Emissary - A Deputy Recursive Crossover (Worm AU/Canon)

[Noelemahc]

Welcome to QQ repost of a crossover of a sequel of a fork of an AU fanfic with the canon storyline!

Concise Summary: A fluke application of a device made by L33t lands a fanfic Taylor Hebert, Deputy Commander of Wards ENE, into the canon timeline during the fallout of the Empire 88 Unmasking. Things escalate from there.

Original SB thread

To recount: Internship (Worm) by Hopeful Penguin puts Taylor Hebert in an internship at the PRT a month before her Trigger, resulting in a chain of events preventing it. Deputy (Internship (Worm AU) AU) by Reyemile diverts from that idea to add an extra butterfly: someone else Triggers with Skitter's powers instead of Taylor, and that kicks her PRT trajectory into high gear. Its sequel, Deputy Commander (Worm AU) (Sequel) has her becoming Deputy Commander, leading the Wards ENE, the first non-powered Ward in the history of the program.

The shared TVTropes page for them all is here:
Internship / Fan Fic - TV Tropes

But what would happen if she'd end up in the canon timeline, where the Wards are less numerous, Shadow Stalker is still considered a hero and Taylor Hebert has never set foot in Arcadia, dated Aegis or became a PHO meme?

This was spun off from the omake-off in the Deputy Commander thread, begun by Reyemile himself here. That thought was quickly picked up by myself and Sithking Zero who should be considered a full-scale co-author on this, considering about 45% of all the stuff you will see below is either his ideas or his writing.

Mandatory disclaimers:

• This fic is a fork from a hypothetical future of Deputy Commander. I am getting some minor do's and don't's from Reyemile on covering future events on his fic, but for all intents and purposes, the diversion point is somewhere in February 2011 (where Deputy Commander is at the time of this writing, the Stagehand arc).
• This fic begins in May 2011, so assume all canon events up to Arc 7 happened unchanged, and Arc 7 itself is mostly unaffected, since until Interlude 7.x the Protectorate side of the consequences of Arc 6 are not shown.
• This is canon-verse, so Being Taylor Hebert Is Suffering is in effect. Fortunately, there is now more than one Taylor Hebert in the world, so the load will be shared.
• This is not a fix-fic or a Peggy Sue, since Deputaylor only has knowledge of her own past prior to May 6th, 2011 from her timeline. Not all of the events between December 1st, 2010 and May 6th, 2011 of the two timelines worked the same.
• If future chapters of Deputy Commander (or any hypothetical sequels) contradict events shown as the past of Deputaylor in this fic, there may be retcons. Or maybe not, this will depend on the scope of the discrepancies, just like the existence and events in Agent Hebert (Worm AU) didn't cause the Deputy fic to retcon things (like Glory Girl's... hobbies...).
• We're desperately trying to preserve as much of canon as is humanly possible while keeping the fic fun. It's an interesting challenge.
• The chapters based on omakes from the original omake-off will be marked as such. Do not expect them to flow the same way or lead into the same plot cues, however, as none of them were originally written to fit together in any coherent sort of way. The most preserved ones are Reyemile's, simply because you can't improve on perfection.
• For clarity's sake, when referring to their civilian personas, Skittaylor and Deputaylor are a good comfy shorthand. Until a certain event changes that, of course. From then on, they are, respectively, Taylor and Rose.
• No, we will not be crossing any more alt!Taylors over. Yes, we may cross more Deputyverse characters over.
• QQ Exclusive: With permission from Sithking, who recused himself from that sort of stuff, I will be making NSFW omakes to the story, mostly non-canon, which will be posted in a separate thread in the appropriate forum section. References in the main story will be added to indicate where what goes (e.g. 'Here chapter Q.01 fits in').

And now, on to the content!

 

[Noelemahc]

Prologue
(original omake)
​

"What's this I hear," Deputy Director Rennick began, settling in his chair, hoping he could land in it without jolting the table because the damn coffee machine filled his mug to the brim again, "About our PRT troopers bringing in an unknown parahuman, and getting locked in M/S containment for their efforts?"

Armsmaster made an exhaling noise that may or may not have been called a huff. He certainly wouldn't've called it that, that's for sure. The Protectorate hero was dressed-down, wearing his lighter armor and without his signature Halberd, his primary gear still lying half-repaired in his workshop after the previous day's combat, and the fact that the hours of sleep he's had since then could be counted on the fingers of a crippled man's hand clearly showed.

"Earlier today," he gestured at the screen, showing a typical Docks area warehouse that looked like something gnawed on its edge, "PRT dispatch received a report on regular service frequencies that an officer in the field has apprehended Über and L33t in the middle of testing their newest contraption, which was disassembling the warehouse you see before you."

A click, another picture, Über and L33t, wearing form-fitting (flattering in one case, really not in the other) black outfits with light-up neon lines along the seams, matching green. Grunts of acknowledgment circled the table, as Deputy Director Rennick, Director Piggot and Wards Team Leader Aegis nodded assent.

"Who was the officer? How does the Master/Stranger Protocol factor into this?" Director Piggot asked, leaning slightly forward to rest her elbows on the table, the exertion clear on her face. It had been a long day and this sudden meeting had kept her from her regular schedule. Following yesterday's toss-up at the Forsberg Gallery, she had a short amount of patience for the irrelevant.

"That is where it gets weird," Armsmaster admitted, bringing the next picture up. The outfit displayed on an armor stand looked like a standard-issue PRT tactical response uniform, except… it wasn't one, it was a set of what looked like a cape's armor, maybe Tinkertech, made to look like a PRT uniform. The uncanny valley was extended by the weird badge where the rank insignia was supposed to be, which an additional photo revealed to be the logo of the Wards program. To top it off, the name tag simply said "COMMANDER" in the standard blocky letters.

"The call-in was made by a person claiming to be Deputy Commander, Wards ENE, wearing this armor and wielding a Tinkertech taser," Armsmaster continued, gesturing at a pop-up screen showing what looked like a modified PRT taser, "Said subject also had apprehended Über and L33t and intended to hand them off to the arrived PRT troops, but halted, claiming the situation a set-up as Sergeant Michaelson, who led the deployment team, was discharged from PRT ranks three months earlier and was now employed as a mercenary."

Director Piggot frowned, turning to face Deputy Director Rennick, the man shifting uneasily under her stern gaze.

"How did we miss that, exactly?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow, "I assume the statement was confirmed false?"

"Indeed so, but by this time the situation devolved into a standoff until a second squad, led by Lieutenant Martinez, arrived to pack both sides into containment foam and enact Master/Stranger Protocols."

"I suppose there was a reason for that last one?" Aegis asked carefully, scratching his chin in thought.

"Naturally. Both Michaelson and this 'Deputy Commander' possessed active and valid M/S confirmation codes and verification passcodes as well," Armsmaster replied, reading off a wrist-mounted display, "Martinez decided to play it safe."

"How did you separate the armor from the Subject?" Rennick asked, tilting his head inquisitively, "Not like they gave it up willingly?"

"Actually, that was what happened," Armsmaster's voice showed a rare glimpse of surprise, "Upon being freed from the foam in M/S Containment, Subject unmasked, presenting a PRT employee ID with valid access codes equal to Wards Leader level issued to a person absent in our databases. Under the pretense of M/S questioning, it was discovered Subject claims to be the leader of the Wards ENE following the death of Aegis--" everyone's heads turned towards the helmeted Ward at these words, while Aegis himself made a strangled noise, "--at the hands of Hookwolf, who was later executed by his Empire 88 comrades for disobedience in order to avoid Protectorate retribution."

A soft chime emanated from his wrist as he was explaining, which he silenced by stabbing a button somewhere on his gauntlet.

"Dragon, now is not a--"

"Armsmaster, I realize you're in a meeting right now, but it's for the best, this will save us some time," a slightly accented voice said from his wrist.

"What is the urgency, Dragon?" Director Piggot spoke up, shifting in her seat. The Canadian Tinker did not usually sound so… agitated?

"Hello, Directors, Aegis," the synthesized face of the woman known only as Dragon spoke from the main screen, "I've been running scans of the Warehouse and Docks areas following the ABB conflict for signs of unexploded Bakuda bombs to test a new drone model I've been developing with Armsmaster's help, and one of them detected an unusual, but identifiable, energy signature," she paused, eyes flicking to and fro, as if debating the consequences of the discovery, "It was a close match to the energy bleed of the portal to Earth Aleph Professor Haywire created, except short-lived. Something in the Docks opened and shut a portal to another Earth."

"What was the location, Dragon? Could you pinpoint it?" Deputy Director Rennick asked, raising a hand, palm forward, in response to his neighbors at the table turning to him, "Anywhere near… The old Staton Processed Chemicals warehouses?" he added, reading off the report Armsmaster brought up on the screen.

"Directly on top of Building 4, sir," was Dragon's somewhat hesitant response.

"Armsmaster, you said the Subject relinquished their gear without protest?" Piggot half-stood from her seat with a sudden urgency.

"Yes. Initial screening showed the Subject to be truthful about statements made, familiar with the M/S process and treating it as a habitual inevitability. Miss Militia is currently continuing questioning."

"Could you patch us in?" Aegis suggested.

A young woman's voice came through the speakers, somewhat worn out but still sharp, direct and to the point, apparently elaborating on something that it had to repeat multiple times in the past.

"--after which Shadow Stalker was revealed to be complicit in an ongoing bullying campaign at her school, resulting in causing a Trigger of one of her targets."

The speaker on-screen, a tall girl looking to be in her late teens and wearing a standard PRT grey jumpsuit, paused to run a hand through her dark curly hair and release a tired sigh.

"With the help of a classmate, she left town before she could be apprehended. When on a PR visit to the newly opened PRT recruitment office in Providence, I was attacked by her. She blamed me for the reveal of her misdeeds, and wounded me with her crossbow before I managed to subdue her with a taser blast."

Miss Militia interrupted her story, thumbing the intercom button.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but we have connection to Director Piggot and Armsmaster, they wanted to clarify something, if you wouldn't mind?" she said, reading the cue from the computer in front of her.

"Deputy Commander," Armsmaster said, struggling through the unfamiliar rank, "Could you tell us, how you chanced upon Über and L33t today?"

"I was on patrol with Weaver, as per Dr. Yamada's recommendations, when she detected an unusual energy discharge through her scans," she recounted readily, "Upon discovery that it was Uber and L33t field-testing some new gear, we attempted to apprehend them. I managed to taze Uber, but then L33t tossed me into something that turned out to be one of his tinkertech props. I was disoriented for a short while and when I came to, Weaver was gone and they were continuing testing with other equipment."

Glances were exchanged around the table. Armsmaster pressed something on his wrist again, as the word MUTE appeared on the big screen.
"Director," he said warily, "She is a 94% voice match for Skitter, but the body shape does not match up, she is a lot… bulkier," he let go of the button at Director Piggot's nod, and the word disappeared.

"Concluding that they overpowered and stashed her somewhere, and that the device I hit must have been a stasis device that failed prematurely, I caught them by surprise, taking them down and calling it in. You know the rest, Armsmaster, you were there in the end," she finished, somewhat uneasily.

"Deputy Commander," Dragon said carefully.

"Yes, Dragon?" the girl asked, apparently recognizing the Tinker whose voice piped into the interrogation room around the voice-scrambling filters used for M/S questioning. More looks were exchanged around the table. Not a lot of people outside of the Protectorate were on easy speaking terms with the Canadian shut-in heroine.

"Could you describe the device L33t used on you?"

"Um… like a picture frame, maybe?" she paused, apparently fishing in her mind for details of the thing, "About as tall as Armsmaster in his armor, metal, like a support strut on a crane or an oil rig kind of metal, kinda rusted-looking or painted that way, with evenly spaced rivets. Inside of it looked like a TV screen with the old black and white static in it, I guess?"

"Did it look something like this?" Dragon asked, putting a picture on the small screen in the corner of the interrogation room, a duplicate showing up in a pop-up on the conference room's screen. The girl barely looked at it before nodding.

"This is from the game Quake, a Slipgate, a dimensional doorway," Dragon offered, her voice even and soft. The girl stiffened suddenly.

"As per PRT Directive 507, section 45, I plead interdimensional refugee status," she recited almost mechanically, "Including confidentiality clauses on my identity and those of my counterpart or counterparts, if applicable, as per section 47."

The reactions were varied. Armsmaster nodded expectantly and with a hint of approval, Miss Militia looked taken aback and Director Piggot had a curious mixture of confusion and respect on her face. Aegis merely shook his head while Rennick beamed like he found the whole thing highly amusing. This situation has just gotten interesting.

"As per sections 48 through 50, I request PRT clearance level 6, two levels below PRT clearance of dimensionally-displaced PRT operative or equivalent thereof, which you probably already confirmed if your encryption systems work with the ones that are encoded in my ID badge."

"Deputy Commander," Dragon said again, "I'm afraid we have no idea who you are except for the data on the badge."

"Permission to reveal your identity to Director Piggot?" Miss Militia asked carefully, before catching herself, "Armsmaster and I saw the badge, the others on the line only saw your face on security footage."

"Others?" the girl asked warily.

"Aside from me, Armsmaster and Dragon, on the line we have Director Piggot, Deputy Director Rennick and Aegis."

"Aegis--" the girl gasped, before letting out a strangled "Permission granted. Section 46 also applies in this case."

"Revelation of dimensionally-displaced asset's identity and their counterpart, if applicable, is to be treated with secrecy equal to that of a Ward or Protectorate member," Dragon recited softly, half to assure the girl, half for the benefit of the people in the conference room, "And may not be used against their counterpart pending the results of identity confirmation."

"Proceed," Director Piggot nodded.

"My name is Taylor Hebert. I was a short-term intern for the Director before being Deputized during an interdepartmental investigation which used discoveries I made when studying regular crime reports. After being tested for powers due to unexpected performance, I was made an offer of a long-term internship and accidentally found Internet fame during my PR rotation. My current assignment is, among other things, the result of my securing a parahuman for the Wards from the CIA and apprehending Shadow Stalker after she has gone rogue-- I've just explained how that went," the girl, Taylor, recited somewhat timidly.

"Very well, Miss Hebert," Director Piggot said, as placatingly as she could, "Directive 507 allows you to keep quiet on matters of secret identities unless relevant to the investigation."

"Just one thing, Director," Taylor said, her voice downcast, "Shadow Stalker is still a Ward, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is," Piggot confirmed, seeing where this was going.

"Has there been a new insect-controlling cape active in the city in the past three or four months? Probably an independent hero."

"The only insect-controller in Brockton Bay is Skitter," Armsmaster replied tersely, his voice fraught with emotions, "She's been active for a month and a half, maybe. But she's not a hero."

"Tell me, please?" Taylor pleaded, "Tell me about Skitter?"

Who the hell are you, Taylor Hebert? Director Piggot wondered, And what's your connection to Skitter if you have no powers?

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.01
(original omake 1, original omake 2)​

The photograph slid limply from my hand.

I'd left it for last because I still couldn't believe it. The locker incident, the location of her first appearance, the descriptions of her height and build. All of them pointed to a conclusion that was impossible to accept.

But in the end, the grainy security photo made undeniable the facts that I didn't want to be true. I knew that long black hair too well for any doubt..

Skitter was me.

She was a villain.

And I've outed her to the PRT with my bitch fit about being M/Sed again.

Should have realized things were wrong when Martinez showed up to bail out Michaelson, the guy that trained me at the start, who helped me get the tattoo after Carlos died, and who lost his job at the PRT over it. Another fine dumb mess, courtesy of yours truly, because I still did things before thinking them through.

I'd be more careful now about what I say and to whom. I needed to get back, back to my PRT, my Wards, my life. But until I could do that, I was stuck here… might as well make myself useful, to this PRT and to the other me that failed to get her chance to be a hero.

But first, I had to get free, and as legally as possible.

------​

The bureaucratic process for enacting Directive 507 was somewhat straightforward, in a "from A to B" way of doing things in a specific order.

Step one. Confirm subject is interdimensional. Done, Taylor Hebert is a student attending Winslow High School, even if she was cutting class as she was spotted coming and going on cameras at the Meridian Mall the day I was questioned by Miss Militia. So I wasn't her. Fingerprints taken when she was hospitalized in January matched mine. So I WAS her, regardless of who else she was.

That gave me my name back.

Step two. Confirm subject is a PRT asset. Done, my credentials turned out to be so valid, even my M/S codes matched. They wouldn't give me new ones, of course, citing 'operational security', at least until Step Four was done with.

Still, that gave me my rank back, at least in spirit.

Step three. Enact applicable clauses of the Directive to protect the identity of PRT asset's local counterpart in the situation they were a cape with a secret identity. This required me to acknowledge that yes, Skitter was most likely Taylor Hebert, but also tied the PRT's hands in regard to what they could (publicly) do about it, because the Directive equated the discovery of cape identities through dimensional shenanigans to accidental unmasking. There was a clause for when the cape in question was an S-Class threat or the dimensional crosser gave their permission… but I wasn't doing that to her. To me.

This gave me my conscience back.

I hoped Director Piggot was a straight shooter regardless of the dimension and would not abuse that knowledge until I put my plan into action. People beyond her, especially Thomas Calvert? I had no guarantees and no real leverage to hold them to the Directive's letter as long as I was locked up. This was made slightly easier by the fact that from what I could tell he wasn't currently engaged by the PRT as a consultant, giving me some breathing room.

Step four. Sign Relevant Executive Orders (Confidential, Eyes Only, etc, etc) into effect regarding that whole identity thing, up to and including giving the dimensionally-displaced PRT asset (that's me) clearance appropriate to, or up to two security levels below, depending on difference in regulation and situational direness, what they rated in their home dimension.

That would give me my agency back.

It also would knock me down from Wards Leader access level (not that I would want that, they still had Aegis here) down to what a regular Ward would rate, still a few levels above the intern I began my journey as.

Oh yes, Aegis.

I was simultaneously relieved and dismayed to learn that here Carlos had lived on, confirming my Dean's unpleasant accusation that Parian's bold escalation was the catalyst for Hookwolf's killing of him. Judging by the fact that all three of them were still alive, my fumbling attempts to make the Wards more proactive achieved little beyond killing my first-ever boyfriend and sending his killer to a gruesome execution. That… was not something I was ready to face again, so soon after seemingly coming to terms with the fact of his death to begin with.

More importantly, I was at a loss as to how I would probably react to running into him in the hallways, as I was still kept in the PRT HQ downtown. The idea of a sobbing unfamiliar girl glomping him in the hallway would likely freak Carlos out, especially with the creepy red jumpsuit and domino mask (thankfully, the jumpsuit concealed the tattoo) they gave me to wear while Armsmaster politely refused to tell me what the heck he was doing to my gear. Probably poking the local version of Kid Win with it, hoping to stimulate the boy into figuring out his specialty. He may be a great Tinker, but a great mentor Armsmaster wasn't.

Red seemed to be the color reserved for the almost-forgotten segment of off-world interaction segment of PRT protocol. In addition to cases like mine, it was also supposed to cover actions in case of alien invasion (most of it was written before the Simurgh showed up and was hilariously obsolete), or another Tinker poking a hole onto Earth Aleph or the hypothetical Earth Dalet and so on.

The only reason I myself was aware of the thing was because reports of a villainous double of Weaver operating in the Trainyard area made us look into possible ways that could have happened. Having quickly ruled out clones (Blasto had no stake in Brockton and would have likely charged potential customers through the nose for doing work involving an active Ward), we were left with increasingly bizarre alternate options.

So of course I read the manual on dealing with Mirrorverse selves cover to cover. I couldn't help but think what I would do if it was me in Madison's place, stuffed in that ugly mess the Trio made of my locker, getting bug powers… now, I was going to try and help the me that did go through all that.

Assuming I could even get near her.

