?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose again. "Sorry about that," I mumbled in the general direction of Lieutenant Grant. "It appears that dying and coming back did nothing to help the negative aspects of her personality."

"Think nothing of it." He sounded just a little amused, this time. "Do you have any idea of your range?"

"I was touching them to do it, but I don't know if that's the only way it works." I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. "Seriously, I only got my powers half an hour ago."

"Okay, that's something we can look into," he said. "But what I meant was, how far can one of your raised people get from you before the effect stops working?"

"Ah." My eyes widened. That was definitely a worry. "I don't know. And I'm not testing it out with Dad or Sophia, either."

"Ah, of course." Dr Cartwright snapped his fingers. "The possibility that hitting your limit has the same irrevocable effect as withdrawing your power. I totally understand."

"Well, I don't." Lieutenant Grant looked from Cartwright to me. "Would one of you like to explain?"

I grimaced. "When I'm in 'waking the dead' mode, I can kind of see into the heads of dead people. They've got sparks in them which I guess is the last living cells. I use those to wake them up. If I deliberately cut ties with someone I've brought back, there's no spark there. Nothing to grab."

"Well, that's new information," Dr Cartwright mused. "Doctor Frasier, was there anything you wanted to ask?"

"Uh, no, no," the other doctor said hastily, shaking her head. "I'm out of my depth already."

Lieutenant Grant half-raised his left hand. "Well, I have a couple more. What's 'waking the dead' mode and how is it different from what you're doing now? And if dead people have sparks, what do living people look like?"

I took a deep breath. "Don't freak. I'm going to change my appearance a little." I gave Grant a few moments to nod in acknowledgement, then I pushed myself back into shadow mode. I couldn't see the change in my own eyes, of course, but the minute changes in posture of the three PRT soldiers was clear enough to see. I suspected that their jaws may have dropped slightly, but the supernovas that glared at me through the shadows of their helmets made that impossible to determine.

I was beginning to get a handle on this sort of thing. From the feeling of renewed vigour in this mode, I got the impression that dropping into normal vision let me regain strength for doing stuff in the shadow mode.

"Hey, Danny, you feel any different?" asked Sophia, glancing at her hands.

"Now that you mention it, yes," Dad said. He cupped his chin with one hand, holding his elbow with the other. "When Taylor's eyes are glowing, I feel more … complete."

"Yeah, I think I'm more in touch with my powers this way," I confirmed. Concentrating, I tried to ask myself how far away my father and new best friend could go from me without risking a cutoff. Everything I'd ever heard about capes said that they had at least an idea of the capabilities of their powers, after all.

The answer came not in words, but via an impression. I knew, somehow, that my range for maintaining those I reanimated was at least citywide, maybe even covering a good chunk of the state. Glancing at Lieutenant Grant, I made the conscious decision not to pass on that information. Dr Cartwright didn't really need to know either. Letting them both assume it was shorter than that would hopefully reduce the chance of someone (specifically, the local PRT Director) reflexively deciding that I was a problem that needed to be dealt with.

"You wanted to know what it looks like?" I said to Lieutenant Grant instead, spreading my hands. "This is it."

"I see." In contrast to Dad and Sophia, his voice was hollow and echoing like the last time I'd been in this mode. "Are there any, less visible, changes?"

Oh yeah, he was definitely getting all the information he could, which was his job. Still, there was no harm in giving him something that anyone in the hospital could tell him if he asked. "When I came in," I said carefully, "I'd been severely beaten up. When these powers happened … triggered, whatever … everything healed up. I'm still missing a couple of teeth, but the ones that had been loose are better now, the broken bones aren't broken anymore, and the cuts and swelling and burns and stuff have all gone away. I'm not sure if it's a one-time thing or if doing this change lets me heal stuff like that. Also, I'm a bit stronger than I am in the other mode. Not lift-a-truck strong—at least, I don't think so—but definitely break-a-door-handle strong."

Grant nodded, as though he were taking mental notes. Given how professional he'd been to this point, he probably was. "It seems you've got a minor Brute rating then. Do you know if you're resistant to damage, in this mode?"

"Well, it's not as though I'm going to be experimenting," I said bluntly. "But I don't think so."

Somehow, I suspected not. My main source of danger, being anyone I reanimated who didn't like me, couldn't hit me. I wondered if that extended to weapons, and decided that I should have Sophia test this out at the earliest possible opportunity. Better to find out the hard way than the harder way.

"Understood." He nodded. "Would you be amenable to coming down to the PRT building so that we can perform more tests on your powers?"

"Nope." I was already saying the word before Sophia started performing vigorous horizontal scissoring motions with her hands. It seemed we were both on the same page as far as that was concerned. "You seem reasonable, but I have no idea who's in that building, and whether they might take it on themselves to decide that the walking dead people aren't actually humans with rights anymore, and why don't we dissect one or both to find out what makes them tick?" I stared at the glare where his brain was. "Hard pass, thanks."

Maybe he sighed a little; I couldn't tell. "Understood. Would you have any problem with supplying me with your name and other information?"

"Yeah, she would," Sophia said, stepping forward. "As of the moment she got powers, she was working under a secret identity. Her handing that name over to you automatically puts the PRT into the loop of people who are allowed to know it, and can use it against her."

"But you have to know we can find out in ten minutes, just by looking into hospital records." Lieutenant Grant didn't sound as though he could figure out where she was coming from.

Sophia sounded a lot more sure of herself. "Yeah, you can. But this way you aren't on the list of people who are automatically cleared to use that information. So if you do, we kick up a stink and you guys take a PR hit. And we both know who'll take the fall on that one."

"More to the point, the last thing the PRT wants is a local hero calling them out on bullshit like that." Dad spoke with authority on the subject, though I wanted to giggle when he used the word 'bullshit'. Still, it served to get the PRT lieutenant's attention, which was probably the main intention.

"So I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it," I finished. I didn't really need to stay in the shadow state, so I let myself lapse back to the normal world. "Doctor Cartwright?"

The doctor nodded, picking up on my meaning immediately. "The young lady's medical records are personal and private," he said sternly. "Unless you have an immediate and pressing need to obtain them that does not relate to her status as a parahuman then you will cease and desist with any such enquiries. Is that entirely clear?"

Lieutenant Grant nodded, a little reluctantly. "Totally," he said, though I privately bet he wanted to say absolutely anything else. Walking out with my name, face and total life history to date would've been a huge feather in his metaphorical cap.

Nobody moved or spoke for a moment, then I cleared my throat. "So, now that we've clarified the lack of a zombie outbreak, was there anything else I could help you with, Lieutenant Grant?"

He paused, no doubt looking for an excuse to hang around, but eventually had to shake his head. "No," he admitted. Turning, he nodded to the soldiers behind him, who backed up out of the room. About to step out through the doorway, he paused and turned. "Do you have a cape name I can use in my report?"

"Will you guys hold me to it if I decide to change it later?" I asked warily. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck with a stupid name chosen on the spur of the moment.

"Not really, no. All you'd really have to do in that case is let us know you're rebranding." His tone was encouraging.

"Okay, then. Uh …" I paused in thought.

There were any number of names I could use based around the concept of zombies or raising the (un)dead, and they were universally horrible if I wanted to present as a hero. Besides, despite the fact that Dad and Sophia had been killed, I didn't think of them as dead. Not really, anyway. Nobody who was dead could muster as much snark as Sophia could.