------​

Step four was where the process stalled out. From the short outline Miss Militia gave me as I tried to work through my nervousness by tapping my foot against The Loose Floor Tile of Interrogation Room 5A (I was in a To The Moon and Back mood) Brockton Bay was in disarray, first from some sort of altercation between the gangs precipitating into Bakuda running a massacre of a bombing spree across the city in order to free Lung from PRT custody after Armsmaster put him there, then from the fact that on the day of my 'arrival', someone went and publicized the civilian identities of all the Empire 88 capes.

The worse thing was that the rumour mill said the Undersiders did it. Skitter's team. Taylor's team. It was confusing thinking of the me-that-wasn't-me as a separate person, so I had to keep repeating it. Taylor. She's Taylor. You're the outsider. I'd probably need a new, unconfusing name, and something more sensible than Rolyat.

Their recent attack on a celebration of the victory against the ABB (somehow, I doubted Armsmaster's reasoning about petty villainy, there was too much that didn't fit here) made the Undersiders a hot topic among PRT brass, and anything remotely related to them was a smoking gun. So, Skitter's otherworldly double dropping into their lap and foolishly taking her own mask off? Paydirt.

I was snapped from my musical endeavours (Sorry, Darren) and a recounting of how Skitter managed to outwit Armsmaster in a one-on-one fight by the arrival of a two-man convoy, telling me they would take me to the Rig for further testing.

I sighed as I got up, thinking the simple cloth mask was a dumb decision if the hair was left loose. I looked like they caught Skitter. Heck, maybe the troopers DID think they caught Skitter. As soon as my hands were free, I was making a braid.

Couldn't dare ask Miss Militia for that. This was personal.

------​

As a result of what probably was reasonable paranoia, Chief Director Costa-Brown decided she needed an extra layer of guarantees that I was not part of a "Skitter plan" or, Scion forbid, Skitter herself. Her solution was sitting across the table from me, still silent after five minutes of coming into Conference Room A (I was indifferent on this one, I was only ever in it the one time I helped coordinate the Wards on the S&R when my version of Bakuda exploded a hurricane bomb of some sort on the Boardwalk).

These five minutes did a lot to my opinion of Alexandria as my favorite Triumvirate member while I fought to match the dispassionate look she was giving me. My initial flash of giddiness at seeing who exactly was here to 'interview' me was quickly stifled by the look she gave me, and was suffocated in metaphorical cold water at the frown that persisted onwards.

Mental combat. It was sort of an open secret, at least to my version of the PRT, that Alexandria loved using her Thinker rating much like her Brute one, to bludgeon opponents into submission. Bring them off-balance with carefully chosen words, body language, unexpected revelations. She did not participate in interrogations often, but what I once saw in an internal review video matched what I was seeing now pretty well. She worked, in a way, very much like Tattletale did. And I've learned how to best Tattletale.

"If there's anything you need to know, ma'am," I said, projecting my best Director Piggot forward, "You only need to ask. We're all on the same side here."

"I'm not entirely sure there's anyone on your side, child," was her cold reply, "Except maybe Taylor Hebert. Or should I say, 'Taylor Heberts', however many of you there actually are?"

"Oops, you got me," I admitted with a fake giggle, thank you, Dennis, "I'm actually a clone-maker, Skitter is also me and the insects are actually all tiny me's wearing jetpacks."

That earned me a derisive snerk. She did not appreciate being mocked.

"Are you so willing to waste my time with silly jokes, child?"

She felt at ease, like this. Like she was an empress in her domain and all of us unpowered people were set dressing she could easily rearrange. She was half right in that regard. She could. But she wasn't. There were rules. Rules applied to everybody.

"Are you so willing to waste my time as the PRT continues to wallow in its disgrace?" I retorted, inwardly thanking my PR contacts for drilling me on how to handle hostile journalists, "I've recruited Panacea to my Wards, poached young parahumans from the CIA and kangaroo courts trying to Birdcage people based on Trigger events," I boasted, only slightly exaggera-- Oh, shit, Synod, I have to-- No, I have to get free first! "I could bring Skitter in for you, bring this sorry mess to an end, but instead, you'd rather-- what are you doing exactly?"

"I'm watching you squirm, child, while you wait for your companions to realize your plan didn't work out," she replied coolly, refusing to rise to the bait. I half expected her to call me 'Skitter' to my face.

"I have a poster of you at home, you know," I deflected, changing tracks, "Dressed up as you for Halloween once. Maybe I should try Dragon next, she's a lot more respectful of proper procedure."

"Procedure has nothing to do with what you and yours did at the Forsberg gallery."

Another attempt at attack. It's clear she's goading me, but she's not being sufficiently creative about it. Is she holding back or working off limited briefing materials? Maybe both?

"Right, right," switching tracks again, how about Victoria Dallon? "I'm the one with a malevolent plan, offering information, aid with apprehending and turning at least one wanted cape, uncovering at least one corrupt Ward, and saving you and yours a load of grief at having to explain to the press how one of your child soldiers caused a Trigger, and then what sounds like a chance meeting with Armsmaster somehow resulted in that Trigger joining the Undersiders?"

She actually blinked! Did that bearded clanker never actually report the details of his meeting with Skitter? The Cliff's Notes I heard was the full extent of their knowledge on her motivation? I am SO having words on filing reports with my Armsmaster when I get back!

"The only reason it's not on PHO yet is likely because Skitter doesn't yet know her schoolyard bully is Shadow Stalker," pouring salt in the wound, even if it's merely a scratch, "And I doubt your window of opportunity to convert her will grow wider if she finds out before I reach her. You should arrest Shadow Stalker for attempted murder, however."

THAT had the desired effect.

"How do you know that?" she narrowed her eye. It was weird, looking the eye that stared down the Siberian showing doubt.

"You actually didn't read my file?" I twisted the knife, going for maximum Tattletale, "Was the in-flight movie on the plane from LA that good?" Yes, Taylor, insult the flying brick by implying she took a plane here, great job, "I am Deputy Commander Taylor Hebert, Wards ENE. PRT Clearance Level 4, one step below Director Piggot. My Shadow Stalker is behind bars for what she did before and after joining the Wards. Yours is still running around, bullying her classmates and killing muggers. All I want is to keep the peace and that is why I serve the PRT. Why did you become a hero, ma'am?"

"You don't have powers," she countered, ignoring my barb about loyalties. Doesn't care for the PRT or doesn't think I'm being honest? How can she fight Endbringers but not care about justice? Too jaded from her long un-aging career? "You cannot be a real Ward. You're just a girl playing pretend that got lucky once and was handed a symbolic position, I bet. One mistake and it's back to the playground with you, child."

"Of course, this is probably why Vista is constantly pissed off," sorry Missy, but I need to keep her off balance, "You value age over experience, like some crusty, old, man. Glaistig Uaine looks younger than I do, would you judge her beneath you as well?"

"Glaistig Uaine is in the Birdcage!" she slammed her palm against the table, leaving an imprint, reminding me of Vicky, again, "Do you want me to compare you to her?"

Shit. My plan misfired. I did not intend to make The Alexandria Package pissed, and not in a confined spa-- it's a play, she's fucking playing me!

"Voluntarily, I must add," I responded, trying to pass my gasp for breath as a deep sigh, "And you're changing the subject, her importance has nothing to do with her age, perceived or actual. I earned my rank, my position and the loyalty of my Wards with my actions. I prove it every day I put the uniform on."

She stood up from her chair, turning her back to me, doubtless trying to get her facial expression back under control. I felt oddly elated. I would never talk back to my Alexandria like that, I shook her hand once, she was not this self-centred bi--

"The Tinkertech you were wearing, where did it come from? The Toybox?"

She turned to me, changing the pace of the questions as she put her hands on the back of her chair, leaning forwards in an almost-threatening manner. If her armor was less sensible, I would be getting an eyeful of her cleavage right now. Thank god for her modesty, a part of me thought, beating back the jealousy over the concept of having cleavage, something I always envied about Alexandria. That and flight. Say, could I pester Dragon for-- no, not now!

"Kid Win made everything electronic. The uniform was made to Wards specifications and then tuned up by Weaver as part of the project to upgrade protection for all the Brockton Bay Wards with stab- and bulletproof fabrics," I rattled off, for what is probably the fifth time since yesterday.

"What is the purpose of the goggles?"

"The Eye of Wadjet serves as a command-and-control HUD, providing me with situational awareness in the field, and features additional vision modes for situations with low or zero visibility. The goggles can be used separately from the facemask if need be."

The conversation's tone shifted, she was no longer openly hostile, and so neither was I. Probably she thought it was clever, the way she twisted me into divulging information which I freely gave away since Armsmaster and Kid Win likely already figured everything out. I hoped they kept it in working order. Even without Sirin and Alkonost, my trusty spy drones, the Eye of Wadjet's command interface could be used in a variety of ways to enhance my performance in combat.

"Who's Weaver?"

"The one on the receiving end of Skitter's Trigger event instead of… who it is here," I hesitated, if she didn't read the file, there was no real need to confirm it was Taylor Hebert, at least not until the Directive was enacted, "You'll have to forgive my reluctance to sharing their identity, especially if they didn't Trigger here. The powers, from what I've heard, are broadly similar."

If she caught on to my weak ruse, she gave no indication of it. She straightened out, crossing her arms.

"How did you recruit Panacea into the Wards?"

"I asked politely," my voice as sweet as sugar, full Emma mode. I felt like retching for speaking like that, but it had the desired effect, she was winding down a little faster.

"Who are the CIA capes you mentioned? We have no active underage capes on record for them," she went fishing, I doubted Smith wouldn't trot Synod out at every opportunity he had… unless something already happened to her? I may just have to set fire to that man when I find him.

"Quid pro quo, Miss Library," I put the Brute 3 manacles on the table, not really caring about the sound they made, as I let some of Amy's venom into my voice. The indignity of still wearing that heavy crap has worn my patience thin. If the E88 chased down Skitter and her team for the alleged outing, all I was going to look forward to was a very awkward talk with my-- with her Dad at her funeral, and I really didn't want to waste any more time here.

"You are in no position--"

"Directive 507, Section 73. I'm well aware that for the intent of certain procedures, your Thinker rating is admissible as a polygraph test. At which point did I lie?" I cut her off, but my growing empathy with Director Piggot about self-centered Thinkers allowed me to keep my voice from cracking. I cut off motherfrickin Alexandria! Goodbye, dearest spleen, in case I never see you again!

"You slipped up twice, equating yourself to Skitter," she said a little too smugly for an invulnerable flying brick with a built-in lie detector talking down to a lowly unpowered teenager, "Why do you keep dancing around her identity?"

"You know why," I glared at her, "And you know who she is because I did not realize where I was at first. Don't play dumb with me. I need you to tell Chief Director Costa-Brown to authorize Directive 507, and then everyone wins. The PRT gets a trained operative with custom gear and valuable intel," she snerked again and I remotely wished I had something to throw at her smug-- darn it, she GOT to me!-- "the Wards get Skitter and possibly Tattletale, and, given time to locate them, if they still live, the CIA assets I mentioned," no reason to get her hopes up, and also allowing me to keep Synod's nature concealed for the time being, "And in that, a major PR boost for turning well-known parahuman criminals into Wards, as well as dismantling the gang that showed the Wards and the PRT up on multiple occasions."

"What do you get out of this?" she narrowed her eye again. I wished for a squirt gun filled with cranberry juice, wondering if it would actually sting her eye or not. She got to me and I was angry, both at her and at myself, and that made my thoughts petty. Petty and vicious. Neither of which I should be if I was to win this. Another deep breath masked into a sigh.

"Peace of mind, Shadow Stalker in juvie where she belongs, and a step towards punching Über and L33t into recreating the conditions that got me here in the first place. I have a team to get back to, and a villainous doppelganger of one of my Wards to stop."

"So you would trade three potential Wards for the loss of an existing one?"

"The cold calculus of war does not apply here, Miss Library," I responded, trying to remember how Carol Dallon went from fake warm mother to genuinely disturbing lawyer, "As I sincerely doubt Shadow Stalker, if left unchecked, stopped violating the terms of her probation past the date where I arrested her in my world. That's another PR nightmare I'm helping you prevent," merely because it coincides with my own goals, I managed not to say, "All it takes is one leak to the press, which Tattletale may already be preparing for all we know, before the newsies across the country start wondering, 'Was Brockton Bay's Protectorate turning a blind eye to one of their Wards being a killer and an abusive psychopath an isolated incident, or is it a sign of systemic corruption'?"

She relented. I could see her pose, her entire body language, shift completely once more. So she had some sort of loyalty to the establishment, the earlier dismissal was another act. Damn but she was good at this.

"I am impressed, Deputy Hebert," she admitted, as I raised my manacles again to interject.

"Deputy Commander."

"Deputy Commander," she repeated with a nod, "Are you quite sure you have no powers?"

"They tested me earlier today while I was waiting for you to arrive," I stifled a snort, it did not come out dignified, "I did not care much for doing that a third time."

"In that case, I am suggesting a Thinker 0, Master 0 rating for your file. Just so that someone would not underestimate you again," she continued, producing a key from somewhere to unlock the manacles. They clanged onto the table, leaving a satisfying scuff mark to finally give this room some personality. Oh, wait, the palm print already did it. Off to the Collateral Damage Training Seminars with you, Miss Library, my tired mind supplied.

"Add Brute 0 as well, then. Panacea was slightly overzealous when she healed me from combat wounds once," I offered as an olive branch, still making a mental note about the squirt gun. Does she make every compliment she says sound like an insult? "They tell me my bones are now quite a bit stronger than normal for someone my age."

"I will see about getting your equipment back to you, however…" she trailed off, trying to feed me lines for some reason.

"Yes, I will remove the Deputy Commander insignia, as well as the PRT signage. Perhaps repaint the whole thing, if I get access to Kid Win's or Armsmaster's workshops. I presume you want me to form a different cape persona for when, if, I am allowed into the outside world?"

"Exactly so. Contact with the Wards is probably inevitable, but I suggest refraining from revealing your connection to Skitter until she's… obtained. Is a Social Thinker designation acceptable to you?"

"Very. What do you think of Emissary?"

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.02
(original omake)​

In the end, I was met halfway. After a lengthy lecture about the importance of preserving my nature secret, Alexandria departed, leaving me to face the prospect of an indefinite stay away from my life, my Dad, my sister, my friends, my Wards, my goals. This meant I had to set some new ones, however long I was stuck here. The faint hope that the local version of L33t hadn't yet built a device like the one that got me here was strongly suppressed by the dread that even if he'd build one for me, it wasn't guaranteed to get me to my dimension, or universe or whatever. Who knows how his things even work?

She was quite surprised to learn I came from Earth Bet, because this Earth was also an Earth Bet. This meant either a different Earth on the hypothetical chain of worlds (which Alexandria mentioned offhand so casually as if she held evidence it was true) had also assumed it was Bet and the next one over was Aleph, or there was more than one chain. The fact that I've met my Earth's Alexandria was the kicker -- she was way too certain she couldn't have alternate universe counterparts. Still, she seemed intrigued at the prospects that would bring.

In short, even if my intel value would turn out to be impractical, my scientific value was pretty high. Which was okay by me, so long as they weren't going to try and cut me up, I hoped.

So here I was, safely ensconced at the Protectorate HQ, The Rig, out on the Bay, with a whole half a floor available to me until a better housing solution was derived. Most of it was empty offices, left dormant as backup for a crisis, Endbringer event or some other reason that would render the PRT building downtown unusable or unavailable. Ah, the pleasant, if slightly musty, smell of contingency plans!

One office was reactivated for my use, netting me a new PRT internal user account and a new set of ID cards, made out to 'Emissary' the cape and 'Rose Ellison' the PRT Intern with an access level equal to a Ward. I refused to be useless and didn't back down until I got an access level that allowed me access to what meager files they had on Skitter and the Undersiders. Director Piggot said they'd look into my claims about Shadow Stalker but having hard evidence really wouldn't hurt, and in the meantime I should stay put and try to keep my head down.

Along the way, I started noting down which of the cases I worked on that the local PRT has failed to solve or even hadn't opened and which of these I could confirm would work based on available intel. This would make for a decent olive branch when I would be delivering my ultimatum to Director Piggot later this evening, based on the confirmation of my hunches concerning Skitter's nebulous prior run-ins with Armsmaster which he stayed suspiciously vague on.

I also tried running. It was ridiculous, but the two-day lull in my workout routine was itching my muscles badly, and so I found myself taking a sprint through the hallways of the half-abandoned floor, still wearing that garish red jumpsuit and accompanying domino mask, my hair done up into a french braid. I intended to keep it only as long as I needed to meet up with Skitter, to better prove my identity, then… do something to it.

For clothing, aside from several of these jumpsuits, I got standard issue PRT-approved underwear, socks, shoes, even a beanie I half suspected was scavenged from the Lost & Found in the lobby. If I ever decided to re-enact a (slightly redder) rendition of One Flew Over Cuckoo's Nest, I totally could. Except for the hair, I guessed, but that, again, was only as long as I kept it long.

The idea of cutting off my hair hurt, but if I had to stay in this world for a while, I'd need to step off the Rig, and do it in a way that did not associate me with the local Taylor Hebert. Skitter. Whatever. I kept trying to think of her as "her", at least until I had to deal with her directly.

I wanted to improve her life, not mess it up by accidentally running into Emma or Sophia or even Greg -- in short, anyone who would take out the consequences of meeting me on her. This meant changing my appearance as much as I could bear to. Hmm, maybe I should shave a temple or two, get that teenage rebel streak fix?

Lost in contemplation about that, I naturally didn't consider that only half of this floor was in disuse as I ran into - probably earning a bruise or two in the process - the armored figure of Dauntless, who was just standing in the middle of the hallway. It didn't seem like he was going anywhere, just… lost in thought like me?

"Oof," I proposed my complaint about the situation to the world, which relented, granting me the ability to catch my breath, "Hello Dauntless. I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there, got too focused on my thoughts."

"Er, right. No harm done," he replied somewhat absently, eyeing me with a weird curiosity, probably confused why I wasn't sufficiently starstruck-- or maybe offended I wasn't, "I just heard the scuttlebutt that we have a stowaway up here and wanted to meet you in person."

He offered me a gloved hand, which I shook gingerly. I hadn't had many interactions with my Dauntless, but what little I remembered from the files seemed to match this one. No need for attitude adjustments, so long as I would stop blabbing about the dimensional thing. Alexandria was pretty stern on that point, after all. I turned my shrug into an arm stretch to get the feeling of the impact out of my upper body.

"Yeah, hi, I'm Emissary and I'm… probably going to be a Ward here? I don't know yet, honestly," I replied, trying to sound earnest. This somehow felt like a triple identity situation, as all of the people who knew I wasn't from around here, knew the me under the mask. I had to create 'Rose' and 'Emissary' from the ground up, preferably avoiding a repeat of the dreaded DeputyH meme if I could help it.

"But staying at the Rig? Anonymously? That's some special circumstances, I'd say," he whistled, "Next thing you'll tell me, yesterday's surprise visit from Alexandria was for your benefit as well."

"It… sorta was an audition, I guess?" I grinned sheepishly (Dennis #3, "it's funny, but also actually true") , "There's talk my powers are a good counter for Tattletale and Skitter, of the Undersiders. I'm here as… well, best think of it as something like witness protection? My identity isn't known, but I'm staying for the duration of a… rebranding."

"Ah," he ah'ed knowingly, probably thinking back to Madcap, if he knew his story, "Get a new mask and then you're on the prowl for them?"

"Something like that, yeah, though I hope it will be done only by talking to them, I'd rather avoid violence," I nodded lightly, moving to other stretches, "Bad PR, can't put minors into direct danger, yada yada."

"Heh," he heh'ed, which somehow made me appreciate the Grecian-helmeted hero a bit more, especially compared to my recent bout of mutually assured rudeness with Alexandria, "I hope it works out, maybe you'll do better than we did."

"Than you?" I looked at him quizzically, inasmuch as the mask permitted, pumping my legs in place so they wouldn't lose the heat, "Oh, you mean with the gallery and--"

"Yeah, not our finest hour, I have to admit."

It was his turn to look sheepish. I suddenly recalled that my initiative to get the Protectorate members more regular therapy sessions after Madison started to improve resulted in him getting a bit more sure of himself. Clearly, he needed that here, but he wasn't going to seek it out himself. Probably the pressure from the Triumvirate-scale expectations getting to him, I mused, recalling Armsmaster's barbed opinion of the man before me I received the same day as my Commanderdom. Commandership? Comma-- Not really relevant, right now.

"Anyway, forgive me for the nosiness," he spoke up again, "I was getting a bit stir-crazy with the preparations for the Empire Eighty-Eight raids and wanted to get topside, then remembered this floor isn't empty anymore when I heard you running."

"No harm done," I replied with a smile (my own this time), "I'd better not keep you from contemplating the horizon then, I should get back to my plans of catching the Undersiders, myself."

Hah, or catching the Undersiders myself?

"That would be good, though if I were you, I'd hold off on that for a while, what with Purity going on her rampage for them."

What.

"What? Rampage?" I repeated feebly. I hadn't yet reached the E88 files regarding their collective unmasking, but I had a hunch that if it included Kayden Anders nee Russell, it would include Aster, and Purity would rip Scion's heart out (if he had one to begin with) to make sure her daughter was safe. I saw how that ended badly for a bunch of ABB goons that foolishly tried to mug her on one of the streets separating ABB and E88 territory once, which was how we found out her identity to begin with. She was pregnant at the time. If something like that happened here… Wait, she only gave birth recently, didn't she?

"Yeah, she looked pretty ticked off at the Undersiders for the info leak, said they took something from her? Don't you watch TV?" he asked with a tone of 'you youngsters' in his voice, which felt odd, he was probably closer to my age than my Dad's.

"No TV in my quarters. Oh crap," I squeezed out, eyes widening as I recalled a heated memo war over Purity's identity that I got to participate in no more than two weeks ago, "Look, it was nice talking to you, but I have a Thinker thing to do and a phone call to make, sorry to bail on you--" I turned and ran, my last words trailing around the corner at him as he waved half-heartedly at my back and said something I couldn't hear over the feeling of dread building in the back of my head.

------​

A quick look at the few layers of operation orders and reports I had access to revealed a "cease" (Was that a valid use of the word?) of unpowered E88 personnel which were subsequently moved to a safehouse for storing, ironically, witness protection people. The phone call I was making was, of course, to Director Piggot.

"Emissary," she said uneasily, "Now is not the--"

"Did you order to seize Kayden Russell's kids?" I cut her off.

"Whose?"

"Purity, she was outed with the rest of the E88 the day that I arrived. She's tearing up the city, yelling she wants to return whatever's been taken from her," I spoke rapidly, clacking away at the keyboard with both hands, my jaw cramping from holding the uncomfortable receiver with my shoulder, "Someone ordered her children to be grabbed by PRT troops, which are currently sitting in a witness protection safehouse."

"I do not remember signing such an order," she responded slowly, the warning signs of her temper heating up in her voice.

"To be short: she keeps Night and Fog on a personal leash. One call and they come here from Boston if they haven't already. She values the life of her daughter above her own or anyone else's and was willing to retire to keep her safe," I rattled off, trying to backtrace the order before hitting several variations of ACCESS DENIED, "In my world she's a repentant vigilante trying to earn enough goodwill to go Protectorate to get protection for her newborn child. The PRT here has taken her daughter and foster son. She's tearing up the city thinking the Undersiders are at fault. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

The line was silent before she spoke a single word.

"Suggestions?"

"Twofold. Check who has ordered Team Sabre on this, because I don't have the access, and have Velocity or Assault and Battery approach her, apologize and kindly ask her to step down in exchange for protection for her and her children from Kaiser. I'll also need PHO access on my machine."

"I'll see what can be done. Thank you, Emissary," she finally said. It felt like she hadn't used these words in a while.

"Pacem a Potentibus, Director," I half-quoted the obsoleted PRT motto, retired after Behemoth's attack on New York. The lack of a functional motto (or any human face) was part of the problem with the PRT's perception I was trying to fix for my world… and here, nobody even bothered. Cutting the motto's first words changed the meaning. Peace from powers indeed, instead of Protecting the peace from powers or whatever awkward meaning Ad Tuendam Pacem a Potentibus was supposed to stand for. I was surprised to learn nobody tried to make the motto acronymize to "PRT" as well.

I was unsure what the strangled sound on the other end of the phone was, but she dropped the call without saying another word.

------​

The PHO was overflowing with reactions to the E88 and the apparent breakage of the Unwritten Rules by the Undersiders. But I wasn't there to trawl for juicy pics or rumors. There was networking to be done.

With an e-mail to Dragon, I got help with securing a Verified Cape account on PHO for Emissary the Cape, since the previous holder of the title had apparently died a few Endbringer attacks ago and was definitely not going to use it again.

To: Winged_One
From: Emissary
Subject: Leak

Tt,
Coil rolled on you. Likely used you to obtain info.
Consider cutting losses.
PRT cleaning house w/regard Aster.
E.


To: Gotharina
From: Emissary
Subject: YG

Caryn,
Are you still employed by the Youth Guard?
Have information to offer regarding underaged capes in CIA employ.
E.


To: TaylorH
From: Emissary
Subject: The Journal

Little Owl,
I can help you get justice against EB and SH, but I will need your Journal for evidence.
Will you be willing to meet in person?
Bring Tt if you want to.

Annette's Daughter.


To: Panacea
From: Emissary
Subject: Overwork

You are more than a service.
Ask Carol about your father.
E.​

I leaned back in my seat. That would be a decent start, at least as long as I couldn't leave this place. Taunting Smith was a risk, but I was unsure whether Synod's unverified account was even in use, let alone monitored. Bringing CIA attention to me would be entertaining, even though this Piggot would likely refuse to back me if it came to blows. In the end, I decided against it, particularly since I was unsure what to even write to her, on the off-chance she was the person behind the account.

That left only two immediate issues to clear up: what to paint on my armor and how to solve Armsmaster's mystery.

------​

I was sitting in the waiting chair across from Natalie, agonizing over the fact that I couldn't have a meaningful talk with her, and doodling the Eye of Wadjet (the symbol, not my mask) in the margins of my stack of printouts over and over again.

She looked up at me quizzically, and I waved meekly.

"Do we know each other?" she said, "In the-- I mean, I know."

She practically hissed the last part, probably out of some misguided attempt to keep the sound recorders from picking it up. I nodded in response.

"Yeah. I started out as a PRT intern under you," I replied, smiling at the pleasant nostalgia, "Things kinda snowballed from there, I'm afraid."

"How do you go from--" she began, but was cut off by the intercom buzz.

"Natalie, please invite Emissary in. And try to keep sensitive material from spreading?" Director Piggot's voice suggested. Natalie blanched, I snickered and got up.

"I'll tell you about it, if I survive," I said, reaching for the doorknob.

------​

"...this Taylor is going to be mistrustful of everything the Protectorate or PRT comes at her with, more than I was. It seems the Undersiders do not yet know their self-appointed nemesis and the girl that made Skitter Trigger are the same person just yet, but the fact that the Locker happened and apparently no retribution followed will have destroyed any remaining faith in the institutions of state without you to rebuild them, ma'am."

Behind me the projection screen displayed all I could find out, which was not much: a report from the hospital regarding Taylor's state after she was pulled from the locker. A lackluster report from the short-lived police investigation, smothered by the lack of evidence, witnesses and faculty cooperation. A single complaint from one Taylor Hebert filed in 2009, which I even remembered writing, apparently the only one the school bothered to digitize (or store, I was unsure which).

And the capstone: a single frame from Armsmaster's helmet cam recording of one of his encounters with Skitter that accompanied his report on her. Where was the rest of the footage?

"Brown-nosing won't help, Taylor," Director Piggot said, surprisingly softly, "We need hard evidence."

Maybe it was the stack of printouts detailing what I could confirm from my memories of past cases that was now on her desk, maybe the fact of my professionalism without any of the mentoring I received from my Piggot, but it somehow felt as if the Director was warming up to me. Or maybe I was imagining things.

"I'm not… brown-nosing," I replied dejectedly, "You helped me a lot, helped me get out of a bad place, before this--" I gestured at the screen, "--could happen to me. I'm sorry we never met in this reality, or timeline or whatever, and I appreciate the fact that you're even listening to me right now, but--"

"This isn't relevant," Armsmaster said, interrupting my gratitude. "Skitter and the Undersiders have proven themselves progressively more and more dangerous as time has gone on. They need to be stopped. What else can you tell us?"

"I'm getting there," I snapped back, refusing to be cowed. Is this what made her turn villain? He pushed, in his usual manner, on a teen with authority issues that make common teenage rebellion look like their Sunday best, and she decided the heroes are assholes? "Damaged as I would be after the Locker, I would still want to be a hero, that was my one life's dream no amount of bullying could scratch. For me to turn to villainy, that option would have to be better than any other, an utter collapse of faith in the system of justice, the police, the Protectorate. The after-action reports I have access to don't show me any reason for that to cause what happened from the bank onwards."

"So your research is useless to us," Armsmaster shook his head, "We could have done all that based entirely on knowing her name. Your name."

"Not entirely true," I replied, prodding the projection screen with the red dot of the laser pointer, "We now know why she kept refusing to join, and you wouldn't know that from this one document," my pointer speared the school report, "But I'm missing a piece of the puzzle. With your permission, ma'am," I nodded to the Director, "I'd like to see the full, uncensored versions of these reports."

For some reason, the Director raised her eyebrows at me while Armsmaster stiffened.

"The 'full' versions, Miss Hebert?" she asked slowly, "I admit I'm not sure what you mean."

I surpressed my irritation, with far more difficulty than I was used to, the last week must be getting to me more than I thought, and reminded myself of the various protocols which might be hindering my investigation.

"Director, I understand that you and the rest of the PRT are probably at least a little nervous about me, and I get why," I explained calmly, then let out a small laugh. "I mean, if it hadn't happened to me, I wouldn't believe it either. A known villain approaching you with intel, claiming to be from another world where she's a model employee? I'd have said it was too good to be true or that they were crazy," I sighed, "But I do want to earn your trust and help you, and Brockton Bay. And right now, that means helping you deal with Skitter." I moved across the projection to stand next to the first recorded image of Skitter, her first night out. "I like to think I'm good with analysis--" a bit of modesty would probably help, "--but I can't help you if I'm not getting accurate information." I cocked my head, "You are familiar with the phrase, 'garbage in, garbage out,' right?"

Armsmaster's body language had slowly been shifting as I talked, from a confident, at-ease stance to one that seemed bowstring-taut and filled with tension. As I spoke and saw the changes, an ugly thought wormed its way into my mind, but I dismissed it immediately. Armsmaster and I hadn't gotten along that well, back home, but he was a solid, dependable hero. One who could be blunt to the point of rudeness, admittedly, but a good and honest man.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but was cut off by a gesture from Director Piggot.

"I'm more than familiar with the phrase, Miss Hebert," she answered smoothly, a scowl flitting over her face so quickly I thought I'd imagined it, "But what makes you think that the reports you've been given are false?"

I nodded gratefully even as Armsmaster scowled. "Honestly, Ma'am, its mostly the report from her first appearance," I circled the report with my pointer, "Which states that Armsmaster engaged Lung, defeated him, and tranquilized him, causing him to shrink down to his human form before the at-the-time unnamed Parahuman now known as Skitter approached him, claiming it was her first night. Armsmaster makes a Wards Pitch, she declines."

"We know all this," Armsmaster interjected, "As well as the complications from the tranquilizers that led to Lung being crippled in detention. I've already been punished for that incident. If you can't tell us anything new, then you've just wasted time while-"

"Armsmaster."

Piggot's voice was absolutely level, there was no heat, no ice in it, but it held as much authority as, no, even more than, the Triumvirate. He blanched and shut up. I stared at the Tinker, confused at his... surprisingly hostile outburst. What was going on?

Piggot cleared her throat and I turned back to her.

"Please continue," she stated.

"Certainly," I adjusted my grip on the laser pointer before using it to indicate details on Armsmaster's helmet camera still, "According to the report," I began, "Skitter didn't show up until after Lung was a human again," the red dot flickered over to a corner of the image. "But here, we can see one of Lung's claws, which would indicate he's still transformed. I thought that it could have been cut off during the fight and Lung regenerated a new one, but the report makes no mention of a wound like from the fight and follow-up statements from PRT field cleanup teams and those of the First Responders on scene make no mention of a severed limb on the site. They have to report these things, biohazard rules and all."

I hesitated slightly before I began my next point. Director Piggot's eyebrows were climbing higher and higher, while Armsmaster's teeth were grinding together.

"The other thing I noticed was her hair and costume," I continued, pointer flicking across the picture, "specifically, the damage both have taken. Her hair," I pointed to the feature, "is clearly singed in several places. As for her costume, note the discolored spots."

"What do they mean?" Piggot asked, curious, but with an underlying edge.

"Back in my world, Weaver made spider-silk armor for all the Wards, and Skitter seems to have made a similar suit for herself," I paused, briefly pushing down a pang of regret, remembering briefing my Piggot (and wasn't THAT an odd sentence?) on the benefits of the suits, "I was there when they were testing exactly how strong and durable they were, and the discoloration matches nearly exactly for one particular type of damage: extreme heat."

I took a deep breath.

"These discrepancies lead me to the conclusion that Skitter was present much longer than was stated in the official report, possibly since the start of the fight. Ma'am, if you'd like me to help you more on this case, PLEASE let me see the report that tells me what really happened."

Director Piggot placed her face in her hands and exhaled loudly. When she dropped her hands, her face was a carefully controlled mask.

"Unfortunately," she growled, and her anger was sufficient to drive me back a step before I caught myself, "What you read was not a coverup or a redacted version of the incident. That is the only version of events we have on record," she slowly turned to face the leader of the Protectorate, "Fortunately, the author of said report is right here," her glare intensified, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for Armsmaster. I had NEVER seen her as angry as she was right now, her face blotching unpleasantly. In contrast, what I could see of Armsmaster's face was paling dramatically, "Well, Armsmaster? Would you like to explain these 'discrepancies' to myself and Emissary?"

She pressed a button on her desk, and two uniformed PRT troopers stepped into the room, confoam throwers held at ease.

"Well?" she bared her teeth at him, "I'm waiting."

Armsmaster gulped.

Then he began to talk.

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.03​

I pounded the bag. The gym at the PRT HQ was usually abandoned at this hour of the evening, with the day shifts already gone home and the evening and night shifts out on patrols or in their ready-rooms. I still kept the mask on, just in case, but swapped the jumpsuit out for a tank top and boxing shorts from an extra serving of PRT-provided clothes I had to requisition. My ever-expanding bag of stuff returned with me from the Rig back to the city as it was determined I'd be staying here from here on out, especially if I was to join the Wards as both Piggot and Alexandria suggested, hopefully independently of each other.

The main saving grace about the PRT-issued clothing was that all the bras I was provided were sports bras, so I avoided being in the bizarre position of stripping beyond underwear while still wearing the red mask. I hated the thing, but had to keep it at least for another day.

I let my anger simmer below the surface, driving my hits, helping the muscles burn. I needed the workout, yes, but I also needed an outlet.

Skitter wanted to be a hero, but she felt she could gather intel on the Undersiders when they offered her a spot. This she wanted to use as her 'in' with the Protectorate, to build goodwill.

Armsmaster showed us what footage he had - his talks with Skitter at the site of Lung's takedown and at Forsberg - because he apparently genuinely didn't record the time she went to warn him about the bank job. Through a bizarre combination of bad phrasing on his part and teenage idiocy on hers (I wished I could say I myself was different in that regard, but I certainly wasn't), they managed to fall into a doomed spiral of mutual mistrust and disrespect. And of course he didn't quite get all of the nuances down in the written report. Even in the parts that he actually wrote down. Piggot was furious about that, and I couldn't blame her.

Where I saw a rigid man holding up his strict but self-consistent understanding of the principles of Law and Justice, Skitter saw another vestige of The Man, the system that has been pushing her down ever since the bullying started.

Where I saw a girl desperately trying to find a place to be useful to The Greater Good in the hell that was this Brockton Bay, Armsmaster saw an opportunist clever enough to fool his lie detector with her words of wanting to be a hero.

I bit back my remark that he may as well just turned another Sphere into Mannequin, no Simurgh necessary, because I refused to believe Skitter was that far gone, and instead asked when I could use his tools to repaint my armor. I had no idea how this Tattletale was handling Taylor in their off hours, but I also had no illusions that whatever she was doing at the behest of Coil could not have been good, for her or the city. This meant I had to shake a leg, get cleared for unsupervised forays on the town. Which I would do as soon as I'd get any responses on PHO, of course.

I paused, panting, sweat beading on my skin, the tip of my braid ruffled as it hung heavily over my shoulder as I leaned forward to rest against the bag. My anger slowly gave way to the coldness of logic.

Was Tattletale's story the same? She wasn't really an utter bitch, she always played the situation to aggravate her opponent because it was the easy way out. Not like her power allowed her to perform well in physical combat, though it undoubtedly had some Combat Thinker applications, looking for tells and openings. Her barbed tongue was her primary weapon. If Skitter got pressured into villainy by a failed recruitment and mislabeling, maybe she's not the only one? Was she even working for Coil willingly? Or aware he was involved?

I was awoken from my contemplation by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Looking up, pushing my braid back and fixing the mask's position, I almost jumped at seeing who it was, certainly not the person I was expecting.

"Hello, Clockblocker," I said, offering the red-headed boy in the white domino mask a small smile (Old Madison #4, "I am not a threat", because New Madison only had two so far), "What can I help you with?"

The boy shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his head. Not the conversation starter you expected, eh?

"You have me at a disadvantage, Miss--"

"Emissary," I supplied, trying to remember the Wards mandatory workout schedule for this week before realizing the difference in the roster likely rendered my memories of it irrelevant. I hope he's here alone and let's leave it at that.

"Miss Emissary," he nodded, "I don't think I've seen you around before?"

"Only been in town for a few days," I admitted, for a certain degree of truth, "Once the paperwork and security clearances work out, I'm likely going to end up as one of the Wards, like you."

He beamed at that, before catching himself.

"Likely? What's not to like about us Wards? You going to chicken out? Is this a trial run? 'Nah, these Wards have too many boys. And these Wards are too young. But these Wards are juuuust riiight'," he singsonged the fairytale parody, earning himself a laugh from me.

"No, I meant I'm here for a specific task and unsure whether they'll keep me on afterwards," I replied, with a more earnest smile this time, "Hence the mask, because if they move me, what good is my civilian identity for any of you?"

"To be pen-pals? Oooor, I dunno, long-distance romance?" he shrugged. This resulted in my suppressing a laugh with an Amy-like snort. Now I made me sad. I hope I can get to Amy before it's too late.

He picked up some free weights, clearly to be seen doing something rather than simply standing next to me. I chose this moment of pause in the conversation to towel my sweat off, trying to ignore how he nearly dropped one of the weights on his foot as his eyes got glued to-- my arms? Has he never seen biceps on a girl before?

"You can pen-pal with the cape identity, you know? I'm sure there's been precedent for that with most of the Las Vegas team. And I'm afraid you're not my type, dear Blocker of Clocks," I finally offered, moving on towards the water cooler. Not having my own water bottle was a pain.

"Er, what is your type, oh Fair Maiden Of Probably Punching My Head Off If I Say The Wrong Thing?" he asked cautiously. I realized my post-workout muscles may have made me look more buff than I was, especially with the way that this tank top accentuated the shoulders… but it was also slightly uncomfortable being ogled by Dennis of all people. I imagined if I ever had a brother, this is what I would feel like if he walked in on me in the shower. I thanked the heavens these shorts were pretty baggy and concealed the places I really didn't want to be ogled.

"Someone manlier, you know?" I suggested lightly, trying to wrestle the machine to give me something between 'scalding hot' and 'icy tundra', "With a bit more muscles and hopefully not shorter than me. Like… Aegis?"