"Okay, how about Animator?" I asked. It sounded nice and harmless, but it described what I did pretty well exactly, if a little misleadingly.

It seemed Lieutenant Grant could see what I'd done, because he paused for a beat before he nodded. "Animator it is," he confirmed. "I'll pass that on." A moment later, he was gone.

I leaned back against a table, letting out a long sigh. "Okay, that could've gone a lot worse," I muttered.

"I agree," Dad said. "That young man panicking like he did had the potential for making serious problems for you."

"It still might," noted Dr Frasier. "Certainly, he left without making a fuss. But do you honestly think the PRT won't make an effort to get information about you and your powers? Being able to bring people back from the dead, even temporarily, is a game-changer. Can you imagine this power in the hands of a gang member? If one of his fellow gangers gets killed, he can put him straight back in the field, tougher than ever."

"Worse," Sophia said. "The more he went on, the more members would be reanimated. I still don't feel hungry or even tired, so a bunch of guys who don't need to sleep or eat, and who are minor Brutes at least part of the time? That's kind of scary."

"But I need to sleep," I objected. "What if you shut down when I'm out to it? That's basically the same as sleeping." I didn't voice my other fear; that when I went to sleep, my power would shut off and 'kill' Dad and Sophia all over again.

Leaving me all alone, with nobody in the world I could turn to.

"Somehow, I doubt it," mused Dad. "The protective capability that prevents us from harming you makes me wonder if it's there to protect you from someone you've animated while you're asleep." He heaved a sigh, which required him to take a breath before he did so. "In any case, you do need to get some sleep, so we should go home." He looked at Dr Cartwright. "How do we go about signing ourselves out? Sophia and myself are undoubtedly written down somewhere as deceased, and from the way Taylor was talking earlier, she was pretty beat-up too."

"Actually, my mom and brother were coming in to pick me up," Sophia reminded us. "But yeah, how do you walk out the front door when you're in the system as 'dead'?"

"I'll pull the files and mark them 'no further action; parahuman involvement'," Cartwright assured us. "Also, I will speak with young Mr Stafford and explain to him in words of one syllable or less that shouting about a zombie outbreak in the middle of a crowded hospital is perhaps the least career-enhancing choice he can make." Looking at the three of us, he cracked a slight smile. "I'll try to keep the incidence of pitchforks and torches to a minimum for you."

Sophia snorted with amusement. "Thanks, doc. You're okay in my book." She slugged him lightly on the shoulder as she headed for the door.

Dad paused though, and looked down at himself. "Uh … would it be possible to get cleaner clothing? I look like someone who's been on the wrong side of a car accident." He nodded toward Sophia and myself. "You two could probably do with a change-up as well. The Merchants didn't do you any favours."

"I can do that," Dr Frasier offered. "We have clothing donated for just this sort of thing, when people don't have something worth wearing in public."

"Bring them to my office," Dr Cartwright told her as she headed for the door. "We have no need to wait around in here any longer." He glanced down at the dead Merchant on the floor. "And while you're at it, send someone to put that man back on the drawer."

"We can do that," Dad said. "Sophia?"

"Sure," she said, and looked over at me. "A little boost there?"

"Oh, uh, right," I said hastily, pushing back into the shadow realm. I'd totally forgotten Dad's comments earlier about feeling more like himself when I was in this mode.

"Now, that's more like it." Dad leaned over the dead man and grabbed him under the shoulders, while Sophia got his feet. "One … two … three … go." It was kind of weird how there wasn't even a grunt of effort from either one; just a straight lift and sideways movement that put the guy back on his resting place. Dad arranged the corpse's arms, and that was it.

"Oh, yeah," crowed Sophia, bending her arm and clenching her fist; a moment later, I realised she was flexing her bicep. "That's what I'm talkin' about. I am so gonna kick ass like this."

"Really?" I asked. "That's what got us into this mess in the first place. How about we take this one step at a time until we know what we're doing?"

"Pfft." Sophia's voice was derisive. "'One step at a time' is for wimps. 'Jump in feet first' is my motto."

"Yes, I noticed," Dad said very dryly as we headed for the door. "That's the course of action that nearly got Taylor killed, and did get both of us killed. Maybe we should consider an alternate way of doing things? One that's less likely to get her hurt? Given that she's the only thing keeping us alive right now?"

Yeah, Dad, I thought as my heart thudded painfully in my chest. Just remind me of that, why don't you? No matter what happened from here on in, I had a responsibility to Dad and Sophia both; if I died, so did they.

"She doesn't have to come along on the ass-kicking," she retorted. "I can do it alone just fine. Especially now that I'm shitloads tougher and stronger than I was before. And hey, the only thing that'll take me down now is a brain shot. Anything else will just piss me off. Kind of like what Aegis can do."

"Hey, if you think I'm gonna sit at home and fix your injuries every time you come home with a knife in your spleen, you might wanna reconsider that," I said firmly. "That shit takes a lot out of me."

"I'll be fine," she insisted. "Hey, I wonder if you can make me regrow fingers or eyes or shit."

"I doubt it," I said. "If it's anything like the regeneration I did when I got the powers, it just heals stuff over. I've still got missing teeth from where those assholes were whaling on me."

We entered Dr Cartwright's office and he waved us to chairs. "Make yourselves comfortable," he said. "I'd offer you coffee, but I don't know who drinks it, or even which of you can drink it anymore."

"God dammit," muttered Sophia. "I knew there was a catch to this back-from-the-dead shit. Hey, doc, just make me a cup, will you? I just wanna see if I can drink it anyway."

"I'll have one too, please," I said, then caught Dad raising his eyebrows at me. "Hey, I know I prefer tea, but right now I need a pick-me-up. Besides, I want to see if I can fix the rest of the damage those bastards did to you, and I know that's gonna knock me around."

"That's as good a reason as any," agreed Cartwright as he busied himself at the coffee machine.

Focusing on my power again, I asked it what happened when I fell asleep. Once again, the answer wasn't in words, but I got the impression that so long as my brain was functional, Dad and Sophia wouldn't suffer any ill effects. Oh. Good. That was a huge weight off my shoulders.

My other problem was one that didn't seem to have an immediate solution. When my power was active, my eyes glowed white, or so people told me. When it was passive, they were engulfed in blackness. There seemed to be no middle ground, no off-switch. This would make maintaining a secret identity nigh-on impossible. I briefly considered the idea of getting a pair of huge wrap-around sunglasses, but shook my head as I thought more about it. In public, that might work; in class, not so much.

Unless … I dropped my vision back into the normal world. "Uh, Dad, what do you think about me pulling out of school?"

Both Dad and Dr Cartwright turned toward me. "I'm not in favour of the idea on general principles," Dad said, "but in this instance you may well have a workable excuse. What do you think, Doctor?"

"I think, at the very least, staying home for a week or so with the excuse of having been mugged, would not be beyond the bounds of probability," the doctor mused. "If you intend to go out as a hero, then that will also be an ideal time to start planning your costume as well as taking any training you might wish to get. First aid, at the very least."

"But after that, my secret will be out, won't it?" I couldn't imagine any other scenario. There was no way I could walk into school and not have people realise there was something strange going on with my eyes, and that was if I was in normal-vision mode. In shadow-world mode, I would stand out like a car with its high-beams on, and for much the same reason.

"Unless we can figure out how to make your eyes look normal, yes." Dad reached across and took my hand. "But we'll get through this together. I promise."