I tried to keep my voice from hitching, and hoping to hell and back this will not turn into a cheesy chick flick where Aegis would stride in the doorway that very moment. It didn't, the person walking through the door at that moment was Dean. Gallant. Professionalism. Don't let them know you know their names.

"What's that about Aegis-- oh boy, Clock, are you so desperate you're hitting on PRT troopers now?" he started, before realizing I was masked when I turned to face him and waved. And that I was a little young to be a PRT trooper, "Wait, don't tell me. Shadow Stalker's petitions to have Flechette transferred over worked?"

His eyes scanned the both of us in the way I associated with using his emotion sight over his actual one, and it somehow felt that this was a repeat of earlier performances. Why am I not surprised?

"Sorry," I grinned, pointing at my face, "Red mask, not white. I'm a secret transfer, and definitely not Flechette. Also, hi!" This reminds me! "Wait, Shadow Stalker wanted Flechette transferred in? Isn't she… kind of a loner?"

"Eh, it's a crossbow thing, I'm guessing," Dennis ventured, returning his attention to his weights, "So, Aegis, huh. Is that why you, eh-he-he?"

I followed his gaze to my arm. My arm holding the cup of water. With the tattoo of Aegis's broken helmet. Shit. Seven hundred shades of embarassment later, I vowed to only work out in a sweatshirt from now on. I was not giving the tattoo up, but flaunting it would do me no good either.

"You got me," I admitted, hoping that would account for the chromophore of blanching and blushing my face was probably doing right now, "I got this on a dare after a friend caught me ogling a few photos of his. Just… don't tell Aegis, okay? At least not yet. Not like I expected to end up here when I was getting it done," I almost didn't lie.

"Make you a deal," Dean said, probably confused by the kaleidoscope of grief, love, shame and whatever else filtered through that emotion sense of his, "You tell us what your powers are, and we'll keep your secret?"

"For now," Clockblocker added with a grin, "Then, when they're introducing you officially, we'd be all 'Oh, yeah, right, Emissary, the girl with the stupidly huge--' er--" he paused, eyes widening as he realised the earlier exchange, "--smile?" he volunteered, awkwardness hanging in the air as he blanched and I blushed. Again. Traitorous face, he's like a kid brother caught peeping, why are you blushing?

He struggled through his last set, his weight quite a bit below the ones I used… or even the ones I had already built my Clockblocker up to using. Being a squishy wizard type, I pushed him to get in better shape to dodge bullets better "until he could learn how to freeze them", more commonly known as "forever". Aegis, apparently, didn't see the merit of forcing Clockblocker to do it.

"Fine," I shrugged, setting the weights on one of the leg machines. My normal routine would include a set or two of burpees before the wind-down, but I was not doing them in front of boys, especially not these ones, "Hi, I'm Emissary and I'm a Social Thinker. I'm good at getting people to do what I want by talking at them, and I'm also good at running, tazing people and bureaucracy," I recited in a drab monotone, "Only the first one is a power, the rest are hobbies."

"Hi, Emissary," the boys chorused before Dean took off to warm up on the mats, shaking his head, while Dennis simply laughed.

"But seriously, how is 'bureaucracy' a hobby?" he asked quizzically, putting the weights on an angled barbell. Not a lot, but hey, everybody starts somewhere, right? His forearms certainly needed all the help they could get.

"Dad was a Union man," I shrugged again, settling in to push the weight upwards with my legs, "Instilled a lot of respect for the power of crossing the f's and dotting the j's in me."

"I'm not sure that saying goes exactly like that…" Dean offered from afar.

"Mom was an English professor," I continued, "I'm fairly certain that's exactly how you write f's and j's."

------​

My self-reflection in the shower, aside from washing away the doubts of having my tattoo exposed, involved the conclusion that it seemed like the Wards were pretty much the same as in my world before I shook their lives up by getting their team leader killed. So is it 'world' now? Or 'timeline'? Probably using 'world' from now on. Except for Browbeat. Who the heck is Browbeat?

The largest discrepancy I could find was the fact that Gallant and Glory Girl were still dating. Or rather Dean Stansfield and Victoria Dallon were. Huh, I guess she didn't get incarcerated in this world. Good thing I looked it up before mentioning something as inciting out loud. Guess she's still relying on Amy here...

I was assigned a bunk in a currently unused PRT trooper dorm room until I was ready to be a Ward and got a spot at Wards Common, and I opted to shower in the shared bathroom of the six-person dorm rather than risk running into someone I knew and Taylor didn't in the gym's shower. That run-in with Michaelson and Martinez was enough trouble already.

The PRT phone I was issued was a dumb brick, so checking the consequences of my PHO machinations would have to wait until morning. As a result, while I waited for my hair to dry (wonder of wonders, I get no hair dryer!) I was doodlin-- er-- drawing designs for the new armor paint job. It still needed to project an impression of formality that the Wards Deputy Commander armor achieved by aping the PRT trooper uniform. That was a stroke of genius, preserving the brand image of The Deputy, firmly associated with the PRT uniforms at that point, but also conveying the idea that hey, I was playing by cape rules now.

Sure, it resulted in a wave of fresh True DeputyH Facts, but by that point anything would do that. I giggled in a most unbecoming way (Sorry, Dad) at the thought of what my world's PHO would think of my talk with Alexandria. Or what I accidentally did to Armsmaster's career. Oh crap. I'm going to be using his lab for this. He's actually still in possession of my gear. I really hope he doesn't take anything out on my stuff.

I flashed back to my childhood, playing capes with Emma, who was still running free here, likely tormenting her Taylor up until she stopped coming to class to free up more time for Undersidering, no doubt. We worked on ideas for what we wanted our cape costumes to be when we inevitably got powers, because why wouldn't we? Skitter's costume looked nothing like anything I could remember, but I did vaguely recall Madison-- my Madison, Weaver-- telling me how much effort dying the web-made suits required, which meant Skitter was restricted for color choice. This also meant that unless I was willing to wait for a week or two while this Dragon reformulated the dyes my Dragon used for this process, I was stuck with the dark grays of my original undersuit for the time being.

A secondary concern - if I ran into Skitter as Emissary before I ran into Taylor as Rose (or a combination thereof), I needed something that I would be able to leverage into convincing her I was a friend, an ally. This meant it had to be a recognizable design from my childhood. Which was how I arrived at the need for the dark greens and browns and grays of the design for Forest Guardian, who was supposed to be an ally of Mouse Protector.

The sweeping lines of her armor, translated onto the flats of mine, would make for an impression of a greenish knightly breastplate, which I hoped PRT PR would not veto for being 'insufficiently heroic'. A look at my phone and a hand through my hair told me it was time to brush up, braid up and go see if Armsmaster didn't tear anything of mine apart in a fit of vengeance. Or revenge? Was there a difference? In a fit of revengeance, alright.

------​

My initial guess was correct: Armsmaster had Kid Win tearing his hair out over figuring out the intricacies of the results of one of his own Tinker fugues. As I remembered, he said something about the one that resulted in Mjölnir lasting two days. No way he was cracking it in the two days he spent pulling it apart.

"I sincerely hope you can put it back together," I said, injecting steel into my voice, "Or you're making me a new one."

Chris promptly fell out of his chair, drawing a chuckle from Dragon's avatar on one of the screens. At my insistence, after hearing Piggot intended to bar Armsmaster from Tinkering entirely, he was granted clemency (I did not need him suffering from Tinker withdrawal, knowing full well it would only make him angrier) but would have to be chaperoned by Dragon. The Director agreed, apparently unaware of the Canadian Tinker's relationship with the local hero.

"I was putting it back together!" he countered, getting back up and fixing his helmet in place. For whatever reason, he seemed to have ignored the mask warning when I entered Armsmaster's lab and that was how I managed to surprise him.

"Any insights?" I asked, going for a friendlier tone this time. While the Ward climbed back onto the chair and put the tools he dropped back into position, I cast a look around the place. It was little different from how I remembered the one in my world, the prime difference maybe being Kid Win's presence to begin with. I rarely was there to see the two Tinkers interact anywhere other than Chris's own lab, and the boy felt out of place here, like a kid trying on his father's dress uniform to see how he looked in it.

"Hello, Emissary," Dragon finally said, "The only conclusions we've made is that the command software in your HUD is capable of interfacing with the Endbringer bracelets to provide real-time positioning guidance, making you indispensable in S&R operations. Would you mind if I tried to replicate it?"

"Not really. From what I know, it was based on your work to begin with," I shrugged. You made it, after all, I held myself from saying. Out loud I said, "Er, is Kid Win cleared on my origins?"

Chris shook his head.

"I most definitely am not, which is seven kinds of frustrating. This feels like something I should be able to make myself, but… I'm missing something, like a key trick, you know?"

I nodded at his pleading look (how does he do that in a helmet?), before arching a questioning eyebrow at Dragon. Her digital visage made a slight nod.

"Will you put Mjölnir back together?" I asked, smiling kindly (Mrs. Knott #2, "You are my best student, and I respect you, even though I can't help you with the bullying").

"Mew-what?"

"My taser. Put it back together and you get a prize," a grin (Tattletale #1, "I know something you don't know") and a tap on my temple, "I'm a Thinker, you know. I can help you. I promise."

He grinned and got back to work. Seven minutes later, the mishmash of parts scattered on the table had once again become my instrument of justice. It looked like this wasn't the first time he did that.

"That was easier than I thought, like it was made to be easily pulled apart and put together again," he noted, providing me with an amazingly easy in.

"From the files I've seen on your work," I intoned in a deliberately faked lecturing tone, making him chuckle, "You have a habit of rebuilding your devices to add or replace a function at a time. Have you considered making them modular to swap between modes of use on the fly?"

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. Then he crashed off the chair again and scrambled out the door, muttering something along the way.

"Well, he's probably going to be gone for a couple of days at least," Armsmaster said from somewhere behind me. I'd love to say I didn't copy Chris's initial scramble of surprise, and it would be mostly true because I did not have a chair to fall out of. Right. Forgot he has some sort of sleeping quarters in the next room over. Stupid of me.

"For what it's worth," I said earnestly, trying not to fold in on myself, "I'm sorry how it turned out. I thought Alexandria only used the short version of events because she wanted me to slip up and reveal I'm Skitter by mentioning something that wasn't in them."

"For what it's worth…"

His voice trailed off. He looked haggard, like he hadn't slept since yesterday. Or shaved. Or eaten. Granted, I never saw him use the base canteen even back home, and my few visits to it here were mostly spent trying to stay out of the way of Martinez and her team, reminding me painfully of lunchtime at Winslow, but still.

"Armsmaster…" Dragon's sadness was palpable, and seemed to snap him to attention.

"What's going to happen to you now?" I asked, my face hopefully conveying concern in a way he understood. It felt like he had it easier with Dragon because she talked to him off a screen.

"I've already been set for a transfer to Chicago, in a subordinate position," he said darkly, settling into a slump on a stool near the workbench adjacent to the rack of Halberds, "Following the thing at Forsberg. Miss Militia gets the team leadership. After this, though…"

He trailed off, resting an idle hand against the bench, looking at his feet. Neither of us said much for what felt like an awkward eternity but the wall clock (one of several, he wanted to always be aware if he lost time to a Tinker fugue or just plain getting caught in his work, I remembered) said was around 40 seconds.

"...right. Let's go, your armor is over here," he gestured to follow, and so I did. He was wearing his at-base light outfit again, the one he used when he needed to go to briefings that wouldn't be followed by exploding into action, "We removed the paint from the armor plating, but the undersuit is intractable, I'm afraid."

I found myself staring at my fuzzy reflection in the bared faceplate of my helmet. It was made to be removable, letting me have my face visible while still using the Eye of Wadjet and having the back and sides of my head protected. However, like the drones, the backplate of the helmet stayed on base back home, I had my hair down the day my patrol with Weaver was cut short. Another thing I would have to replace if I was to get back to my full combat capacity again.

"I've got a concept for what I want it to look like," I said, holding up the legal pad I made my sketches in. "And I also think it's time I met the Wards, unmasking and all. If this goes well, I'm willing to join the team."

"Should you be talking to me about this?" he asked humourlessly as he set up the machine he used to calibrate his armor.

"Until the transfer, or whatever, is official, you're still team leader," I replied tonelessly, matching him, "I'll be talking to Miss Militia about it as well later. Have to be careful around Shadow Stalker, after all."

"I was going to ask about that next."

"Don't worry, I've got a plan."

It was a silly plan, but in that lay its brilliance.

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.04​

Miss Militia's facial expression, what I could see of it outside the bandana, could best be described as "mild bewilderment".

"You're joining the Wards?" she repeated, as if her saying it would make it any less true. I sipped at my styrofoam cup of tea as if contemplating the answer was some sort of monumental task. She took the opportunity to work the tube from her coffee (at least it smelled vaguely coffee-like) under her bandana to do the same.

"Yep," I nodded, resulting in an undignified yelp instead of a word, as the 'p' got consumed by the fabric of my (two sizes too large) PRT-issue PRT-branded PRT-approved PRT sweatshirt. I wore it over the red jumpsuit, for maximum ridicule.

Once (if?) I got her approval, in 27 hours, when the final layer of sealant would set and my new armor was ready, I would be free to do my dramatic unmasking to the Wards, enlist, and get my hands on a Wards expense card. Then I intended go to the Boardwalk, buy literally the first set of clothing I could find, even skinny jeans, and burn the jumpsuit. In a rusted broken barrel. I would be willing to go on patrol into Merchants territory with Shadow Stalker to find one, if push came to shove.

My smile must have turned too wistful for Miss Militia to manage as she pulled me out of my clothing-destroying reverie with the expectable question.

"Weren't you planning on finding your counterpart first?"

I was grateful for the way she worded it, and it probably showed in the way I smiled (Anne Marie #1, because that girl had a one-size-fits-all beaming smile which the size of my mouth turned into a literal floodlight of teeth).

"It's a chain-of-deals, the way I see it," I began to explain, "Can't find her since she's skipping class and pretty much ran away from home after the double-punch of the Forsberg mess and E88 outing. Have to find Undersiders," I paused to take a breath and a sip of my tea, "Can't find Undersiders because Masters of the Escape," I accompanied that with air quotes, "So I have to wait till either she or Tata replies my PMs on PHO."

"Tata?" A quizzical eyebrow accompanied the question. I envied both the shape and the way it arched.

"Tattletale. She loves saying "ta-ta" when she has the last word and signs her e-mails with 'Tt'," I explained, "Somehow, being called that offends her. Go figure."

"Alright, sorry I interrupted."

She smiled, or I thought she smiled, so I smiled back, my own smile again. She earned a lot of them every time we talked.

"No problem. Sooo… I have to prove useful to the Protectorate in the meantime so my harebrained scheme to have them PAY to intentionally let L33t build something doesn't go up in flames," another pause, another sip (Damn but I hate vending machine tea, why did I go for vending machine tea?), "And between my two marketable skillsets, intelligence analysis loses pretty hard to being a Ward. Alexandria's already made me a Thinker 0, Master 0, Brute 0 which to people with restricted clearance will appear as a Thinker 2, Master 1, Brute 1, and my training--" I flexed a bicep, a wasted effort in this sweatshirt, but she nodded anyway, "--means I am more than the sum total of my Tinkertech."

She eyed me apprehensively, as if seeing me for the first time, and asked an unexpectable question.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night, for four hours. Was kinda antsy about the new paint job," I replied, brandishing my legal pad of sketches. Miss Militia glanced at the design for Spiderweb, or what Skitter would have gone for if she didn't have body image issues I sadly shared with her (and the fact that it was an Emma design), and harrumphed in a surprisingly Director Piggot-like way.

"Emissary… Taylor… have you… talked to anybody about your predicament?" she asked cautiously as if discussing something grave, like how long ago did I decide to be gay or something like that.

"Who can I talk to? Who should I talk to?" I countered, "Directors Piggot and Rennick aren't good therapy buddies in either world, Armsmaster has his own problems because of me already, Dragon is nice, but her time is too important to be spent on me, and Aegis… well…"

I trailed off and rolled up my sleeve instead. She stared at the tattoo.

"...I loved Aegis. Then he died. Imagine how awkward that talk would be," I said as I rolled the sleeve back down, raising a hand at her obvious counter, "I will talk to him about it, but later, once I'm settled in," but then added at her gaze, "And I will talk to him about joining the Wards too. Don't worry."

She placed her rarely ungloved hand (with a lovely manicure of alternating olive drab and camo brown on her nails which I hoped was some sort of Tinkertech armored shellac if she went into battle with that) on my resting palm.

"Then talk to me," she said in that soothing tone I knew all too well. There was a kind and sensible woman under the stars-and-stripes bandana, it's just that she seldom ventured outside of her Fortress of Rules and Regulations. "You're trying to bear the world on your shoulders, but you're not the leader of the Wards, not here. And frankly, I'd be worried for them if you worked yourself into a similar frenzy when you were. I could… help you with some of that. I don't sleep, so my door is open pretty much whenever I'm not on patrol or in a meeting."

A protest began and died on my lips. Dammit, she's right. I can't fix everything at once. But I'm not doing everything at once, am I? Wards and Skitter first, then Amy and Synod, then getting the PRT to get L33t whatever deal he needs to get me home. But shit, what's happening home without me? Maybe I should-- but I can't just leave things the way they are here!

"Who's Synod?" Miss Militia asked, "You were muttering," she added in response to my crazed stare. Shit. Maybe I do need more sleep. A quick glance at Miss Militia earned me a similarly quick nod. Still muttering. Double shit.

"A Ward I poached from the CIA. Also now my foster kid sister," I said, "Thinker 4, and twelve, and they used to work her to the bone. Still are, here, probably, because I didn't stop them in January."

I sniffled and belatedly realized there were tears in my eyes.

"What about Amy? You're talking about Amy Dallon, Panacea, is that correct?"

"Yeah. Poached her too. Her home situation is toxic, she's--" I paused, then resumed, In for a penny, I told myself, "She was, is, a closeted lesbian, and an adopted daughter of a Birdcaged supervillain. That second one scores her a lot of love from Brandish as you can guess, and Flashbang… isn't really there for anyone," I paused for another sniffle, reaching for the cheap napkins we got from the dispenser next to the vending machine to wipe my eyes, "She saw... Sees, sees herself as obligated to heal due to having these powers and feeling like she's not doing enough with them. To make matters worse, Glory Girl used to-- probably still does, here-- call on her to cover up use of excessive force when apprehending criminals. None of this is conductive to a healthy mind on its own, and piled together… I know there's talk of her participating in Endbringer battles, if she hasn't already in this world, so you can imagine how that will go for her if she breaks. Or if it involves the Simurgh."

"And the list goes on, I imagine," she said gravely, and I realized her hand has been gripping mine for quite a while now.

"And the worst is, I can't use any of this directly, without either freaking everyone out or outing myself as a dimensional traveler," I continued, hating myself for the crack in my voice, "Especially not as long as Tattletale and Coil are loose, as the both of them thrive on stealing people's secrets and using them to break them. And it's enough for Tattletale to just be in the same room with you."

"You've mentioned it before, are you certain it was Coil that funded the Undersiders?" she grasped onto the change of subject like a firefighter ripping open a water valve. Bless this woman, whoever's up there.

"Yeah. Funny thing, turns out the only reason Skitter joined them was to learn that little fact, but--" I trailed off. She was briefed of course, no need to beat a dead horse.

"I promise not to use any of this knowledge without your say-so," she said gently, letting go of my hand, "Except the bit about Coil, if you don't mind."

I nodded, not really caring what my face showed anymore. I had no strength left to keep the mask on, somehow airing my pent-up bothers has opened a water main behind my eyes. Death by dehydration would be a hilarious end to this story, I thought, chuckling slightly.

"What's funny?" she asked inquisitively, cocking her head to the side.

"Just-- just realized, I was prepared for a scene like this, except it would be Skitter bawling and I comforting her. Instead…"

I trailed off, letting my eyes wander the room. It was interesting how your mind would latch onto random details when you did that, like the fact the shades of blue on her sash and bandana were different.