There was a knock on the office door at the same time as his desk phone rang. "Come in!" he called out, then picked up the phone. "Hello, Cartwright here."

The office door opened to reveal Dr Frasier, holding a stack of folded clothing. "I got these—oh, sorry."

Cartwright gestured for her to come in as he kept talking. "Who, sorry? A Mrs Hess? I don't—"

At that moment, Sophia waved to get his attention. She pointed at herself and mouthed, 'That's my mom.'

"—ah, of course, yes," he said. "Send her to my office. She'll have a young man with her? And a child? Yes, send them all up. Good. Thank you."

Slowly, he put the phone down again, then he closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a long, slow sigh. "Ah, thank you," he said to Dr Frasier as he opened his eyes again. "Just leave them on the desk. I'm going to be … busy, for awhile."

"Yes, Doctor Cartwright." Giving him a sympathetic look, she did as he instructed, then left his office, closing the door quietly behind her.

I could understand the sympathy. Also, what had inspired it. One of the very worst parts of being a doctor would have to be telling someone's loved ones that their father or mother or son or daughter would not be making it. Dr Cartwright's job would be ten times as hard; how to explain to Sophia's mother that her daughter had been killed, even though she was standing there right in front of us all? Worse, that Sophia's semblance of life was entirely dependent on me?

To distract myself, I started sorting through the clothes. The ones meant for Dad I figured out pretty quickly, and handed them to him. The others were pretty well much of a muchness, so I gave one set to Sophia and resigned myself to pulling in the belt thoughtfully provided in order to make the other pair of jeans stay up.

And then, there was a knock on the office door. Dr Cartwright looked around at each of us. I nodded, as did Dad. Sophia looked like she wanted to phase out through the wall, but after a long hesitation, she went over and opened the door instead.

"Hi, Mom."

Almost immediately, she was wrapped up in a ferocious hug by an older woman; even from where I was, I could see the resemblance. The teenage boy who stepped into the office around them—maybe eighteen or nineteen, from what I could see—was carrying a kid of one or two, who looked like she was just waking up from a nap, rubbing her fists in her eyes and yawning. She looked adorable.

"What's going on, Sophia?" her mother scolded. "We were worried sick! Why did you call from a hospital? Are you hurt?" She looked down at Sophia's blood-stained and scissor-cut top, and her blood-soaked pants. "Oh, my god! How bad is it?"

"Mom, chill." Sophia pushed the office door closed. "It's, uh … it's kind of unique. Yeah, unique is a good word for it. There's bad news and there's good news." She tried to guide her mother to a chair. "You'd, uh, you'd better sit down for this."

I stood up from my chair, and offered it to the older boy. "You too. Hi, my name's Taylor. Who's the little one?"

He stared at my face for long enough that I began to wonder if I had something on my nose, then I realised that my eyes were still strange. Then he took in Dad's obvious signs of battle, and silently sat down. In his lap, the infant started looking around more alertly. "I'm Terry," he murmured. "This is Annabel. What's going on?"

"Long, long story," I replied, just as quietly. "Brace yourself. Nothing's going to be the same again." I knew that was true for me as well.

"Unique? What do you mean, 'unique'?" Mrs Hess' voice rose in pitch, and she turned to Dr Cartwright. "Doctor! Who are these people? What does Sophia mean, unique? What's going on here?"

Dr Cartwright moved up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Ma'am, I really think you need to sit down. This will come as a shock to your system."

She brushed his hand aside. "That she's been going out as a superhero? I already knew that. I didn't like it, but I knew it." She glanced at me. "Is that girl your sidekick, or whatever they call them?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, I tried not to feel insulted. I wasn't a sidekick … was I? As Night Girl, I'd been … well, basically Sophia's apprentice … oh, crap. I was a sidekick, wasn't I?

"Mom, it's worse than that." Sophia took hold of her mother's arm and tried to ease her down into the seat. "Please, sit down."

I blinked, as did Terry. It seemed that neither of us was used to Sophia saying 'please'.

"Why?" Mrs Hess' voice rose even louder. "Will someone tell me what's going on here?"

I opened my mouth to say something, as did Dad. Dr Cartwright tried to say something soothing, but Sophia spoke over all of us. "Mom, I'm dead."

As I'd heard Dad say once when he thought I wasn't in earshot, that cut through the shit. Silence fell over the office, broken only by the sound of Sophia's mother sitting down in the chair. Her dark complexion gone several shades paler, she stared at Sophia. "What do you mean?" she whispered.

Sophia set her jaw, clearly intending to finish what she'd started. "I mean, I was shot tonight, and died shortly after getting to this hospital." Her voice was firm and sharp, brooking no interruptions. "I died. Just like Mr Hebert over there died, after being attacked in his home by a bunch of Merchants." She gestured toward Dad.

As if it were on a mechanical swivel, Mrs Hess' head turned toward him. He nodded to confirm Sophia's words. "This is all true."

Sophia's mother reached up and clutched her daughter's hand. "This can't be true," she insisted. "It can't."

"Mom, it happened." Sophia crouched down beside her. "I wish it hadn't happened, but it's true." She put her arm around her mother's shoulders.

"All right, who's the girl with the skull eyes?" the older woman asked, gesturing at me. I supposed the description wasn't totally unfair. "Is she dead too? Or is she supposed to be some sick version of Death, and she's just given me one more time to talk to you?" I could tell from the tone of her voice that she didn't want to listen, and was throwing out the question to deflect from what she'd heard already.

"No," I said quietly. "I'm the one who brought them back." I took a deep breath. "I've known Sophia for awhile—"

"I knew it!" shouted Mrs Hess. "You're the one who started my Sophia going out and beating up people, aren't you? You capes, so violent, setting my little girl such a bad example—"

"Mom, shut up!" Sophia shouted right back. As a tactic it worked, but I could tell it wouldn't hold for long. Sophia clearly did as well, because she kept talking, though she lowered her voice because little Annabel was starting to fuss. "She didn't set me a bad example! I set her one! I took her out with me without really training her, and she didn't even have powers then! She nearly got killed because of me! I had to rescue her, and that's when I got shot!" She pulled aside the mangled shirt to show her mother the bullet scar. "Right there."

"That's not new." Mrs Hess shook her head. "That's not tonight." She grimaced, looking at it. "When did that happen?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" snapped Sophia. She looked around, then spotted a pair of scissors on a side table. With two quick strides, she grabbed them up and opened them to get a better angle. I already knew what she was going to do, and so did Dad. Sophia's mother and brother were less ready for what happened next.

"Shit, Sophia, be careful!" blurted Terry. Then he stared, mouth open, as she shoved the metal blade right through her hand and out the other side. Her mother's mouth just fell open as she fought for words.

"I'm dead," Sophia repeated in a harsh tone. "You see blood? No? That's because my heart isn't beating. I'm not breathing." Slowly, she moved her hand around so that the impalement was fully visible. Then she pulled the scissors from her flesh. There was actually a thin sheen of blood on them now, but I figured that to be left over from when she'd been alive.

"Sophia?" Her mother's voice was almost a sob. "What did you just do?"

Sophia handed the scissors to Dr Cartwright. "I'm proving a point. Taylor?" Turning so that her mother and brother could see, she extended her hand to me.