"From one lady of war to another, Taylor: it's useful to have a good cry every now and then," she said with a chuckle of her own, "Maybe followed by ice cream and terrible movies."

"Rose," I objected, wiping my eyes dry, once it looked like I ran out, "If this is to work with any semblance of sanity left in me, I am now Rose. Taylor is Skitter. I am Rose," I repeated again, with more conviction this time.

"Alright, Rose. Can you explain, what is it with you and braids?"

------​

Once I washed up, scrubbing my face vigorously enough to make all of it as red as my eyes were, she practically dragged me to the PR people to finalize the armor design. The leaves were argued away, the knightly look slightly defocused, since it was all a pattern on a relatively flat chestpiece, anyway. The end result still made me look like a sci-fi knight, but a less fairytale one.

When I asked whether the design was too dark, they countered that it would actually make me a good marketing middle ground between Shadow Stalker and Vista, as well as upholding the idea that a Thinker could still be a valuable asset in close encounter situations, which would boost recruitment. I was, apparently, a perfect embodiment of "Amazonian teenage appeal", which meant going for the same logic as Miss Militia's style was acceptable. Oh, right, we're now similarly coloured! But I take offence at being turned into a simultaneous thinly veiled sex fetish and feminist marketing tick box.

The revised design was fed into Armsmaster's armor-painting machine and the amazingly automated process of painting, layering and securing the image onto the armor began in earnest.

That done, as her final act as Fairy Godmother for the day, Miss Militia practically force-fed me fish fillet in the cafeteria and sent me off to sleep.

------​

I slept for twelve hours and woke up feeling like chewed overcooked spaghetti. A cursory glance in the mirror confirmed that my hair looked about the same.

Alright, Rose, I promise you this: as soon as my plan works out, I'm getting a buzzcut. Or maybe a bob with a shaved temple. If that doesn't work out, I can just shave it all down. Win-win!

My reflection nodded and winked in a conspiratorial manner and I was off to shower and brush my teeth and work out the kinks in my back from the weird sleeping position I woke up in. The snap-crackle-pop of my spine sent weird jolts of electric shock out across my entire body, making me feel less like I was ran through a woodchipper.

Back popped into place, hair in two braids this time, teeth sparkly, I was ready to face the world again, admitting that however bad I looked at waking, I felt infinitely better than before. Still not at my best, sure, but definitely no longer rattled enough to spill people's personal secrets willy-nilly.

So I began with the PRT cafeteria, to get breakfast (lunch? It's breakfast if it's the first meal of the day!) and reconnect with my humanity. Which was how I found myself eating opposite Martinez, explaining how sorry I was that last Saturday turned into a confoam fiesta.

"I'm guessing they NDAed you up to the gills, huh?" I grinned into my steak, or what the sign claimed to be steak, anyway.

"Yeah, that was an entertaining shitshow you've put us through, Red," she grinned back, saluting me with her own alleged steak, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you're stuck here. Michaelson as a Soldier of Fortune aside, your Brockton Bay sounds a heckuva lot nicer than ours."

"Well, I'm here now, let's see what I can do ya for," I grinned my best Assault at her (#3, "I just made a dirty pun, hee-hee", it was the only one of his I learned to reproduce yet), "Though it may take a few days before results show. A lot of the stuff I did impacted the E88, most of that intel's useless now that they've been outed."

She shrugged and clinked her juice glass against mine.

"Eh, I'll take any help we can get, especially if someone with Trooper sensibilities gets the capes to shape up. I'll drink to that!" We downed a gulp of juice each, grinning like madwomen, "You're not keeping that 'PRT Cape' outfit, are ya?" she asked with a wicked glint in her eye that reminded me of the one my Martinez had when she first saw it.

"Had to lose it, sorry. Hope you'll like the new one," I said placatingly, "Going to be called 'Emissary' now, because, y'know--"

"--nobody to command, I get it," she nodded, "Well, it's still gonna be you in it. Saturday definitely made a record for the weirdest people foamed to amount of shit dumped on my head over it ratio."

"And I'll drink to that," I clinked my glass against hers this time, "And if you ever need someone to bitch about capes to, you know where to find me. Other you was a dear friend and mentor, even told me about--" Carlos, my brain froze as Aegis walked into the cafeteria, but I shook my head, hard, dislodging the thought as he walked in a direction that kept him from noticing me, "--your husband. I can listen, if you need someone to."

"Weirdest friendly cape foamed to shit dumped ratio, too," she grinned as we downed another pair of gulps, "But I still owe ya one for sticking so many of my people in The Tank."

While I was trying to process what exactly she meant by that, she stood up straight and waved.

"Hey, Aegis!" she called out, "Over here! New girl's got somethin' to tell you!"

She looked down at my bewildered deer-in-headlights-in-red-mask face, grinning. I looked back, thinking swears of vengeance at her. Betrayer!

"I saw the way you were looking at him, and I just couldn't resist. Have fun, Red!"

And with that, she was gone, balancing both our trays, one in each hand, leaving me alone with my cup of instant coffee and ominous sense of dread.

When I regained control over my mental faculties and realized the ground stolidly refused to open up and swallow me, I saw Aegis standing next to the table, obviously debating whether this was a good idea.

"Hey," I finally said as he settled down and risked trying to eat.

"Hey," he said, the awkwardness of the situation making him drop his first forkful of mashed potatoes back onto the plate.

"You heard, right?" I asked, feeling immensely stupid for stating the obvious.

"I'm dead, and you have a tattoo of my helmet. I can put two and two together," he replied, victorious over the next forkful. The blunt manner of speech made me think he was offended we didn't talk this over sooner. Well, he was right.

"Um. Actually, I wanted to talk about me joining the Wards first, but…" I was beet-red by that point. He was right there. I was conflicted. Should I cry? Hug him? Kiss him? He didn't know me from Adam. That would be imposition of a very rude nature, so I sighed and changed tracks, "Who tattled? Dennis?"

"Not telling, and it's still a related issue, in case it becomes a problem," he smiled, in that wonderful polite way of his-- Pull yourself together, woman!

"Right. I'm… getting, was getting, therapy over it. Was shoring myself up for maybe dating again, nothing certain. And then…"

"And then you're here, and I'm here, and you're broken up about it," he gestured between us with his free hand, "I'm… really not sure how to feel about this. About you. About every crazy thing you've told us so far, because it feels like it's just the tip of the iceberg."

"I suggest rationing the awkwardness. As far as the team's concerned, I'm just a groupie that Triggered and lucked into joining her idol's team," I proposed, leaning forward, resting on my elbows, "Act like it, not much difference from your end."

"I can do that. What about you?" he leaned forward against the table as well, intrigued.

"I… I'd like to say 'please go on a date with me, if you're up for it', but I already feel like such a tool for even thinking it," I said timidly, eyes downcast.

"I… okay. Someday, maybe. Not now, definitely. Sorry, but… you know," he nodded and I nodded back, "We'll get to team tactics when you're official, so my only palpable concern is simple," he raised an index finger, "Shadow Stalker. Will there be problems? You know we can't simply kick her out, and from what you've told us, she knows your counterpart."

"I've devised a solution. It's a stopgap, just to buy time until I have concrete evidence, then it's up to Piggot and the Youth Guard to battle it out, but I've run it past Miss Militia and Dragon and they… well, they didn't veto anything."

"I feel like you're using Dragon as a stand-in for Armsmaster somehow," he grinned, "Though I can't fault the logic there, seeing as she's acting like a buffer for him at the moment. Your doing?"

"Sorry," another downcast look, "I was making the best of a bad situation I myself created. Also, she has tons of goodwill with everybody and is one of, like, two people he'll listen to unconditionally."

"From what I heard, it was more like he created it and you kicked it open."

I stopped to notice he abandoned what was left of his lunch in favour of our rapid-fire exchange, just like my coffee was growing cold, still untouched. The thought made my heart twinge a bit.

"Well, anyway, so long as Stalker doesn't go Hannibal Lecter the moment I unmask, it'll all work out. And if she does, isn't that damning evidence in itself?" I spread my hands out for a mega-shrug, "Win-win, as far as I'm concerned."

"Except the part where she then stabs you?"

"Eh, I walked it off last time and I wasn't Brute 1 back then."

"I was meaning to ask - how did that come about?"

"Panacea overdid the healing. And when I said 'walked it off', I meant 'Panacea saved me from a three-month-long hospital stay'."

"Huh. You're--"

"Amazing?"

"Bizarre."

I was grinning like mad. He was almost at the same point.

"I can live with that. So, coach, am I on the team?"

I love you.

"So long as you can keep your hands to yourself and promise not to do anything as disruptive as what happened to Armsmaster without running it by me first."

"I'll do my best," I grinned and I reached out across the table to give him a peck on the lips (he did say no hands!) and ran away while he sat there, flabbergasted and all alone with my cold and untouched cup of coffee.

------​

I'd love to claim I didn't spend almost half an hour in the shower afterwards, alternating between giggling, crying and hyperventilating, but that felt like the best kiss of my life.

Can I take him home with me? No, dammit, his parents are here. What do I tell them? Hell, what would I tell my Aegis's parents?! Not like I have a way home yet anyway.

The day's workout passed in a blur, and in the evening I was in Armsmaster's workshop again, looking at the man soldiering on through Kid Win's stilted explanation of the new, multi-format laser/taser pistol his revelation produced. Long words which I doubted I could even spell were thrown about liberally and they both seemed too engrossed to even notice I was there.

As for me, I was there just to do my best impression of a cat staring at the washing machine, looking at the intricate latticework of Tinker paints being laid down on my armor, so just as they barely paid any attention to me as I wandered past them, neither did I focus on their shop talk. The remade armor had become a symbol of hope for me, and I hoped I would be able to carry the manic energy I felt the last few days going forward, maybe project it to empower others. Gotta work that Master 1 rating somehow.

The paints were a thing also used in the original - well, the one I wore into this world, that was actually revision three of my costume and the first to involve them - but not in any of the Wards' outfits. It was an abandoned Dragon project based on something a long-dead European rogue produced for sale to other Tinkers, a paint that served as an extra layer of ablative armor. Its two main weaknesses were a piss-poor color selection (which, amazingly, included a lot of the colors I chose before I learned of the limitations) and excruciatingly strict application requirements, which is why Armsmaster had a machine that did exactly that. Watching it in motion was surreal, like a tapestry being woven together. A tapestry that could save your life from a bullet or two, if you were okay with repainting the entire armor from scratch afterwards. A small price to pay for an extra degree of protection, in my opinion.

And once it was done… Operation Wild Rose would be fully underway.

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.05
(original omake)​

[Rose]​

My heart was thumping. It was ready. I was ready. I needed to keep my cool through this, then I'd finally get access to resources I needed to push forward with finding Taylor, helping Taylor, and then the rest of the people on my list, probably beginning with Amy. Before she smokes her lungs out preferably.

My helmet was complete, I managed to coax Armsmaster and Chris into making me a replacement backplate, allowing me to make it fully sealed once more. This meant I was only missing Sirin and Alkonost from my loadout, and I could theoretically negotiate the terms of having the drones themselves remade, the originals lost on the other side of the portal.

Tying my braid up the back of my head, I sealed the backplate, feeling how it settled flush against the sides of my mask to form a full protective helmet. I needed the full reveal effect, and that meant I needed to be dressed to the nines. With that in mind, I strapped Mjölnir in its harness to my chest, checking the charge and setting (lowest, of course) to make sure.

The final design for the front of the armor portrayed a sci-fi version of knightly layered plate, with the faux plate over my chest in a dull metallic green with sharp angular edges accenting my modest bust in flow with the curvature of the ceramic plating itself. My abdomen was covered with layered brownish-green tiles making the illusion of metal abs, while the sides were patterned with a chainmail-like texture. The armor plates on my arms and legs were the same green as the chest segment with a similar border design like pressed metal, while the back had the green plates over the shoulder blades extending down along the ribs with the same brown tiles down the spine and the softer tissues covered with the chainmail texture again.

The overall result of the body armor was an impression of a metallic musculature gradually shifting from green at chest level to brown by my waist. Combined with the dark grey of the undersuit visible between the armor plates, I looked like a badass videogame character, missing only some sort of fuckoff-huge gun to complete the image. Since guns weren't really my thing (and would make the already skeevy future meetings with the Youth Guard even more problematic), Mjölnir would have to suffice. And it could do 'fuckoff' if necessary.

The helmet was painted to look like a cross between a spacesuit's and a knight's helmet, retaining the green metal theme, with the removable faceplate marking where my eyes (and Wadjet's) were with an impression of black glass with the mouth area being more of the green faux-metal. From afar it would look like a motorcycle helmet on steroids and nightmare fuel and I loved it. It was perfect for both what I hoped Emissary to be, and for concealing my identity. I even managed to work the PRT motto I spooked Director Piggot with into the texture of the backplate, a fine print along the seals. It would be there if I needed to remember what I was fighting for.

The new design was pretty far removed from what the original stood for, but if I was going to pose as an actual cape, secret identity and all, I would need to look the part. The armor pieces for my legs and arms were all modular, originally intended to be put on top of civilian clothing if necessary, just like the chest piece, but with the spidermesh undersuit and the sci-fi design the whole thing looked like a singular construction not unlike Armsmaster's, with the effect intensified by the painted-on 'muscles' of metal.

Wearing the whole of it felt like coming home, mainly because it was the largest piece of home available to me, like a safety blanket made of black widow silk and armor plating. I was ready for the most ridiculous grandstand I've ever done.

------​

The mask alarm blared to life, giving everyone fifteen seconds of warning that it was time to cover up, although it was more of a courtesy call. Director Piggot insisted I play my role to the full, including feigned ignorance of their identities. For my part, I was more concerned about Aegis giving something away than myself.

The timer ran out and the door slid open, admitting me into the Wards common room, its domed shape feeling welcomingly familiar and yet strangely distant, looking almost like it did six months ago when I first set foot in it, rather than how I saw it a week ago.

Instead of Madison's posters, the wall of one segment had anatomy reference charts, presumably Browbeat's. Amy's bookshelves were still Sophia's crossbow stands. Aegis's spare armor (he went through them at an alarming rate, I remembered) was still in the same place, but without the memorial plaque, obviously redundant when the man himself was standing right next to it.

I was hoping that Dean's emotion sight would see my trepidation caused by the conflict between memories and reality as a result of awe at being admitted to the sanctuary of teenage heroism, particularly considering he knew about the tattoo. With a small smile, unseen by all, I stepped forth, hearing the door slide closed behind Armsmaster and Miss Militia.

"Wards," she began, "We would like to introduce your newest member, who some of you may have already met out of costume, or even helped with it," she nodded at Chris, who raised a hand to give me a small wave, I responded with a thumbs up. "Emissary is a newly found Thinker who was already a PRT intern at the time of discovery, which made the situation regarding her recruitment a little… complicated. As a result, parts of her file are sealed until the paperwork is cleared up. Nevertheless, I would like you all to welcome her to your ranks and help her with settling in here in Brockton Bay as the newest Ward of Protectorate ENE."

A lukewarm and unenthusiastic wave of applause rolled through the room as the semi-circle of Wards took turns introducing themselves.

"You already know, but I'm Aegis, team leader," Carlos spoke, shaking his long hair free of his rust-coloured helmet, "My name is Carlos, and I'm glad to have you on the team."

My heart did a little backflip I didn't even try to conceal from Dean because this would only work in favor of the 'became an intern because she was a cape groupie' legend of Rose Ellison. Of all the people in this room not read into my secrets, he represented the greatest threat to the deception, so getting him to believe would help convince the others I was genuine.

"Clockblocker, at your service, O Lady Of The Large Smile," Dennis bowed before removing his helmet, letting his shock of red hair free to reign havoc on the universe, "Also known as Dennis, but you can call me anything."

"Sure thing, Anything," I obliged with a rhyming cadence, eliciting a laugh from the boy and groans from the rest of the team. Surprisingly, only Missy went for the facepalm.

"I'm Vista," she said matter-of-factly, before removing her green visor in a swift practiced move, "And also Missy. Please don't shatter my hopes of a sensible person joining the team?"

Sophia and Dennis seemed to snort in perfect synchronicity at that, though definitely for unrelated reasons, confirmed by the not-glare her full-face mask gave him immediately afterwards. I gave Missy a serious nod, hoping to allay her fears, and offering her a hand to shake. She took it gladly, if inexpertly. My XO was a master of the power handshake by now, another thing here I'd need to fix. Somehow. Without tearing Aegis's authority down, preferably.

"Browbeat," the comically muscled boy in brown said next, "Although when my mask is off, please call me James."

When I came in here to join the Wards, I had mentally prepared myself to feel a lot of things. Regret at all the people who should be here but I hadn't yet saved, sadness that none of my friends recognized me, hot, swooping anger at the sight of Shadow Stalker out of prison. But I had convinced myself that I could handle it. And in a way, I was handling it fine… by which I mean that I was going to be quietly freaking out about it later when I was alone.

But when a familiar face emerged from beneath the mask of Browbeat, I was blindsided, hard. Feelings I wasn't defending against, fear, shock, anger, confusion... they spilled forth like from a broken dam.

Pieces of data flew through my mind, jumbling up and breaking my momentum, spitting out questions. How, when, why? The nature of Trigger events, what had caused this in my friend--

"Is something wrong?" he asked. Belatedly, I realized he had extended his hand for me to shake. I hastily rebuilt my mental walls before Gallant noticed-- I hope --and gathered myself.

"I'm sorry," I reached out and shook his hand and my head at the same time, "You remind me of someone I used to go to Middle School with."

"Ah, that makes sense," he replied in his matter-of-fact way, understanding coloring those blue eyes.

I wonder if he has a motorcycle, I idly mused as we gripped each other's hands, Guess it depends on if he's dating Mandy here or not.

The explanation seemed to be sufficient and the process resumed. Dean was next, and of course he had to show off, making a sweeping bow and whipping his helmet off in one smooth movement.

"I'm Dean, or Gallant if you prefer, and yes, before you ask, I'm two parts of a love triangle with Glory Girl that's been a fixture of our local media circus for months now," he recited with suspiciously practiced ease. I pushed the sad memories of their breakup aside, focusing instead on his unexpected rebound and the weird feeling of 'I don't know how to feel about it' it elicited in me. Judging by his awkward smile, it had the desired effect.

"Chris, although I think I gave myself away earlier," Kid Win said sheepishly, gesturing at my head, "How's the helmet?"

"Snug like a glove," I replied happily, trying not to think what was coming up, "Thanks again for the help."

He nodded, and then the mask with the face of the scowling woman came off.

"Shadow Stalker. Sophia," she said. I nodded dispassionately, constructing my face into the most un-Taylor-like face I could, which was Anne Marie #1, again.

Undoing the main clasps which would remove the helmet as a whole, I shrugged out of it, thankful for the change in hair profile the tied up braid made, and hitched the Eye of Wadjet up onto my forehead. I practiced in front of a mirror for this, I was willing to admit, just to check how un-Taylor-like I could make my face look.

"Hi, I'm Rose, Rose El--" I began before, like on cue, I was interrupted.

"Hebert?" Sophia roared, eyes wide with surprise, her body dropping into a combat stance, "Is this some sort of joke?"

Everyone in the room tensed, looking back and forth between me and her. I slowly raised my free hand, palm outward in the universal gesture of 'please don't' and scrunched my eyebrows together in the way New Madison did sometimes when she fought against the urge to offload a morality decision onto me, again a face Sophia would probably have never seen Taylor Hebert make.

"No, Ellison, Ell-ee-son. Hebert is my mother's maiden name, I've got family here in Brockton Bay, maybe you've met my cousin Taylor?" I stammered out rapidly, piling on the awkward, before she could rally herself, "Haven't seen her in... ten years, I think? They used to tell us we're quite alike. Maybe that's why--"

"Rose? Pause for breath?" Miss Militia suggested, her hand on my shoulder. Her timing was, as always, impeccable. The whole byplay made me come off as ditzy and therefore harmless.