I cleared my throat. "Okay, then. Don't be alarmed. I've actually done this before." Taking a deep breath, I pushed through into the shadow realm. Sophia and Dad came through with me, of course. Dr Cartwright and Sophia's family became skeletons with supernovas for heads. Reaching out, I took Sophia's hand, making sure that the fresh hole was visible to all concerned. Then I pushed energy into it, willing it to heal. It was actually less of an effort than the other one, probably because it was a more trivial injury. But it was no less impressive than before, not least because the injury had been deliberate.

When there was just a shiny scar on both sides of her hand, I let it go and transitioned back to the real world. Sophia showed her mother her hand. "See? I'm not alive. Taylor brought me and her dad back. I told you, it's a unique situation."

Grabbing her hand, Mrs Hess studied the scar suspiciously. "So she can heal people …?"

"No," I said patiently. "I can bring back people who have died, and I can repair their injuries. That's my power. I'm sorry. I can let her walk around, but I can't make her alive again. That's on me." Especially since I'm the one who got them both killed. That guilt was going to last me for the rest of my life.

Silence fell over the office, apart from the burblings of the kid. Once Terry got her settled, he looked up at me, his face drawn. "Jesus," he muttered.

I flinched violently. "Please don't make this a religious thing."

"No, no," he said hastily. "I was just saying it. It's a lot to take in. My sister's a—"

"If you say the 'Z' word, I will kick your ass," Sophia threatened.

"I was going to say 'superhero'," he snarked back at her. "But how does this work? How do we even get past this? Where do we go from here?"

I sighed. "And those are just some of the questions I'm dealing with right now."


End of Part Eight

 

[Simonbob]

"I'm not Jesus! I can't even walk on water!"

 

[doomlord9]

"I'm not Jesus! I can't even walk on water!"

Click to shrink...

Also his impressive achievement was SELF-ressurection, Taylor can only half-ass it and res other people.

 

[edale]

Dad paused though, and looked down at himself. "Uh … would it be possible to get cleaner clothing? I look like someone who's been on the wrong side of a car accident."

Click to shrink...

I find Danny mentioning a car accident so nonchalantly to be a bit OOC, given how Annette died.

Maybe "I look like someone who's been on the wrong side of a train wreck" instead?

Also his impressive achievement was SELF-resurrection, Taylor can only half-ass it and res other people.

Click to shrink...

Jesus rezzed other people as well, Lazarus comes to mind.

 

[Ack]

I find Danny mentioning a car accident so nonchalantly to be a bit OOC, given how Annette died.

Maybe "I look like someone who's been on the wrong side of a train wreck" instead?
Jesus rezzed other people as well, Lazarus comes to mind.

Click to shrink...

Danny's emotions are a little flattened. His legendary temper is now only serious irritation.

He can make that comparison now (especially considered that he's dead too).

 

[Scopas]

Geez, this is good.

I wonder if the dead are imperfect shard copies? Or, perhaps more like programs being run on a shard-based emulator. Glad that I found another Ack story to follow.

 

[Diraniola]

Probably the most interesting bit to me is that the people Taylor animates still seem to have full use of their powers. Imagine her right next to Panacea at an endbringer fight. Every casualty is brought to the same place, living or dead, and every one of them go back out ready to fight.

Also, from the way her power is described, she can probably kill people as easily as she brings them back, and maybe with experience de-animate them more gently to leave them able to be brought back again.

 

[Ack]

Probably the most interesting bit to me is that the people Taylor animates still seem to have full use of their powers. Imagine her right next to Panacea at an endbringer fight. Every casualty is brought to the same place, living or dead, and every one of them go back out ready to fight.

Also, from the way her power is described, she can probably kill people as easily as she brings them back, and maybe with experience de-animate them more gently to leave them able to be brought back again.

Click to shrink...

She can't kill people who are whole and alive (yet, anyway). As for gently de-animating people ... that's gonna be a very long work in progress. Who exactly is gonna volunteer for that?

 

[Prince Charon]

She can't kill people who are whole and alive (yet, anyway). As for gently de-animating people ... that's gonna be a very long work in progress. Who exactly is gonna volunteer for that?

Click to shrink...

Can she animate non-human animals?

 

[Ack]

Can she animate non-human animals?

Click to shrink...

I hadn't actually considered that, one way or the other.

 

[Prince Charon]

I hadn't actually considered that, one way or the other.

Click to shrink...

It's something I could see her trying at some point, whether it works or not.

 

[Ack]

All Alone

Part Nine: Determinations

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: The PHO segment was created using @Conceptualist's PHO generator.]
[A/N 3: It's been awhile since I posted to this one, so here's a rundown on her power.]

Spoiler: Taylor's Power

Taylor has a Striker/Breaker power that manifests in two modes. Both modes cause outward physical alterations to her appearance.

The first mode is what she calls the 'shadow realm'. In this mode, her eyesockets are filled with a bright white glow. To her, the world is full of darkness. People appear as animated skeletons with supernovas for brains. Deceased people show the lights slowly going out. Objects are visible to her, but only via an analogue to X-ray vision (she can actually see through walls). People's voices are audible, but distant and with the suggestion of echoes.

In addition, this is the mode where she can raise people, and heal injuries in the ones she's raised (either way, this requires physical contact). Either act drains her of energy, especially if they were dead awhile or the injuries were comprehensive. Those people she has raised are faster and stronger while she's in this mode (she's actively feeding them energy). Their emotions are somewhat flattened, though they're fully aware of what's going on. She's also stronger, and has flattened emotions (and can heal her own injuries) in this mode.

People she has raised are the exception to her sight and hearing problems in this mode. She can see and hear them perfectly normally. They are also still of the same mindset as when they died. She cannot control the people she raises, but they are unable to perform any deliberate act that might harm her. If she makes the conscious decision to cut them off from her power, they cease to be animated and their brain loses all lights (does not require physical contact). Which means she can't reanimate them.

In addition, people she has raised have no heartbeat, don't need to breathe and slowly lose body temperature.

Capes she has raised can use their powers normally when she is in either mode.

The second mode is the 'real world' mode. In this one, her eyesockets are full of darkness, but she can see normally. She can't use her powers actively, and people she has raised are of normal strength and speed. Their emotions are less flattened in this mode as well. The main advantages of this mode are that she can regain energy just by resting, and she can see properly.

If she stays in the shadow realm mode for too long and uses up too much energy, she starts involuntarily flickering back to the real world mode until she transitions back deliberately.

Deputy Director Renick

"… and that was it for the interview. I'll write up my report in full once I get back to base."

"Understood," Renick replied. "Good work, Lieutenant. Now for your personal impressions. Do you consider that the girl or the people she reanimated might be a danger to the city?"

"No, I didn't get that vibe, sir. The man was forthright and calm, the other girl she'd animated was a little confrontational and snarky—that is, typical teenager—and the girl herself seemed tired and just over the whole thing. They spoke quite candidly about the lack of typical horror-movie zombie symptoms. I could walk past any one of them on the street and not see anything amiss. Apart from the eyes, of course."

"Yes. The eyes." Renick sighed. That's going to play hell with her secret identity if she can't turn that effect off. "You say that sunglasses won't help?"

"The effect covers the whole eyesocket in either situation and the light is rather bright, sir. One of our helmets might do it, but anything less would have as much effect as putting a domino mask on a Case Fifty-Three."

"Understood." The poor kid was doomed to being an open cape, and there was only one thing he could really do about it. "Do you think she might be amenable to joining the Wards?" Every warm body helped, after all.

Tellingly, Grant hesitated. "I … don't know, sir. It's possible, I guess. We can give her cover that nobody else can, and the very last thing we want is a power like that in one of the gangs. I just didn't want to make the attempt and push her away by saying the wrong thing. Also, can a parent actually make legal decisions about their child when they're technically deceased?"

Renick chuckled darkly. "That, Lieutenant, is a question I think the legal department is going to be pulling their hair out over." And they weren't going to be the only ones. Image is going to pitch a pink fit when they find out about her. A girl who raises not-zombies from the recently deceased. How do you even spin something like that?

That they'd try, he had no doubt. The Protectorate and Wards had borne witness to many a success story by the Image department, so they'd probably come in with full confidence that they had it in the bag. With the unique challenge presented by this girl's powers, even if she were willing to give them a chance, he wasn't at all certain of their success.

It would probably be highly entertaining while it lasted, though.

He spoke a little more with Lieutenant Grant, then ended the call. With another sigh, he set about typing up a preçis of the call for Emily when she arrived in the morning. How she was going to react to this, he wasn't sure. He was just glad that it wasn't going to be his problem.

<><>​

Taylor

"Let me see that again," Terry said, reaching for Sophia's hand.

"Get off!" she retorted, snatching it away. "Just because I stuck scissors through it doesn't mean you can wipe your grubby paws all over it."

"I just wanted to see where it was healed." His voice was plaintive.

"Right here. See?" Sophia held her hand out, palm forward. She held the pose for about ten seconds, then turned her hand around so he was looking at the back. Then, because it was Sophia, she gave him the finger. "Or would you like me to repeat myself?"

"Sophia." Mrs Hess didn't raise her voice, but Sophia paused in the act of bringing up her other hand to give her brother a double-barreled bird. "Enough."

"But Mo-om, he's treating me like a circus freak," Sophia protested. "I'm just dead, not a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine or something."

Mrs Hess flinched. "Don't say that." Her voice was quiet and full of pain. "Please don't say that."

"Shit." Sophia dropped her gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry."

It was as if she hadn't spoken. "I've been scared this day would come," her mother said softly. "From the first time I caught you with that costume. I was most worried of a police officer knocking on the door to give me the bad news. Second most of being called to the hospital to see you before you passed."

I tried to think of a way to comfort her, but between the lateness of the hour and my own overwhelming guilt, I couldn't come up with anything.

"Well, I haven't passed," Sophia said. Her mother and I both gave her a look. She had the grace to look abashed, then rallied again. "I just took a time-out on life for a bit, and now I'm back. I can even go home whenever you're ready." She flicked a glance at me that I had no trouble interpreting. I can, can't I?

"Well, yeah," I said as reassuringly as I could. "Just don't make any plans to leave the state, okay?"

"Right." She rolled her eyes. "Up until you said that, I was fine with not going anywhere. Now? I've got this urge to go visit LA or someplace … kidding. I kid."

"You think you're being funny," I said. "But you're really not."

"Hey, I leave the deep an' sophisticated humour to the nerds," she told me airily. "I'll handle the important stuff in life, like kicking ass and maybe taking names." Accepting the cup of coffee Doctor Cartwright handed her, she took a sip.

"Once again, that's what got us into all this." I shook my head. "Think you could maybe tone it down for a bit until we figure where we're at?"

"That's probably a wise idea," Dr Cartwright said from where he'd been sitting silently behind his desk all this time. "I know little to nothing about powers and how they work, but while you may now be inhumanly resistant to being shot or stabbed, I strongly suspect that Taylor is not. Also, while the part of her powers that makes her eyes glow also makes you stronger and faster, she cannot maintain it for hours on end."

"I'd noticed that myself," Dad agreed. "So while it's best for Taylor if she stays home safe and sound …"

"… it's best for Sophia if I go out and about with her and give her a boost when and if she needs it," I finished.

"And I'll be damned if I ever let you go out alone at night like that again," Dad added vehemently. "Also, body armour. You're going to be wearing body armour."

Wow, damn. This was the most protective Dad had sounded since … well, since forever. And somehow I knew it wasn't because if I died, he died. It was because I was his daughter and he was my father.

"I'm down with that," announced Sophia. "Hey, this coffee isn't bad."

"So, no ill effects from caffeine …" murmured Doctor Cartwright. "Do you feel better? Stronger? Faster?"

Sophia snorted. "Nah, that's only when Taylor does her glowing-eyes thing. Any other time? Nope, just normal old me."

I stifled a yawn. "How about we talk about this in the morning? I'm beat. Because, you know, I've been beaten."

"That is also a wise idea." Doctor Cartwright nodded approvingly. "Important decisions should not be made when tired or hungry."

"Yeah, well, I'll be heading home with my folks," Sophia said. She came over and put her hand on my shoulder. "See you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," I said, yawning again, right in the middle of the word. "Dad, let's go home."

"Sure." He went over and shook Doctor Cartwright's hand. "And thanks for everything. I know I appreciate it."

"You're entirely welcome." Cartwright smiled. "And if anything else unusual crops up with your, uh, condition …"

Dad nodded. "You'll be the first to know. Come on, Taylor. Let's go."

I paused as something occurred to me. "Uh … how? The car's not here, and I doubt either of us has money for a cab."

"Mom can drop you off." Sophia looked at her mother. "Right?"

Mrs Hess sighed. "Okay, why not. It'll be cramped, though."

"Trust me," I said feelingly, "it's better than walking."

"I appreciate it," Dad told her. "When I get hold of my wallet, I'll give you gas money."

"No, never mind," she said, shaking her head. "I have a feeling we're going to be getting to know each other a lot better from now on anyway."

I met Sophia's eyes and we both shrugged.

It definitely sounded like a plan.

<><>​

Rodney

Okay, it's a plan, but can I pull it off?

He didn't know for a fact, but there was only one way to find out. He was the only one who knew and accepted the Truth about what was going on. Someone had to get the word out.

Irritatingly enough, Simon didn't seem to be bored enough to stop paying attention to him. He hadn't ever really paid much attention to the burly security guard before now, but the guy was definitely paying attention to him. Every time he swiped the mop over a new section of floor, Simon would get up from where he was sitting and move a few more yards down. His handcuffs, keys and torch thumped and jingled against the plastic chairs, but the guy didn't seem to care.

Rodney got all the way to the end of the corridor before he put his plan into action. Not to run for it; he'd seen Simon in action and he knew the big guy was a lot fitter than him. I have to out-think him.

So he cleaned the last section then turned to Simon, who was waiting by the stairwell door. "Hey, dude, before I start the next floor, could I hit the restroom? I need to take a wicked dump."

He'd tried to make his tone as casual as possible, but Simon still frowned at him. Then, slowly, the big man nodded. "Sure. I'll be right outside."

"Yeah, no problem." Rodney led the way to the nearest men's room. He and Simon both knew damn well there would be no sneaking out through the six-inch-square air ducting, or the eight-inch-high sealed window. The only way in and out would be via the door, and that was where Simon would be.

Still pretending to be casual, Rodney strolled in and went to the far end cubicle. He took care to lock himself in, then reached into the pocket of his scrubs and took out his phone. Feeling like a character in an old spy thriller, he held down the power button to wake it up. Just before the music tone sounded that would've betrayed what he was doing, he shoved the device under his armpit and started making grunting noises for extra verisimilitude.