I half-turned my head back to her and nodded.

"Right, sorry. Anyway, I used to be an intern at the PRT, but then the quality of my work raised a few flags, and I got called in for power testing. And then one more time," I snerked earnestly, remembering how my own power tests went, "To sum up: I'm a grab bag, Thinker 2, Master 1, Brute 1. The Master is deferred. I'm good at figuring out people and which buttons to press to get them to do something, but I can't compel anyone to do something directly against their will."

"That's… underwhelming?" Missy ventured, "I mean… like, you manipulate people by figuring them out?"

"Kind of like that, yeah, like an unpowered person could, but much faster," I nodded, "And I also have bones that are pretty hard to break unless you're a Brute and I heal slightly faster than normal. Like, one week of hospitals instead of two, but it naturally depends on the injury," which was not a lie for a change. Strictly speaking, neither was the manipulation by analysis, but neither was a power.

"Then what's with the fancy gear?" Sophia asked, expression still guarded, waiting for the other shoe to drop in a prank she felt I was playing on her, refusing to relax. Her paranoia was not unfounded, but she clearly underestimated the kind of connections I had.

"My power lets me figure people out," I repeated, "That includes power analysis and tactical solutions, both in hostile and friendly capes, so in the field I'm useful both as a spotter and coordinator," I tapped the Eyes of Wadjet, "And as a fighter," I finished, brandishing Mjölnir, "Careful, that thing's rated up to Brute 6. And if it comes to that, I can just punch stuff. Hand-to-hand training and all."

Dennis whistled.

"So, you're not only ripped, you can also figure out how to rip people up?" he deadpanned, earning himself a cuff upside the head from Dean.

"Rip and tear," I nodded, grinning somewhat maliciously (Sophia #1, "Let's see if you bruise easily", which made the original author look at me funny), "My Brute rating, small as it may be, lets me gain muscle much faster, so I run, work out, do actual drills with PRT combat instructors, the works."

Sophia's look changed slowly, as I slotted more neatly into her worldview. The rest of them gave me a variety of weird looks.

"Whaddaya mean, 'ripped'?" James asked carefully.

"We ran into Emissary in the gym a few days ago," Dean said, grinning widely, "Trust me when I say this, she's second only to you in brawns here, and it's not even her main power!" After a brief pause, he added, "Sorry Aegis, this means you too."

I shrugged. He was overselling me, but that wasn't a bad thing in this situation. I seriously doubted I could ever be stronger than Aegis, not with his power being what it was, but I was certainly a hell of a lot more fit than I was when we dated. Before he-- Not. Now. Not in front of people.

"Eh, I could take her," he laughed and that seemed to defuse the remaining tension in the room, Sophia's narrowed eyes aside.

"And don't worry, Missy, I've worked for the PRT before this gig, I can be very serious when the need arises," I said to the girl in green, "So expect me to chew you all out for misfiling patrol reports regularly," I added, smiling Anne Marie's smile again. This could be good, I told myself, Maybe I'll get to help some of them too. "Of course, I can also help you file them properly, if you ask nicely."

Satisfied with the end result, the adults stepped off to talk to Aegis to the side of the room while I was led by Missy to an empty room, which in my Wards was designated as Synod's. It's definitely fate, so first thing I'm personalizing here is a kitty poster onto the wall. "Laws give me paws!", I'm thinking.

------​

[Emily Piggot]​

"How do you expect to join the Wards while Shadow Stalker is among their ranks and keep the situation from becoming a powderkeg?"

My voice was tired. All of me was tired. The girl's intel checked out, and after some ridiculous gesturing Velocity was able to snag the attention of Purity and talk her through getting her children back in exchange for agreeing to testify against the Empire and possible further deals down the line. All of this could have gone very, very wrong, and it intrigued me greatly which of my subordinates decided that an outed cape's family was fair play as far as the Rules were concerned. Damnable they may be, at times it felt the Rules were the only reason we were only ankle-deep in blood in the streets instead of knee-deep here in Brockton Bay.

"I have a plan. It's a dumb plan, but it's going to work," she said, doing that thing again where she looked like someone pasted a different person's emotional response on her face while the rest of her remained dispassive. It was, frankly, more than a little creepy.

"By all means, do explain," I conceded. It was easier to hear her out, it seemed, especially since more often than not she had enough citations to back her statements up.

"I am not here as Taylor Hebert, I am here to bring her in, because Taylor Hebert is Skitter," she said, gesturing vaguely, "I am Emissary, a.k.a. Rose Ellison, who just conveniently enough is Taylor Hebert's second cousin."

"And you look exactly like her? I doubt anyone would buy it," I said wearily, rubbing the bridge of my nose with thumb and forefinger.

"But I don't!" she exclaimed and beamed a too-wide smile on her too-wide mouth. It sometimes felt like she learned how to express emotions from a self-help book. Or relearned, considering what she's told us, I added inwardly.

Holding up a printout of Taylor Hebert's photo pulled from a surveillance camera, she gestured between the photo and herself.

"I kinda look like her, yes, but so does Anne Hathaway," she took a deep breath, "Look closer. No glasses. Different hair -- I'm cutting mine off as soon as she believes that I'm her, it's pretty distinctive -- and different build. She's thin, but mildly athletic, I'm guessing she got to be that shape because she took up running," her laser pointer prodded at the legs of the printed Taylor.

"Me, I've got volume, because I'm built up, so to speak," she grinned again, reminding me of a fox that entered the henhouse, "So even if I was to wear a suit like Skitter's -- mine is pretty similar, if you take off the armor panels, by the way -- we would look like night and day, or like Lieutenant Martinez does next to Shadow Stalker."

"And you're going to rely on your muscle mass to disguise you?" I let doubt seep through my voice, "She'll see your face long before she sees you undressed, I expect."

"And the face she'll see won't be this," she replied stubbornly, pointing at the girl in the picture, who looked afraid of her own shadow, her hair the only sign of her femininity, her glasses only adding to the impression of a reedy twig you could snap with only a glance, "But this."

She did something to her ever-present braid, fixing it up as a flat circle on the back of her head. I only now realized she started braiding her hair by default as soon as her hands were freed by Alexandria, because at first, in that jumpsuit and manacles, were I to put glasses on her, turned in on herself as she was at the time, she'd be the spitting image of the Taylor Hebert in the picture, of Skitter. Instead, the girl in front of me only vaguely resembled the teenage supervillain, with her eyes uncovered, her hair up, her neck wider and decidedly untwiglike. Even in the overlarge PRT sweatshirt she was wearing, she projected a feeling of physical strength and raw determination, something the scared girl in the picture did not. Then again, the scared girl in the picture managed to defeat Lung twice, taking the time to carve out his eyes the second time, not to mention outplaying Armsmaster in one-on-one combat. I was suddenly very glad I had one of my own, even if this one was only faking having powers.

"I look similar, yes, but Sophia doesn't know Taylor is Skitter, or that Taylor is likely playing into her role as punching bag after getting her powers," the Taylor in front of me explained, "A girl that looks sort of like Taylor but is actually a powerhouse would fall into a different category in her mind, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd offer me condolences Taylor was my 'cousin'."

"And if she asks her friend, the one you said used to be yours, about the cousin thing?" I leaned back in my chair carefully, feeling I was being played somehow.

"Emma knows we have distant relatives we never talk to, but not their names, and it isn't likely either of them can ask Taylor and get a straight answer, can they?" she put the picture down, fidgeting in the uncomfortable guest chair, "And if they check in ways that don't make the PRT ask them pointed questions about digging for a cape's family details, all they'll find is that there's a hundred and eight 'Rose Ellisons' in Montana alone."

"How did you pick the name?"

"Rose, after my mother's middle name, in case I do manage to contact Taylor and her father in their civilian life first," she listed off, her expression darkening briefly, "And Ellison because I vaguely recall seeing the name, or at least something similar, in the family tree. If that fails, Harlan Ellison was a great writer and I like the way it sounds," she finished with a small smile, which wasn't saying much with the shape of her mouth, "The fact that it sounds close to 'Emissary' is a bit on the nose, but…"

"Alright, 'Rose'," I sighed again, "Let's see where this plan gets you, but I'd prefer it if you kept at least Miss Militia and Aegis in the loop about this."

"Of course, ma'am. Wouldn't have it any other way."

"And if this ends with bloodshed in my building, I won't let even Alexandria stop me from making you regret it."

------​

[Rose]​

I dumped the duffel bag with my PRT-issued stuff on the bed, surveying the available storage space. I would definitely need to make a shopping run soon, because the PRT-issued shampoos did evil things to my hair and PRT-approved feminine hygiene items were definitely approved by a man. And, of course, then there were the clothes. It said a lot about my situation that I'd rather stay in the spidersilk undersuit than change back into the grey government garb. At least I was free of the color red. That's decided, first few outfits will be all in blues and yellows.

A knock on my open door had me turn around, holding a freshly-removed right armguard in my left hand. Sophia was in the doorway, in civilian clothes now. The jeans were flattering her runner's legs, and I assumed mine would look just as good if I would ever stop hating jeans that hugged my figure.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey," I said, waving with the armguard and moving back to disrobing, focusing on the task to avoid lashing out. I knew she was going down, so I could keep without the hostilities to her, hopefully.

"Are you really Hebert's cousin?" she wondered aloud to my back. Finished with the guards, I reached for the clasps of the chestpiece.

"Second cousin, because my mom is her dad's cousin." I nodded absently, sliding sideways out of the armor. I deposited it on a mannequin similar to the one holding Aegis's spare and turned to face her, hoping the form-hugging undersuit would crush any doubts she had about me being Taylor, "You thought I was her for a moment, didn't you?" I asked, and when she nodded, pressed, "Doesn't sound like you're a friend of hers."

Wait, why was her gaze lowered when I turned around? Was she checking out my ass? No, wait, probably my legs, she runs, I mentioned I run, it's probably another check.

She shrugged nonchalantly. I had to give it to her, she really did make sociopathy look easy.

"Can't say I am. She's kind of a loner," she said in a subdued drawl, like just thinking of me, of Taylor, made her want to hurt somebody, "Has been as long as I know her."

"That's okay," I said softly, trying not to grind my teeth at the memories of her saying the same words to the school authorities, "She'll have me now. Once my papers are in order, I'm heading down to pay her and Uncle Danny a visit."

"Papers?" she asked, tilting her head quizzically.

"Oh, right, I forgot to mention -- the nature of my discovery kind of made a mess, drew attention, now my mom's separated from me by Witness Protection and I was shuffled here because I have family here," I repeated the backstory I worked out with Miss Militia and Dragon, "Dad ran out on us a while ago."

She had this weird look in her eye at that as I belatedly realized. She's being raised by a single mom. Oh god, please tell me I have not just accidentally earned sympathy points from Sophia! I really didn't think this through.

"Aaaanyway," I deflected, bouncing on the bed a little, "I'd also like to apologize in advance, it looks like you got me instead of Flechette in the transfers," I tried to make a regretful face, "Sorry, I was told you petitioned for her."

"S'alright," she shook her head, "Thought I'd see eye to eye with her on weapons. Do you just run or do you compete?" she finally asked the question. Goodness, it's really sad she doesn't have any better hobbies than track, violence and Taylor, but I'm repeating myself. Is it her home situation or her powers-- Wait, am I seriously trying to justify Sophia?!

"I run for fun," I shrugged, wondering how to get her to leave, because I wanted to change into civvies too and whatever my thoughts, I was not going to strip in front of Sophia fucking Hess, "Began before I got my powers, then it turned out it made bodybuilding easier. So here I am," I flexed a bicep, "Proving Mother Nature really wanted me to look like a man."

"Nah, not with a butt like that," she smirked, detaching herself from the doorframe, "See you 'round, Ellison."

Sweet mercy, she was looking at my ass. Kill me. Kill me now. At least this will make an amazing anecdote for Taylor. And Madison, when I get home.

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.06​

I had barely a minute to comprehend that the person that had, in another world, hunted me in a moose preserve with lethal crossbow bolts, apparently thought I had a nice ass-- and if that wasn't proof I couldn't Trigger, nothing else was --before my façade started to crack. I had tried to be analytical about the whole thing, that this was just another PRT situation, that it just needed to be worked through logically... but it hadn't felt really real until just now.

Individual Wards not recognizing me could be written off as a prank, or them not recognizing me in a new situation. But all of them at once, with Sophia... and James... That had really driven it home.

I am trapped here. And I don't know if I am ever going to get home. Back to Dad, and Amy, and Anne Marie, and… hell, even Madison, and she was just starting to show signs of being her own person again.

I barely managed to slam the door shut before I collapsed against the wall next to it. A gasp escaped me, and the old demons of self-doubt reared their heads again as tears spilled down my face. They whispered in my ears, hooking icy talons into my heart. Synod would never get free of the CIA, Amy would fizzle out into nothingness, my alternate would be drawn deeper and deeper into villainy...

A knock pulled me out of my despair, if only for a moment.

"Go away," I sniffed, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand.

"I... I don't think I can do that," came Carlos's-- Aegis, I reminded myself with a heavy heart, not my Carlos, what the hell was I thinking with that kiss earlier, I was so stupid --muffled voice from behind the door. "Can... can I come in?"

I took about seven seconds to calm myself down enough before I stood back up and opened the door for him.

"Come in," I told him glumly.

He gave a small smile and my heart flip-flopped in my chest. Down, girl.

"Okay, I know this was probably stressful for you," he began, hesitation flickering across his face as he surveyed my tear-streaked one, "But I have to know what all that was about."

I took a deep, shuddering breath as I leaned back against the wall.

"To tell the truth, I'm... Sophia is…"

"Sophia?" he finished wryly.

"Picture you're New Wave, and Marquis showed up at your front door, with cake and flowers," I shot back. "I'm not saying I'm not going to be okay with working with her... aside from in front of her face, of course," I added quickly at his raised eyebrow, "But she's just so... different from what I knew about her. From the impression the other yous gave me of working with her, even."

"Cognitive dissonance," he shrugged, "You're only used to her in a very narrow set of experiences. Encounter her outside of those, or interact in ways you never did before, and her behavior changes drastically," he looked a little sheepish, "I'm friends with an Emotion-sensing Thinker/Blaster/Master, you pick up some things after a while."

"She said I had a nice butt," I shivered. Aegis, bless him, tried his hardest to keep from laughing. The good news for him was that that noise he made was not laughter. The bad news was that I had no idea what it was supposed to be. "There's a world of difference between 'Cognitive Dissonance' and 'Shadow Stalker thinks I have a nice butt', especially to someone whose looks she insulted before on numerous occasions. I have... Look, I'm a Thinker 0 and I have no idea how to react to that except purging my stomach."

While I was talking, he had covered his mouth with his hand and his shoulders were quivering slightly-- traitor --and it took him a moment to calm himself down.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't think even Dr. Yamada would be able to help you with that mess of emotions," he finally gave his two cents, "But I was actually asking about Browbeat."

I looked down. "Ah. That."

"I get Sophia being a bit of a hot button issue for you…" his gaze got intense as I looked back at him, "But I have to know right now if James is another problem. I'm likely going to be losing one Ward soon, I need to know if--"

"No, no!" I shook my hands as if to ward off his words, "James is a different problem." At his continued stern look, I elaborated, "Okay, he's a problem, but not a problem like Sophia is a problem." I sighed and hugged my arms, "Back home, James is... well, we're friends... distant friends, maybe, but friends... well, he's dating one of my friends... I think, it's not like it's easy to read him at the best of times," I babbled.

Aegis placed a hand on my shoulder and I felt the tension leaving my body. I'd accuse him of having a Master power for him to do that, but I'd seen his files. Besides, I knew the real reason his presence made me feel more comfortable... and my stomach was twisting into knots again.

I took a breath. "Back home, James is just a guy. He's not in the Wards, and he doesn't have powers, but my Amy told me that he's at risk for developing a schizophrenic disorder and has an inactive Corona Pollentia, so the PRT has been keeping an eye on him."

"So he's not a villain?" Aegis asked slowly. I nodded.

"Sophia was a face I was expecting to see. James wasn't... and the thought of a friend Triggering…" I trailed off as Aegis winced. Then his face set.

"So, I'm just double checking here," he looked me straight in the eyes, "No new problems with James?"

I shook my head. "James should be fine. He's not another Sophia."

Aegis dropped his hand and sighed in relief, even as the shoulder he had placed his hand on tingled warmly in his absence. He gave a weak smile to me.

"Sorry, I just needed to make sure... the last week or so has been…"

"A little weird?"

"Insane seems too tame for what it's felt like," he grumbled. I giggled.

"I guess dimensional travelers might be a little out of the ordinary," I flippantly stated, "Especially when they're the girl that kicked your asses that same week ago," I balanced the insult out by New Madison #1, 'bees it is'. I felt I would be getting more mileage out of that one once I would meet up with Tattletale.

"It is at that," he laughed before turning and opening the door. He hesitated in the door frame. "Look…" he started, hesitating, "I know this hasn't been easy on you... but if you need someone to talk to, my door's open."

I nodded. "Thanks, Carlos... that means a lot."

He started to leave, before grinning at me.

"Oh, and Sophia might have had a point, there... It is rather--"

"OUT!" I yelled, slamming the door in his face, my cheeks luminous.

------​

It took me a bit to distribute the stuff from my bag into the provided shelving and decide on a course of action. PRT expense card in hand, I nodded at my own reflection in my helmet's visor.

Having changed into a pair of PRT-approved sweatpants and a Miss Militia T-shirt I procured from the gift shop downstairs the day before (the sexy one, with the butt pose, it was the only one of her they had left in my size, unfortunately), I stepped back out into the common area. Multiple pairs of eyes were glued to me pretty quickly.

"I've got a problem," I began, "And would appreciate any help I can get."

I saw Sophia roll her eyes at that. Well, not roll exactly, considering she had her back turned to me, as she was busy stuffing something into a shoulder bag, but the motion of her head seemed to fit. Missy looked interested, Dennis's gaze was practically glued to me and the other boys were absent, likely gone on patrol or moved to their rooms.

"The airline lost my luggage, so all the clothes I have are PRT things and whatever I can snag from the gift shop," I explained, hooking a thumb under the collar of my shirt. Dennis gulped in an unflatteringly Greg-like way at that. I had no idea why, the sports bra I was wearing underneath made me look like a thin muscley guy-- Oh crap, how did I forget? I'd better not send any more mixed signals at him if I can help it. "So I need a guide to where there is shopping to be had. And maybe help with carrying things back."

"With those guns?" Dennis snorted, "I'm pretty sure you could carry me back in one hand and your shopping in the other."

"Aaand why would I take you with me then?" I grinned back, relying on an old classic, Director Rennick #2, 'that was funny, but please, never do that again'.

"Did someone mention shopping?" Dean piped up from the console, "I've got a solution for that."

"What, you're volunteering yourself?" I replied, trying to keep the 'we all know how you shop with Victoria' out of my voice.

"Better! My girlfriend!" he called back, a triumphant smile in his voice. He wasn't doing it to get out of shopping with Victoria. He was doing it to get Victoria out of shopping with him! I barely resisted the urge to facepalm.

Sophia and Missy were shockingly unanimous and didn't. Suppressing a snort, I turned in his general direction and raised my voice to make sure I was heard through whatever comms chatter he was hearing.

"Let me just picture it," I found myself snapping into my Deputy Commander voice, "You want to ask your girlfriend, whose Internet nickname is something something Collateral Damage, to help clothes shopping for a girl you just met, and she asks, 'who is this girl to you?', what's your response?"

"Um. She's a friend? Also, technically we met two days ago?"

"Wham! Breakup, and possibly breakage of bones, because that didn't make any difference," Dennis remarked.

"She's a Ward?"

"I'm outed, possibly in the middle of the Boardwalk, which puts my relatives at risk," I sighed, "And while I may ask Sophia to look out for my cousin's well-being at school after that happens, I somehow doubt she'll appreciate the bodyguard duty," I added, twisting the knife I just plunged in the former vigilante's back. My voice was earnest, and it certainly would remind her of my promise to help Taylor from now on.

The room temperature dropped by enough degrees that I thought I saw Missy get goosebumps as she tried to shrink behind her book. We all knew how Sophia hated guard duty, but none of them knew I knew. I was also the only one who knew how the very concept of being Taylor Hebert's bodyguard would rankle her.

Rose, you are one malicious piece of work, but damn if this doesn't feel good. Please don't turn into another Emma. Please?

"I don't remember volunteering my help with anything," she growled, hitching the bag over her shoulder. "I'm outta here. Ellison, I hope you won't be telling your cousin about me?"

"I just reamed Gallant for the same shit, didn't I?" was my response. That earned me a lopsided smirk and a dismissive hair flip. When she departed, I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Sorry you had to see that," I said, "I have a feeling she's really not fond of my cousin for some reason, and I'd prefer not to rock the boat till I get her perspective on this."

The three confused looks I got told me Dean abandoned his post at the console. I cringed a little bit and shrugged.

"What?" I asked, only partly feigning confusion, "As much as my gut tells me Sophia really needs a family therapist, I don't know what Taylor did to make her," I hooked a thumb at the exit, "Cuss at the very notion of someone who looks like my cousin being a Ward, so I intend to find out."

Plotted to perfection: forced repetition of the fact that Taylor, my cousin, looks a lot like me, and is not on good terms with Sophia. I may actually just end up carrying the Journal into the PRT building aboveboard. Considering she's had an extra four months of data to put into it compared to my copy, I was unsure whether I'd need a wheelbarrow for it. Bet I could just sneak in and take it… While risking whatever bees-first-questions-later solution Skitter may be using to protect her Dad and their house from strange capes... Crap.

"But really," Dennis asked, "Wouldn't that out Sophia to your cousin?"

"Hey, Tay-Tay," I intoned in a vague approximation of Emma's voice, trying to refrain from shuddering as I did so, "This girl, like, accosted me on the Bored-walk thinking I was you, and when I set her straight, she said her name's Sophia and, like, now that she's looked me over, I apparently work out enough to earn her respect," I stretched out my right arm to show off a tricep, "D'ya know a Sophia, yay high, likes to cuss, has runner's legs? What was she all about?"

"First, that was creepy, second, you don't actually sound like that," Missy countered, "And third, what is it with you and working out? Power or no power, you're a dragon and a chainmail bikini away from a heavy metal album cover."

"Sorry, I'm not up to their high standards in women," I snorted, gesturing at my chest, then my face as I listed off, "Not blonde, not pretty, not busty, not of age. And no, I'm not outing anyone, which is why I was actually going to ask Dean," I went on, turning to the knightly Ward, "How many Wards' identities does Victoria know?"

Good going, use her full name, this Glory Girl isn't 'Vicky' to me, not yet anyway. I have a suspicion where this is headed.

Missy glared at me, both for deflecting her question regarding working out and for putting Dean on the spot to talk about his girlfriend some more. I'm really sorry Missy, one moral hazard at a time.

"Um. Mine?" he ventured cautiously, realizing he was trapped.

"Aaand there we have it. 'A' for effort, 'F' for execution, please do better next time," I finished, turning off the Commander voice, "I'm sorry Dean, but this'll have to wait either until I'm friends with Victoria or until my helmet accidentally falls off during a chance team-up. She goes to Arcadia, right? I have to figure out which of the two options is more likely."

"Goes is a strong word," Dean rubbed his chin, "She attends a lot of college classes now, Parahuman theory and all that, but yeah, you can run into her there."

"She's still gonna ask where you know Dean from, though," Dennis supplied, snickering again, "She's got him on a pretty short leash."

"Well, then I guess Missy's my only hope," I said, turning to my would-be XO to avoid looking at Dean flushing, "Vista, should you choose to accept it, the mission is yours," I piled the gruff spy voice on thickly, making her giggle, "Are you free this afternoon?"

"That depends," she flipped her hair in what would be a 'cool and mysterious' way when she'd learn to overact better, "How good are you at math?"

"At my school level?" I pondered aloud, grasping my chin in an exaggerated thinking pose, "Okay. Ish. For yours, I think I can help you with homework, you little mercenary, you."

"E-e-excellent," she grinned, making me wonder for a moment whether she'd attempt a cackle. Thankfully, she thought better of it, "Let me go change and we can get going."

------​

While I waited for Missy, I got online to check my messages. It was… a disappointing experience.

Gotharina replied she got kicked out of the Youth Guard (some incident similar to mine, I'd wager), but she could pass on a message to her aunt if I had concrete info, and also who the hell was I if I knew her real name. Also, she asked whether I was cute. Guessing she thought I was a guy from the name, I sighed and typed out a short response that I only play one on TV and that I'd get back to her when I had any evidence to present, which I seriously doubted I could easily obtain.

Panacea apparently had an automated filtering system that sent me a prefabricated politely but sternly worded response that if I wanted to interact with her in any capacity I either had to be on her whitelist or reach out through official New Wave contacts. Also, that she doesn't do requests.

Neither Tattletale nor Taylor replied to their messages. I could understand Taylor ignoring PHO because she trusted Tattletale to monitor the news, and being a fugitive from the law and the gangs was a problem in and of itself, but Tattletale's silence was a mystery. The account I wrote to was active, posting the same vague and cryptic waves of trolling I remembered from my world, and had actually posted stuff since Tuesday, most of it in reaction threads to the E88 outing. In the unlikely event that whoever used this screen name in this world wasn't Tattletale, they chose to ignore my message altogether, making me regret the grandstanding choice of words I used.

My points of contact exhausted, I exhaled loudly, throwing myself against the back of the chair. What other non-aggressive avenues of approach did I have aside from wandering the streets at random, hoping to trip either Skitter's swarm-sense or Tattletale's bullshit analysis sight. It's not like I could just print a classified--

Dear Rose, I am you, but you are an idiot. Sincerely yours, you.

Hopping to the PHO contacts and hookups section, where people wrote semi-anonymously to contact each other after cape fights, reached out to capes that saved them or checked up on people looking for them, and made a burner account post.

Tata,
Have info for Bug, willing to meet on your terms.
E.​

"Are you coming or did PHO swallow you whole?"

Missy's voice snapped me out of the afterglow akin to the one I got after a planning session for a fight. I nodded as I stood up groggily, stretching to get my body back into gear.

"Sorry, somebody was wrong on the Internet," I said gravely before gesturing at the vault door leading out of the Wards area, "Shall we?"

------​

"Wait," I said, suspicion in my voice, "This looks like a touristy area. Why are we in a touristy area when the shops are likely overpriced and the track pants I am wearing make me look like a Russian mobster?"

We were standing on the Boardwalk, next to the store than in my world used to be Parian's, because here she apparently either was chased off by the Empire or never actually set up shop there. The store in question looked like it catered to teen girls with money to burn and adults who, for one reason or another, intended to dress like teen girls.

In short, the whole of it screamed "Madison Clements" at me. Correction, old Madison Clements. The new and subdued Madison was a less peppy dresser, going for practicality over cuteness, a woman after my own heart. Sadly literal in her case, as knowingly or unknowingly she was likely copying me, but I would be the first to say, whatever her reasons, she made it work for her.

"You didn't specify the shopping, and I thought you'd want to dress up pretty," Missy shrugged in a way, which, between her pastel-blue sundress and light jacket that kept the worst of the wind away from her, only made her look even younger than she was. "Not sure you would if I let you loose on a mall or something. You'd probably be all 'rawr, leather pants, spiked bra, let me at them mall rat boys!' If you're worried about the prices, a) you can afford it, and b), clearance racks exist for a reason."

I snickered and offered her my hand, extricating it from the overlarge sleeve of the PRT hoodie. She obligingly dragged me into the store by it.

"Now who's being creepy?" I asked, checking that the sleeve didn't ride up too high to reveal my tattoo to the world at large, "But good idea, it's hard to find good sizes with shoulders like these, and clearance racks often offer the tail ends of size ranges--"

I paused, staring in disbelief at the clearance rack she maneuvered me in front of. An old friend was staring at me from it. The sequin unicorn was still as ugly as the one in my closet back home, except I haven't worn him in a while once my arms started having trouble fitting through the sleeves. The fashion industry, sadly, never learned that some girls work out too, and need wider arm receptacles. However, this was a different store, and the design was plastered on a tank top of a slightly different, if still offensive, shade of pink.

I was grabbing it before Missy could make any sound, but followed it up by a yellow-green tee that looked like it would accommodate me better (it had some sort of inspirational quote overlaid on a pretentious faux-Polaroid still of a city) and a blue button-down blouse that could, conceivably, work with jeans or a skirt. Crap, I will need to find a suitable skirt! Or can I requisition a PRT dress uniform?

"Rose?" my guide asked, "Are you sure you want to be trying that… pink one on?"

I grinned at the implied idiocy of this decision, mainly because I agreed with the unvoiced assessment, but I needed to establish a comfort zone, and on top of that, the unicorn could probably make Sophia's eyes bleed, which was a definite plus.

"It reminded me of one of the things I lost," I admitted earnestly, "So I'm trying it on even if I'm not getting it. Bring me to the jeans. We're looking for the boot cuts."

A fun fact most people that don't work out systematically don't seem to grasp: once you stop skipping leg day, your legs get wider. Your hips get thicker. Your calves become bouncy and curvy in ways some people associate with breasts too much for comfort. And none of that new stuff fits into 'normal' jeans, not by a long shot. Thankfully, Clay helped me figure out what fit me best, so all I needed now was to pilfer the jeans rack for things with the correct numbers.

"So you never answered," came Missy's muffled voice through the curtain of the dressing room as I battled the tank top for dominance. It was a little snug, and I was afraid of tearing it, "Why do you work out so much?"

"Two reasons," I said, swinging the curtain open. My reflection in the mirror wall behind her stood staring back at me, barefoot, the first pair of shorts I decided to designate as 'domestic' hanging a bit loose on my hips, the tank top's snugness outlining my abs aggressively and countering the sports bra's effect to give me a pretense of cleavage. In a proper bra it'd look like I had an actual bust! I looked ridiculous and I was getting this tank top even if I would accidentally tear it in half when taking it off while getting ready to go to sleep.

"Woah. Nobody would doubt you're a girl if you'd go out in that," Missy told the unicorn, I hoped, because the thought of her talking to my chest was weird and wrong and weird, "So, what are they?"

"One. I refuse to be useless. My Thinker power consigns me to a fate of console wrangling and hostage negotiations. I want to be useful in any situation. Hence the training, the weapons, the works," I replied turning this way and that to see that unless I stretched the tank top too taut, the shorts let any concerned parties see the waistband of my underwear and that just wouldn't do.

"Two. I started before I got the powers, wanted to get stronger, protect myself from bullying," I half-lied again, closing the curtain behind me.

"Did it help?"

"With the bullies? No," I replied, pretty much walking out of the shorts and depositing them on the changing room bench, "The PRT discovered them by accident when doing a background check for my original joining. They got schooled, and I got transferred from the local Winslow equivalent to the local Arcadia."

Opening the curtain, I showed her set number two, the two-tone tee (I had since realized the city was LA, and the phrase 'Chase your dreams wherever they lead you') and the slightly flared jeans. They were a tad loose on my waist but just right on my legs, nothing a good belt couldn't fix.

"What's between you and Dean?" I asked, going for innocence, "I noticed you don't like the idea of his girlfriend too much," I clarified, wilting a little under the stare I got in response.

"Shirt looks good on you," Missy said thoughtfully, "Not sure about the jeans, will you be able to sit down in these?"

I demonstrated. The fabric felt tight, but not uncomfortably so, which meant that at their clearance price, they were definitely a 'keep'.

"I… I like Dean, but I know I'm too young for him, and Vicky's… well, you've seen her, right?" she gave a small sigh. I nodded.

"Yeah, don't need powers to realize that, I was just pushing the boundaries a bit, sorry," I offered, kneeling before her small stool-seated form, "And yeah, seen her, she's not my type, but cheer up, maybe it'll pass," she looked up with hope at that, "And you'll find someone who'll like you for you, although hopefully without an age gap to go along with it."

She scoffed, poking me in the shoulder.

"Yeah, like you're one to talk. These must come in handy beating away all the guys and girls lining up for a shot with you?"

It was my turn to sigh.

"Only guy I dated… died. Empire Eighty-Eight. He was Latino. After that all the dating I had were therapy sessions over my guilt complex," I explained, sadness tinging my voice, "He stepped in when an Empire posse attacked a friend of mine I asked him to help. He saved her, but the wounds were too severe."

I crashed down onto a stool next to her, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands. I was slightly surprised to find them dry. Is it the indirect telling or the fact that I'm spent already? When did I become such an emotional wreck?

"It's why I look at Aegis like you look at Dean," I found myself hugging her around the shoulders, more for my comfort than hers, "Always had a crush on him. Found a guy that kinda looked like him, we dated, I felt I was falling in love. Then, my whole world was swept from under my feet," I sniffled, "The police came to my house when I was getting dressed up for a big date. Took me a while to pull myself back together after that. The workouts helped take my mind off it too."

"Was that… your… you know?" she asked cautiously. I realized there were tears in her eyes.

"What? Oh, no, that one happened in December," I shook my head, sticking to the fake concept of how 'Rose' triggered, "So, don't look at me as if being fit makes you more successful in love. Or in life," looking at her get downcast again, I gave her one of my own grins, "And here's a powered guess: if you're still interested, I can give you a few pointers and maybe talk the PRT trainers into helping you with training. If nothing else, it does draw attention."

"I… I think I'd like that," she nodded, scratching her nose thoughtfully.

"Great!" I stood up, returning to the booth, "Because there's still an issue we haven't skirted yet!"

I grinned at the sound of her chuckling as I drew the curtain and turned to the hangers with the skirt and the blouse.

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.07​

When we got back to PRT HQ, more messages awaited me. Perhaps it was the roundabout way we took, revisiting several shops, or the need to wait for the PRT van we called in to pick us up because while we waltzed easily out of the building through one of the semi-hidden alternate exits, waltzing back in with lots of shopping bags wasn't a good option. Perhaps it was simply the fact that pinging people that I had logged in at the shared desktop at the Wards Commons made them all want to write to me. But first, there were bags to be sorted out, as I was surprised at the volume we had accrued despite the small dent it made in my Wards spending allowance. In fact, the most expensive item on the list was a swimsuit.

Missy seemed to take an odd glee in having me try on bikinis, which, according to my notes on my Missy, probably meant she was itching to have some of her own, but was holding back for the same reason I was until recently. Until Panacea gave me the only aspect of my abilities that would actually pass for a superpower… Or maybe Missy was holding back because of the horrific scar across her chest that Hookwolf gave her.

Of course, this Missy hadn't confided in anyone about it, but in return for my suffering I managed to coax her into a new dress that showed some skin yet managed to conceal even the hints of the mess of flesh that would certainly ruin her enjoyment of bikinis when she would grow up. I cheated of course, it was the exact same one my Missy got the weekend before I was zapped here, but I'm sure any version of Vista appreciated feeling pretty despite her disfigurement. I wonder if we can cajole the local Amy into doing away with it.

As a result, I now owned a set of pretty swimwear that cost as much all of my underwear (including the freshly bought plain stuff AND the government-issued stuff) put together. I was unsure whether I'd ever actually get to put it to use, but the look of 'I will get you some even if I never get any myself' that Missy wore throughout the ordeal made me certain I picked the best person to be my XO. Properly motivated, this girl would go through hell, high water and rouge angles of satin if it meant getting things done.

When she was done helping me and was getting ready to head home, reluctant as always (not that she knew I knew why), I pulled her into a tight hug, promising we'd hang out again as soon as was possible. She hugged me back in a way that made me wonder if she developed super-strength as a second Trigger.

Once Missy was gone, it was time to network again. Flopping my way into the shorts I designated 'domestic' and shedding the hoodie, I deposited myself and my PRT-issued mug of PRT-issued tea (English Breakfast teabags from a noname office supplier, but it was all I had available) in front of the computer.

First up, check for PHO messages. I had just the one.

From: T_Am_Eye
To: Emissary
Subject: Meet

E,
That was coy. Bug doesn't know you.
Your PM to her has her spooked. What does a Ward have to do with her?
Tt​

Shit. Paranoia winning out? Clearly, Tattletale's logic chain went "E" - newly registered capes - Emissary - verified already - likely a Ward because new Protectorate members were more visible. Or because the Undersiders had some sort of backdoor to the security cameras in the building, courtesy of Coil's plants (I waved at the security camera above the entrance to the Commons). Or one of said plants merely taking snaps with a cell phone camera and passing them on to their boss and/or his Underlings. Double shit. I am burning that jumpsuit toot sweet.

From: Emissary
To: T_Am_Eye
Subject: Meet

Tata,
The only reason I am not up her wardrobe to get it myself yet is respect for her boundaries (also allergic to bees). I'm sorry for scaring her, but I didn't know another way that I could get through while being taken seriously. She needs justice against EB and SH, I want SH in jail. This can tip the scales for both of us. Win-win.
Name your terms, time and place. I'll unmask if that gets you to trust me.
E.

P.S. You realize of course, Coil tossed you under the bus this week and will gladly do it again?
P.P.S. Don't think about the purple elephants.​

That may have been petty, but the face my Tattletale made the time I sprang this on her was worth trying it again.

The other messages were internal e-mails, one from Miss Militia, stating there was a spot empty on tomorrow's patrol schedule due to Chris being stuck in Tinkerland again, and offering me to go out on my first patrol as Emissary with my pick of James or Dennis, while the other would get Missy. Wondering why I couldn't go with Missy (Probably because I'm yet untried and they're still babying her), I went with the devil I knew better, replying that I would take Clockblocker.

The other one was from that Chambers guy, the local one, that was originally behind my Deputy costume, and coincidentally the one approving its redesign into its current form. He wrote that they managed to settle the arrangements for my official unveiling as a new Ward for a Friday One-PM TV broadcast. Oh joy, I thought darkly, another swearing-in ceremony, hopefully this one won't be ruined by Tattletale's machinations. Also, way to go with the short notice! I've got fifteen hours to prepare a speech?

The final one was from a lady in Marketing I vaguely remembered from my internship, asking me to come in on Monday to do some rehearsal promo shots for merchandising concepts because PR needed high-quality images of me in my armor. Not that I can fault them, I kinda short-circuited the whole system. Normally they'd have these before the costume was even made. AND none of them had input!

Chambers was briefed with an abridged version of the truth, to help with the fast-tracking, but as far as the PRT layperson was concerned, I was an out-of-town Ward relocated due to a high risk of my identity being leaked in my home town. Agreeing to the proposed time, I shot the response e-mail out and stood up, realizing I had time to kill before bed and nothing to kill it with except Kid Win's videogames, harassing whoever was on console duty right now or going out to the gym again.

------​

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I intoned in my best Tattletale voice, making Carlos nearly jump out of his seat at the console.

"What-- Rose, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" he protested, his expression turning horrified as he realized what he just implied, "Damn. Sorry, I--"

"Don't worry," I said, putting a placating hand on his shoulder, "I had a heart to heart with Vista and realized I would be doing my therapists a disservice if I would break down at the drop of a hat."

"That's… good."

The awkwardness was quickly dispelled by him snapping his head back to the console and the map on one of the screens.

"Stalker!" he got the commanding voice up, thumbing the transmit button as he did so, "Stop abandoning Gallant! You know he can't roof-hop the way you do!"

"So do you, yet you still keep putting him in the field with me," Sophia's voice hissed from the speakers. The ongoing E88 situation made the patrol schedules a mess, as I understood, leading to situations like this, when Dean went straight from a console shift to a late evening (it was never officially 'night') patrol, "I hope the new girl isn't this slow."

I shook my head at this, thankful nobody could see the expression on my face. Going on patrols with her was nowhere in my plans for the foreseeable future.