"You okay in there?" called Simon.

"Yeah, just a big one!" Rodney called back.

"I do not want to know!"

Smirking, Rodney let the phone finish booting up, then opened a tab to PHO. Hastily, knowing his time was limited, he started to type.

<><>​

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■​

♦Topic: ZOMBIES IN BROCKTON BAY!
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Non-Cape


RaffieStaffie (Original Poster) (Temp-banned)
Posted on August 28, 2009:

On mobile, so pls forgive any format crap.
Okay, guys, this is absolutely real. This isn't some Void Cowboy conspiracy stuff, its real as real. I saw it.
So i work in Brockton General and this chick came in, she'd been pretty beat up and stuff but her friend was worse, shed been shot. And some othe dude came in I think he was her dad or smth? I dunno.
Anyway, the shot girl and the dude are both in a rael bad way and they pass. It's sad but it happens. But this chick goes mental. tears the door off theroom shes in and frces herway into the morge and when i come in shes raised them both as zombies and she raised another one like a ganger or smth and her face is like a skull and im tryin to rase the alarm but the hospitals trying to cover it up so nobody nppanics but youve got to spread the word. zombies. Im serios zombies in bb. i got to


(Showing Page 3 of 3)


► Glory Girl (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave)
Replied on August 28, 2009:

What did I just read?


► BrickFrog (Veteran Member)
Replied on August 28, 2009:

I'm not entirely certain.
Though that "I got to" cut off at the end is kinda ominous.


► LaserDream (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave)
Replied on August 28, 2009:

Got to get back on their meds, maybe?
I mean, seriously? Zombies?


► 2ndAmendGuy
Replied on August 28, 2009:

Okay, I knew this day was coming.
Can capes help against a zombie apocalypse?
Like hell they can. All you'd get out of that would be zombie capes.
Time for a dose of good old Samuel Colt equalizer.
Lock and load, friends.
Lock and load.


End of Page. 1, 2, 3

<><>

Doctor James Cartwright

James closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He did what?" With any luck, the answer would be different the second time around.

Simon, standing in front of the desk with his hand securely wrapped around Rodney's shoulder, cleared his throat with what sounded like embarrassment. "He made an excuse to go to the restroom and posted on the Parahumans Online Boards. I got suspicious when … well, when I couldn't smell anything. So I opened the door, and he had his phone in his hands."

"He didn't even knock!" Rodney protested. "He just unlocked the door! I could've been doing anything! And he took my phone, too!"

"How bad is it?" asked James, ignoring the young man.

"Could be better, could be worse." Simon waggled his hand from side to side. "He didn't name names, and most of the people who've responded so far seem to think it's a joke or a hoax. Of course, there are a few who are … problematic."

"Can you go on yourself and post the real story?" asked James hopefully. "Or delete his post?"

"I can't delete his original post without access to his account, and he shut his phone down before I managed to get it away from him." Simon glared at Rodney, who just managed to look stubborn. "But I can do the other thing."

"Do it," James ordered. "The last thing we want is a panic about zombies. That poor girl has been through enough already."

"Okay." Simon took out his own phone and turned it on, then he began to tap on it.

James kept an eye on Rodney, wondering what he was going to do with the young man. His heart was clearly in the right place, but his sense of judgement was just as clearly lacking. It looks like the disciplinary review board after all. James had been hoping to avoid that.

"Huh." Simon looked up from his phone. "Looks like they've reined in the crazy. I think we're in the clear."

"Really?" James leaned forward. "Let me see."

Obligingly, Simon held the phone toward him.

<><>

► Agent42 (Verified PRT Agent) (Veteran Member)
Replied on August 28, 2009:

We got a call from BB General earlier tonight. Four officers attended. The report states that although there was a trigger event involved amid unusual circumstances (details withheld to protect identities) there are zero, I say again ZERO zombies running around Brockton Bay.
So cease panicking, folks.
Save your panic for the actual threats out and about.
Good night and stay safe.


► ChaosDancer (Moderator) (Veteran Member)
Replied on August 28, 2009:

(Sigh) I go for coffee and this happens.
RaffieStaffie, have a temp ban.
Everyone else, calm your frontal lobes.
I am hereby locking this thread.

<><>​

Simon

"Well, that's good … isn't it?" Doc Cartwright looked at Simon for confirmation.

"Yeah, it's about the best result we could hope for," the security guard agreed. "The PRT rarely weighs in on stuff like this, so people tend to believe them. And with the thread closed and Stafford here temp banned, the fuss should die away." He gave Rodney an unfriendly look. "What do I do with him?" With any luck, Cartwright's orders would involve the toe of Simon's boot and a ballistic arc across the parking lot.

From the look on the surgeon's face, he was having much the same thoughts, but then he sighed and shook his head. "Leave him to me. I'm going to need to have a long talk with him about whether he thinks he's really suited to this job."

"Sure thing." Simon stepped away from the desk, leaving Rodney standing there. "He's all yours."

As the door closed behind him, he shook his head. Better him than me.

<><>​

The Next Day
Taylor

I stretched and yawned myself awake, then swung my legs over the side of the bed just as memories hit me from the night before. "Shit!" I gasped. "Dad!" For all that I'd felt sure he would be okay when I fell asleep, I needed to know.

It took a moment to remember that I could shift into the shadow realm. When I did, everything was dark except for the vague shadows of matter in the air … and I could see through the walls. In the hospital, there had been far too many people around to fix on any one of them, but now I was looking for one in particular.

And there he was. If I was reading the house correctly—it was weird as fuck to be able to see through walls and floors like the place was a transparent 3D model—he was just coming in through the front door, carrying some objects that looked a lot denser than the walls. I couldn't see details from where I was, but I suspected they were a hammer and a bunch of nails.

"Are you up, Taylor?" he called out. "I can feel your boost."

Hastily, I opened the door and leaned out. "Yeah, I just woke up!" I yelled back. "How are you feeling?"

He started up the stairs; it was weird watching him climb the risers while at the same time hearing his footsteps. When he got to the top of the stairs and turned the corner, I came out of the bedroom and went to meet him.

As far as I could tell, he looked the same as he had last night. I couldn't see his brain-lights, but he was neither shambling nor slurring. All the same, I put my hand on his arm and pushed energy into him. Only a little went through, not even enough to make me light-headed, and I dropped back into the real world.

"Well, I was feeling fine even before you did that," he said with a chuckle. "But thank you anyway. I think I might've overdone the make-work jobs I set myself last night to get around boredom."

I frowned. "What exactly did you do?"

He took a deep breath, then stretched. Old habits died hard, it seemed. "Well, after I fixed the door where the Merchants kicked it in, I lay awake for an hour then I got up and washed the dishes, swept and mopped the floors, cleaned out the basement, scrubbed that stubborn stain out of the downstairs bathroom cubicle, then went and got some lumber and replaced that rotten step."

"Wow." I blinked, impressed. "So … if you keep on not being able to sleep, what are you going to do tomorrow night to keep yourself active?"

He sighed. "I'm thinking I can finally justify getting cable at last. Spend my time watching documentaries or other educational shows. Or maybe I'll buy a typewriter and start writing a novel or something. There's a lot of stories my dad told me about Brockton Bay, back before powers were a thing, that people might like to read about."

I grinned at him. "If I bought a copy, would you sign it?"

"Sign it? I'd dedicate it to you." He snorted and shook his head. "I've heard the old saying about 'when a door closes, a window opens' but this is patently ridiculous. I know I should be mad about being attacked in my own home, and I am, but to be honest? I've always thought there weren't enough hours in the day, and now there are."

And there was the guilt again. "Dad, I'm so, so sorry that I got you into all this. If I hadn't been carrying something with my name on it—"

He wrapped me up in a hug. "Taylor. It's not your fault. You've been under a huge amount of stress, and Sophia came along at just the wrong time."

Ugh, dammit. I didn't want him blaming Sophia. "Not really her fault, either. It's a fact that people who know how to do something automatically think other people can do it too. I could've said no to going out as her sidekick."

"And yet, you did not." Dad released me from the hug and put his hands on my shoulders. "What I said last night about wearing body armour still goes, young lady. I am not going to let you go out as a costumed vigilante without at least a modicum of protection."

Remembering what had happened to Sophia brought the truth of his words home to me. "Okay, Dad. Any idea where I can get some from?"

"Now that, I'm not sure about." He rubbed his chin. "I could ask around the Dockworkers. Some of them have pasts I've been careful not to dig too deeply into. Pretty sure a few of them have worked for villains before now. If anyone would know how to get body armour in your size, they would."

He went downstairs to make breakfast while I went to take a shower. Checking my face in the mirror revealed that the broken-and-fixed nose still had a bump in the bridge, and the other marks from the beating and torture were also there. It appeared that my power had repaired the damage without resetting things, which I supposed I'd have to deal with. It wasn't like my looks had been anything to write home about before all this.

Shower done, I had just emerged from my room with a towel wrapped around my hair when I heard a brisk knock on the door. Just on a hunch, I went into the shadow realm and saw (through two walls and the floor) Sophia standing on the front porch with two living people behind her. One of the two was carrying a much smaller third person. Her mother, brother and sister. Of course. As I watched, Sophia raised her hand and waved.

"I got it!" I called out, and went back to the real world, then trotted down the stairs. When I opened the door, Sophia was just raising her hand to knock again. "Hey," I said, slightly out of breath. "When you said you'd come over, I didn't realise it would be this early."

"Hey, you," she returned with a smirk, reaching out to punch me lightly on the shoulder. Her knuckles didn't quite make contact, and the smirk dimmed somewhat. Making the clear decision to pretend that hadn't just happened, she forged on. "Well, I didn't know how absolutely goddamn boring it would be, stuck in the house when you can't sleep. So as soon as I felt your boost, I knew you were up."

"And then she bitched and whined to Mom until we brought her over," Terry put in from behind her. "As far as I'm concerned, you can keep her."

"Terence Luther Hess," his mother admonished him. "That's not a nice thing to say, even if it is a joke."

"Who says it was a joke?" He rolled his eyes. "The only thing worse than a bratty teenage little sister is a bratty teenage little sister who can't sleep."

"Well, I was just talking with Taylor about getting cable installed," Dad said from behind me. "You're more than welcome to come over some nights and we could watch documentaries."

Sophia wrinkled her nose. "Documentaries? Really? Can't we watch something more interesting?"

Even when I wasn't looking, I could hear Dad's shrug. "My cable, my rules."

"Ugh, fine." Sophia rolled her eyes. "I'll watch the boring documentaries. They might have something cool."

"I'm glad you approve," Dad said dryly. "Anyway, we're being rude, here. Would you all like to come in?"

With that hint, I stepped aside. Sophia came in first, looking around with interest. Terry let his mother precede him, then he followed her while carrying his baby sister.

Dad led the way into the living room and waved the Hesses to the sofa. "We were just making breakfast. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

"No, we can't stay long," Mrs Hess said. "Sophia insisted on coming over, but if this is an awkward time, she can come back later."

"Mom!" protested Sophia. "What the heck? How about I get to make my own decisions?"

"Because you've done so very well with those in the last few months," Terry snarked at her. I decided I liked him, and not just because he was big and buff.

"Hey, I don't see you going out there and keeping the streets safe!" she fired back at him.

"As I said, you've done such a great job of it." His deadpan delivery was perfect, not even needing to point out me and Dad.

"Enough." Mrs Hess didn't shout, but the tone of her voice brought both Sophia and Terry up short. "I didn't bring you here so you could argue in someone else's home. Terry, leave your sister alone. Sophia, you don't want to wear out your welcome here."

"Well duh, that's not gonna happen," Sophia declared boldly. "I'm the superhero, here."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "What was that about not making decisions for people, again?"

"What?" she stared at him, a look of betrayal in her eyes. "But I—but you—"

I laughed and put my hand on her shoulder, a moment before Dad's grin broke through. "Chillax, Soph. Dad's just yanking your chain. I'm good with you coming over. We both are."

She tried to glare at us, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. "You assholes. You really had me going for a minute there."

"Just goes to show," I said with a smirk of my own. "Making unfounded assumptions will bite you in the ass at the worst possible time."

Although I hadn't meant the words to cut, Sophia winced anyway. It was basically her assumptions and decisions that had led to this whole situation, and we both knew it. Yes, my own choices had contributed, but she'd been the driving force. And now she and Dad were both dead because of it. In a staggering turn of irony, she was being forced to face the consequences of her actions after they had killed her, whereas for most people death was the end of their problems.

Of course, my life was not without its own complications. My new best friend was dead and my father was dead. The fact that they were walking and talking, and would be for the foreseeable future, was only a detail. They were still dead, and the responsibility for their deaths—and their lives, or the simulacra of life that they now possessed—was now at least partly mine. Even with them at my side, I was alone in a way few people were.

"Yeah," Sophia said heavily. "I got that, thanks."

I took a deep breath and knelt beside the sofa, sliding my arm around her shoulders. "Hey," I said. "We're in this together." Pushing myself into the shadow realm, I directed healing energy into her. It took more of a jolt than I'd needed for Dad, and I gave her a quizzical look. "What've you been doing to yourself?"

"Hah! Check it out," she crowed, and pulled up the leg of her sweatpants. "Yes! It worked!"

"Worked? What worked?" Dropping back into the real world, I leaned over to see what she was doing. Down the length of her calf was tattooed the word 'BADASS', dark blue ink standing out against the dark brown of her skin. I was pretty sure she hadn't had a tattoo like that before … "Wait. Did you do that? Last night?"

Terry sighed. "At about one AM. Ruined one of our pens to do it. Took her forever to get it done."

"Well, if you'd helped me do it, it would've taken a lot less time," she sniped back at him.

"And once Mom found out that I'd helped, I'd be—" He cut himself off, probably just before saying the word dead. "Grounded for life," he substituted.

"What makes you think you're not?" Mrs Hess asked rhetorically.

"Wait, what?" he said. "How is that fair?"

She gave him a hard look. "You're the oldest. You're supposed to be more responsible than that."

"She's the superhero!"

"And you're still the oldest." Her tone said that the subject was closed.

"Well, that sucks," he muttered.

Mrs Hess gave her elder daughter a hard look. "You're lucky you're not grounded right alongside him."

We all knew why she wasn't, and why nobody was talking about it. Being dead was kind of the ultimate 'what more can you do to me' situations. "So, did it hurt?" I asked, curious despite myself. It seemed that she and Dad were more or less impervious to pain from being punched and kicked, but actual stabbing wounds were another thing altogether. There had been the 'scissors through the hand' trick but Sophia was a bit of an edgelord, so she could've held it together for that.

"Nope. No more than it hurts when you write on yourself," she said airily, stretching out her leg and admiring the tattoo. The lettering wasn't perfect, but I'd seen pictures of prison tattoos that were more clumsily done. "Would've sucked if it just pushed all the ink out again, though."

"Well, don't do it too often," I chided her. "Even doing that takes it out of me when I heal you. I'd prefer to only have to fix the unavoidable stuff."

"Yeah, okay, sorry." She slapped her thighs and rubbed her hands together briskly. "So, Mr Hebert. How do you feel about giving Taylor and me a lift to the Lord Street Market?"

Dad and I glanced at each other. This sudden sharp left turn in the topic had me moderately puzzled, and I was pretty sure he was wondering what she had in mind as well. "It's doable," he replied cautiously. "But if you wanted to go to the Market, why didn't you just have your mother drop you off there instead?"

"Because I need both of you there as well." She looked at me, then at Dad. "What, don't you get it yet? Costumes. Well okay, not the high end stuff, but clothing that's got some sort of theme and you can use it to hide your identity."

"Uh, I didn't think I was going to go out—" I began, just as Dad started talking as well. I stopped and waved for him to keep going.

"Thanks." He gave Sophia a stern look. "Taylor will have enough trouble hiding the fact that she's a parahuman before she even gets to the Market. And while she's stronger when she's in boost mode, she can't keep that up indefinitely, and she's still vulnerable to stuff that you and I can just shrug off. I do not want her going out until she's as protected as we can make her, and that requires body armour. Which I still haven't had a chance to source. But right now, with her eyes the way they are? Everyone and his dog will know she's a parahuman on sight. We don't need that sort of complication."

"So she wears sunglasses," Sophia said with a throwaway gesture. "Just, you know, don't walk like you're trying to hide something, because that makes everyone look at you. Put on a rockin' pair of shades and walk like you own the pavement, and people just get out of your way."

"And if I had to go into the shadow realm?" I couldn't think of a good reason why I would, but I had to ask the question anyway. "From how bright you guys described my eyes are, not even mirror shades would cut it."

"Uh …" Sophia stalled, stuck. It looked like she hadn't anticipated all possible questions.

"Wear a scarf," Terry said unexpectedly. "If something happens so you have to do that, pull it up over your eyes. You can see right through it, yeah?"

Well, it seemed someone had been paying attention. Also, it was a solution. Not a perfect solution, but we'd left 'perfect' behind long ago and were dealing with 'maybe good enough'. And he was right; if I had to go into the shadow realm, it would be because shit was going sideways and Dad and Sophia needed the boost.

"Yeah," I agreed, albeit reluctantly. I wasn't in love with the idea of using a scarf over my face as a mask, but it could be a lot worse. "But what are the chances of something going wrong at the Market? Who'd even attack that place, anyway?"

Sophia drew a deep breath. "Merchants, ABB, Empire Eighty-Eight, Uber and Leet, and basically anyone who thinks they've got a reason. The Enforcers are good for dealing with shoplifters and anyone who wants to start a protection racket, but anyone who's got actual powers can walk all over them. So we don't go there expecting trouble, but we make sure we can deal with it if it happens. Okay?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad's fist clench at the mention of the Merchants, which didn't surprise me. I had a few scores to settle with those creeps, myself. We all did. I found myself not so much hoping they'd show up while we were at the Market, but being totally okay with the idea if they did.

Slowly, Dad nodded. "Okay, you've convinced me. Taylor and I need clothing that will pass for a costume until we can get something better, and the Market is as good a place as any to get that." He turned to Mrs Hess. "If that's alright with you, that is."

For what seemed like about an hour, but couldn't have been more than twenty seconds, Sophia's mother considered her answer. Eventually, she sighed and nodded. "Just don't let her run too far out of control," she advised Dad. "You've already seen how she'll push boundaries."

"Hey, I do not run out of control!" protested Sophia. "Or push boundaries!"

Dad, Terry, myself and her mother all gave her a very dry look. "Yes," we said at once. "You do."

Startled at the fact that we'd all said the same thing at the same time, I giggled as Sophia gave us each a phenomenally dirty look. "You all suck," she mumbled.

Ignoring her bad temper, Dad nodded to Mrs Hess. "I'll drop her off at your house when we're finished," he assured her.

"That sounds okay." She gave him a smile. "I'm not exactly onboard with what's already happened, but I'm glad I have a fellow responsible adult to help keep an eye on her now."

I was about to protest; something along the lines of hey, I'm pretty responsible. Then I remembered how we'd gotten to where we were. Oh. Right.

"Well, then." I dusted my hands off and stood up. "Let's go see what the Market has to offer."

Sophia grinned and got up as well. "Let's do this."


End of Part Nine

 

[preier]

love the job you've done with Sophia's family in so little words. As for Sophia herself, it's always fascinating to see her be an actual character.

The 'always active, independently of Taylor' is a huge (man)power multiplier, can't wait to see how it plays out.

thanks for sharing your stories, Ack

 

[Scopas]

Very interesting. Somehow, I don't think that a font of stupidity as bounteous as Rodney is so easily shut down. I bet that more shit's coming up the pike, and much of the blame can be laid firmly at Rodney's feet.

For a moment, I thought that he was Bagrat, and I was shocked that such a voice of reason was Rodney, but on a second reading, I see that isn't the case.

I wonder if the risen dead can truly learn? I know that some fantasy settings have it that the undead can never truly learn, and are essentially frozen at the same stage of development as when they died, while others have the undead completely able to learn new tricks. If they can learn, I wonder if Sophia will ever actually be able to internalize the lessons taught by the preceding eight chapters, or if her own sociopathic impulses will prevent such post-partum education?

Also, Taylor isn't immortal, presumably - but is she ageless? Is a very old Taylor going to die surrounded by the (presumably increasingly scarred) forever teenaged Sophia and her long-suffering and prolonged father?

 

[Ack]

Very interesting. Somehow, I don't think that a font of stupidity as bounteous as Rodney is so easily shut down. I bet that more shit's coming up the pike, and much of the blame can be laid firmly at Rodney's feet.

For a moment, I thought that he was Bagrat, and I was shocked that such a voice of reason was Rodney, but on a second reading, I see that isn't the case.

I wonder if the risen dead can truly learn? I know that some fantasy settings have it that the undead can never truly learn, and are essentially frozen at the same stage of development as when they died, while others have the undead completely able to learn new tricks. If they can learn, I wonder if Sophia will ever actually be able to internalize the lessons taught by the preceding eight chapters, or if her own sociopathic impulses will prevent such post-partum education?

Also, Taylor isn't immortal, presumably - but is she ageless? Is a very old Taylor going to die surrounded by the (presumably increasingly scarred) forever teenaged Sophia and her long-suffering and prolonged father?

Click to shrink...

More crap will happen because of that, yes.

Nope, Bagrat was just an observer.

Their minds still have a certain amount of plasticity, so yeah, they can learn. Now to see if Sophia wants to.

We shall see what we shall see.

 

[Kitty S. Lillian]

We shall see what we shall see.

Click to shrink...

But will the readers' eyes be limned in shadow or in light?

 

[Death by Chains]

...
How — in the name of God — did a brain that feeble ever grasp enough human language to even learn how to use PHO in the first place? Rodney is supposedly a medical-professional-in-training, but he's acting more like... Void Cowboy!