"Focus, please," Aegis implored into his headset, eyes screwed shut with the effort of keeping his voice level, "I'd rather I didn't have to send her out to scrape either of you off the pavement."

"But boss, I just bought a new toy bucket and plastic spatula!" I mock protested once I was sure he ended the transmission. I could hear Dean grumbling in the background.

"Please, you're almost as bad as Dennis," Carlos looked at me with a tired look in his eyes. When was the last time he slept properly?

"Speaking of Clock, I'm up for patrol with him tomorrow," I remembered, "Miss Militia just told me. Got any tips for handling him?"

"Please, don't… encourage him? I'm sure you know how he functions, and it seems that… well, he's taken an interest in you."

"I do, and I noticed, yes. I'll try to dissuade him, tell him he's got no chance with those spindly arms of his," I nodded, trying to keep my face straight, then pointed at the screens, "You got a ping."

He looked at the warning light, nodded, and flipped a few switches.

"Wards Console, Aegis speaking, please state your problem?"

I waved at him, accepting his wave back with a nod as he continued taking down information from the BBPD officer that thought he spotted Alabaster in the area of The Towers while I stepped back into the commons.

------​

Another cup of tea saw me at the computer again. I couldn't help but chuckle as I read Tattletale's response.

From: T_Am_Eye
To: Emissary
Subject: Meet

E,
Can't bother you on your big day tomorrow, and our Saturday is sadly already booked. How about lunch on Sunday? Are you okay with Fugly Bob's?
Tt

P.S. Duh.
P.P.S. If you mention swallows of any kind, you are getting coffee thrown in your face.​

How in the hell does she know about the press conference as soon as I do? Gotta ask Dragon about the security of the computer systems here.

The rest of the evening was consumed in a blur of experimenting with the new bras and the tank top figuring out how to give myself an illusion of cleavage (thank the gods for pectorals being pliant in this respect!), trying to figure out which of my new acquisitions would go well with the PRT-issued clothes and generally goofing off in front of the smallish mirror I had in my room.

I did a few more sitdowns with the computer, each a cycle of not getting any more messages and checking out my old friend, the Crime Map, to check out if there was any reason to worry about the upcoming patrol. Route 3, I saw, was slightly altered as one street was turned into a crater by Bakuda and still wasn't repaired. I will have to remember that.

I also got a kick out of watching Sophia and Dean try to not react to the Earth Aleph heavy metal band t-shirt Missy insisted I get when they passed through to change into civvies before going home. Instead of the typical scantily clad lady we've discussed earlier, the shirt showed an impressively muscled scantily clad gentleman, though the ridiculous serrated sword he was brandishing probably meant he was anything but gentle. Just thinking about that silly pun made me giggle again.

It even coaxed a blush out of Aegis when he noticed a certain similarity between the largest piece of clothing the gentleman was wearing - a full-face helmet, unlike the Earth Bet version - with the one tattooed on my arm, another reason Missy insisted I get it. This success also convinced me I needed to check the band itself out, if only to check whether they were not of the sort that put Übermensch propaganda in their lyrics. In retrospect, we should have done that before buying the shirt, but we were on a roll and couldn't quite stop ourselves in time.

Missy, I decided, was almost as good a shopping buddy as Hurricane Victoria, and a lot less pushy about it, which she handily compensated for by allowing me to indulge in Bad Shopping Decisions willy-nilly.

One by one, they departed, saying their goodbyes (well, Sophia grunted, for what it's worth), leaving me alone with the closed door of Chris's workshop and the telltale clanging sounds of a Tinker trance coming from within. I set an alarm for myself to check whether he's still alive and fed, since he stepped out for a coffee right before the patrol returned to base, and went to set up my room for the night.

------
[This is where Q.01 occurs]
------​

I was pacing, my spidermesh undersuit the only piece of my outfit I had donned thus far. Horsing around with the Wards to establish Rose Ellison as distinct from Taylor Hebert was one thing. I intended Emissary the Cape Persona to be something of an amalgamation of Tattletale, who I was already emulating to a degree out-of-costume, and The Deputy, for whatever good it would do to the meme potential.

This meant getting into a calmer frame of mind than I was feeling right now. There was little doubt Tattletale would be watching the announcement, either on TV or online, and that meant the rest of the Undersiders would too. I needed to project the right kind of image if I was to approach them on Sunday with my disarmament plans. I was certain I could surprise this Tattletale with the option of exonerating Hellhound just as I did mine, and after that we'd see what could be done for Grue and Regent.

My main prize, however, was the recruitment of Skitter, with Tattletale as a target of opportunity. The problem was, of course, not knowing how the inclusion of Skitter changed the group dynamics, since while she seemed to be somewhat passive at the bank, letting Tattletale play first fiddle, Forsberg had been primarily her show.

I exhaled, looking at the bedside clock. It was time to go be a superhero. I donned my boots, clasped the leg guards on, one by one, and straightened out to the sound of knocking on my door.

"Emissary? Mike Chambers. PR consensus changed a bit, can you do your presentation unarmed?" I frowned as I shrugged my way into the chestpiece, "This won't affect your patrol kit, we're only asking just this once. Emphasize the Thinker rating, too, if you can."

Great, last-minute changes are the one thing any plan needs to improve!

"Any words to avoid?" I asked politely, strapping on the arm guards. Only the helmet remained.

"Nothing specific, the outline you sent in last night will do fine so long as nobody tries to heckle you," he assured me with what I expected was a fitting facial expression designed to inspire me. Thankfully, the door prevented me from seeing it and likely scowling in response.

Wait. Heckling? That's a thing that happens?

"Is that a thing that happens? At debut press conferences?" I asked cautiously as I strapped into the Eye of Wadjet. Never let it be known that I would go anywhere unprepared. After a moment's hesitation and a setting check, I shoved Mjölnir into my back compartment, where the zip ties and its spare modules would normally be. It wasn't a good fit but its presence relaxed me. I doubted anyone would be dumb enough to try something in the PRT building, but you can never be sure.

"Not in Brockton, no, but there were a few incidents in L.A. in the past, so we try to warn everybody," he explained, "Forewarned, forearmed, etc, etc."

I grinned into my faceplate (as he actually pronounced it as "yetk" or something like that) and reached for the door.

"I'm ready. Bring it on," I said, hoping this Friday the 13th would not be my unlucky day.

------​

"...discovered as a PRT Intern, please welcome Brockton Bay's newest Ward, Emissary!" Deputy Director Rennick introduced me with a hint of amusement in his voice.

The conference room was not particularly large, and not particularly pretty and I was certain I've never set foot in this one before. I stepped up to the lectern with little hesitation, seemingly fully in control of my emotions.

"People of Brockton Bay," I found my Deputy Commander voice again, "My name is Emissary and I am a low-level Thinker and Brute. I am, in a way, the anti-Thinker Thinker, something this city seems to need in light of recent events," I paused, lowering my gaze for dramatic effect, before looking back up to continue, "When I joined the PRT I was already a parahuman, but one unaware of her powers. A cape groupie willing to do her small part to help keep the peace. And now that I know of my powers, I intend to use them for the same purpose. This isn't my home city, but I do have family here," I bent the truth again, "And their safety is as important to me as your safety. I swear to uphold the law to the best of my ability, to spread peace and understanding as far as I can be heard, and to protect this city and its citizens with my life if the need arises. Ad Tuendam Pacem a Potentibus!"

I intentionally constructed the words from the original oath of PRT troopers, both to show them they had an actual ally in the camp of capes, and to reinforce the idea that unpowered PRT employees can ascend into the primus inter pares level of government-sanctioned parahumans. Something I already did as The Deputy, of course, but here I would be posing as a powered person, and that changed the onus placed on me.

Sure, there were examples of PRT-serving parahumans, and Chevalier was a shining example of that, but Brockton Bay sure could use the morale boost of having one of their own: a cape that got into the 'cape loony bin' before being a cape. It implied a difference of conviction, something the PR people were happy to hear from me and so they latched on to it fiercely as it was unheard of for a Ward. I went off-script with the motto, however, even as I saw several PRT troopers from the protective detail, Martinez included, salute me when I said it.

"And now we will have a short Q&A session," Rennick spoke into his microphone, a forest of raised hands appearing before me.

"Karen Stross, Brockton Bay Beacon & Journal," said a severe-looking lady whose face could probably be used to sharpen swords, the name she said made me straighten up before I realized it was the bus stop newspaper, not the… other one, "Emissary, as you've mentioned, you've interned at a different PRT office, why be a Ward in Brockton Bay?"

"Ms. Stross, as I said, I have family here, and I needed relocation to keep my identity secret," I explained, trying to minimize any nervous gesturing, "Thus, Brockton Bay provided a perfect opportunity for me. Next, please?"

"Marie Renard, Cape Designs," came from the opposite end of the room, the speaker was a redhead who looked like Martinez would have if she were an anime character, large eyes and all, "The similarity of your costume design to a certain videogame has not gone unnoticed. Combined with the purported arrest of Über and L33t last weekend, we have to ask for clarity: are you in any way affiliated with them?"

I shook my head, trying not to chuckle in a way that would be heard outside my helmet.

"Miss Renard, unfortunately I don't play videogames, and the design was based on a childhood drawing of mine," I explained patiently, "I've always wanted to be a hero, and now I am one. It made sense to provide the Image team my childhood's dream to make it reality," I paused while the wave of assent in the crowd would die down, "As for Über and L33t, it was actually me who apprehended them. It was mostly an accident, as I was out of costume at the time, which led to me being foamed along with them by the arriving PRT troopers I had called in, entirely my own fault for breaking protocol."

This detailed denial was a pre-prepared one, of course, to ward off any questioning whatsoever regarding the events at the Docks. The redheaded journalist seemed satisfied with the explanation.

"One last question, I'm thinking," Rennick offered the crowd of journalists. I picked one at random, a dark-skinned young man with a neatly trimmed beard.

"Matthew Wong, Boston Globe," he introduced himself, "As a Thinker with a Master subrating, what is your stance on the Canary trial?"

The crowd erupted with protests and shouted questions. I intentionally omitted the Master rating from my introduction to avoid something like this, not to mention the sticky situation that Canary presented to me, specifically. Back home, Paige Macabee hadn't even made it to trial. She had committed suicide in her cell before getting to court. Madison-- that is, my Madison --had taken her place as the scapegoat against Masters. Here, neither event had happened. Paige was still alive, for a relative value of the term as applicable to a squishy Master sent to the Birdcage a week or so ago.

"That trial was a polarizing event," I said, picking my words carefully from the internal PRT memo on the subject, "But as an affiliated person, both as a Ward and PRT employee, I cannot make any public statements on the subject. That will be all, thank you for your time!"

"Once again, a welcome to our newest Ward!" Rennick cued the people to begin clapping, and obviously trying not to glare at Mr Wong.

I gave a small wave at the cameras and departed to the dying applause, feeling slightly rotten inside. I had a lot of things to say about Canary's trial, several of them to the Boston PRT Director, and none of them remotely nice. I was thankful I was not allowed to voice any of those.

------​

"So, Canary, huh," Dennis was unsubtle as a half-brick to the head as we stepped onto the Boardwalk together for our patrol. I tried to shrug dismissively and failed.

"It was a sham, not a trial," I muttered angrily, hoping nobody else would hear me, "They didn't investigate, didn't let her defend herself. They just wanted to set a precedent. All this will result in is every Master rated above 2 saying 'fuck it, if they treat us like villains, might as well act like villains.' Nobody wants that."

"Sorry I brought it up," he said timidly, again reminding me of Greg and his foot-in-mouth disease. At least Clockblocker had the sense to apologize once he realized he made a faux pas.

"Don't-- Never mind, let's talk about something else," I shook my head, trying to get my shoulders to unclench into a better body language phrase than 'I want to kill something'. Body language is triply important for full-mask capes, after all, "Arcadia," I said, "I'm going to start there after summer break. Is it nice?"

"Depends on what you compare it to, I guess, but it's probably the nicest school in Brockton Bay, sure," Dennis replied, cheer returning to his voice as he waved at a bunch of passing girls wearing Immaculata uniforms. I was suddenly very aware all the attention of the street was on the white-costumed boy, not the sulky green-armored girl. They can tell I'm a girl in here, right?

"Good to know," I said, genuine sadness in my voice, "I switched schools before due to bullying, wouldn't want to do it again."

We walked slowly along the Boardwalk, stopping for the occasional photo request. I wondered idly how many people were being shaken down for their money right now in the alleys towards the Docks.

"You-- you were--? Who'd-- oh," he sputtered, clearly working out the order of events, "No, you're safe from that crap in our school."

"You don't have to say it," I chuckled, looking at my reflection in the storefront of the place that sold me the unicorn yesterday, "I know I suck at small talk."

"Then let me lead!" he offered enthusiastically, picking up the pace a bit. I fell into step next to him, "I saw your metal shirt. It was very…"

"Metal?" I suggested with a grin he wouldn't see. It says a lot about me, the fact that I react more earnestly with my face hidden.

"Uh-huh. Wouldn't've pegged you for that kind of music," he admitted, miming playing a guitar, although the way he did it made me think more of a ukulele.

"I'm not. Missy's joke about heavy metal covers made me wonder if they make these with half-naked girls, there must be ones with half-naked guys. So I found one," I explained, before tapping my breastplate, "Though I do look the part now, don't I?"

"Um. I don't know if you've noticed, but you're not nearly as naked enough?" he stage-whispered at me.

"I meant metal, Clock," another tap, "Because of the paint job? I'm not undressing for your entertainment."

While I spoke, we paused to glare accusingly at a pair of guys with suspiciously Nazi-like tattoos visible from under their t-shirts until they turned around and wandered in the general direction of away from the Boardwalk. Exchanging a high-five, we continued the patrol.

"Ha, so whose entertainment would you undress for?" he asked, thankfully tempering his volume so the passers-by won't get swept along into Cape Drama: Brockton Bay episode unfolding between the two of us.

"Okay, seriously, flirt on your own damn time, don't make me listen to it!" Sophia's voice came over the intercom. Blanching, I checked my comms, finding the switch off. I glared at Dennis, realized he can't realize it and bonked him on the helmet lightly. He shrugged sheepishly. Apparently, she only heard his half of the conversation.

"Sorry Console, radio became stuck," he said as I realized he had reached the same conclusion.

"Sure. Just don't make it my problem," she said dismissively, "Why would you even flirt over a conversation about beefcake?"

Oh, right. She saw the shirt too. This is too hilarious to ignore.

"Why, Console, did you like what you saw?" I asked, pouring on Old Madison's innocence, and reveling in the way she sputtered.

"Or was it the shirt?" Dennis joined in. I offered him another high-five. He took it.

"What I saw was a store robbery in progress two streets over," she countered, "So you better hoof it before the perps are gone."

Levity forgotten, we took a sharp turn and moved to a sprint as she rattled the exact address off.

------​

"Holy crap, you fight like one of them!" Dennis reeked of excitement. While he tangoed with one of the would-be robbers trying to freeze him and not get switchblade poisoning for his troubles, I subdued the other three with minimal application of sweeps, holds and a shot from Mjölnir into the back of the one that tried to do a runner.

"One of who?" I asked, checking the charge gauge. It held up nicely. This was my first discharge of the taser outside of the firing range since coming here, and it was good to know I could still rely on it.

"Like the troopers!" he explained, "Like some sort of spec ops badass!"

I gave him a thumbs up to go along with the grin he couldn't see.

While he called it in, I surveyed all four of them. The one Clockblocker froze was actually one of the swastika-wearing guys from the Boardwalk, the other may have escaped or never partook in the robbery or, yes, was still in the store?

"Going to check inside, cover me," I said, pulling Mjölnir out again.

"With what?!" was the frantic reply. I tossed him a can of confoam in response.

"It's like Mace," I explained, carefully opening the store's door, "Face towards target, try to hit them, don't have to aim for the face. Simple as pie."

"Never held one of these things before," he admitted, "Or Mace, for that matter."

"BBPD ETA 1 minute," Sophia announced. I had to admit, however much she hated it in the Wards, she was competent… by this world's competence levels, apparently. My Clockblocker could have taken on all of these Neo-Nazi alone, and Sophia was clearly listening in instead of reporting the stuck radio at once.

The broken glass of the smashed front door was crunching under my feet as I tapped my temple, flicking through vision modes. Finally, some backscatter-like mode told me there were two people in the office in the back, one kneeling, the other with a gun pointed at the head of the first, but their heads were both turned towards me. Towards the sounds I was making. Shit.

Sirens outside heralded the arrival of the police while I continued to move further in, happy that I was past the smashed glass. Satisfied with the absence of noise, the person with the gun urged the hostage towards one of the walls. Safe. He's still after the money even though the cops are here? Or she? Why is this thing so fuzzy?

The door to the office was slightly ajar as I crept up to it. Stilling myself for a moment and making sure the one with the gun had now lowered it because the one in front of the safe didn't see them with their back turned, I leaped in, Mjölnir at the ready.

I zapped the gun guy (It was a guy! But not the one from the Boardwalk!), dropping onto the floor moments before he did, his sizeable gun clattering loudly against a desk leg.

"I'm with the Wards. Are you okay?" I asked of the hostage.

"Careful, it's--" he (also a guy!) started to say as I saw the gun suddenly pointing at my face, "Alabaster," we said in unison as I took in the pale man's smirk.

 

[Noelemahc]

Recruit 1.08​

It was a series of snap thoughts, snap decisions.

He's not going to harm a Ward.
Not because he fears a kill order, because he doesn't need the complication.

Shit that's a huge revolver.

I need to arch back, bend my head back too, so any accidental discharge will graze, not impact. Mjölnir should still be good for two or three blasts at this charge and intensity level.

Bending back on the floor, I zapped Alabaster again, watching his hand twitch, thankfully not enough to accidentally pull the trigger. He dropped like a sack of lily-white potatoes once again, the ginormous revolver clattering against my breastplate this time. Damn, it's also heavy!

I bought myself three seconds till the next reset, he will probably reset upright again.
I'm going to need containment foam to stop him permanently.
And I just gave my container to Dennis. Idiot.

I scrambled upright, slamming my palm against my head in the comms-activating position.

"Alabaster inside, need confoam on my position NOW!" I broadcast on the general channel, hoping either Clockblocker or some cop with a Parahuman Response badge (if they even had this program on this world, I was starting to hate trying to rely on non-existent contingencies) would get here before Mjölnir's batteries died. As soon as I saw Alabaster shift, my free hand swung from my head to where I expected his to show up, palm forward.

Why should I waste shots if hand-to-hand may suffice to keep him occupied?
He's used to tanking, not hand-to-hand, probably relies on his resets to reload ammo.
Wait, I don't actually know that.
What happens to the bull-- not now!

My hand connected with his chin, clanging his jaw shut, pushing his head up and driving him back a step. Whipping him in the face with Mjölnir, I followed up with a straight kick to his knee. It didn't even make a sound, but made him shift attention from raising his gun from where he was pointing it at my prone form before. He resets into the position he was damaged in? That has to be really annoying!

Anger flared on his face, furious now, as he looked up at me losing my balance from failing to break his knee. I heard the crunch of glass behind me and brought Mjölnir to bear just as Alabaster raised his gun. We fired at the same time. He collapsed again as I heard the bullet ping off something to my side.

I turned to see Dennis standing in the doorway, frozen with shock, slowly turning his head towards the gouge the bullet left in the doorframe, almost as wide as a peach core… or a human eye.

"You can panic later, foam him!" I heard myself yelling. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden loudness.

"Don't--" he began to protest as Alabaster reset again. I tried to zap him one more time, he even flinched as Mjölnir gave out a desultory beep of low batteries, allowing me to drive a left hook, as strong as I could make it on short notice, into the Nazi cape's temple. Instead of watching him crumple, I twisted around, hooking Mjölnir back into place on my chest, and screamed at Dennis.

"GIMME!"

Bless his heart, the boy did not hesitate, tossing the confoam canister to me. Catching it, I twisted back just in time to see Alabaster reset again. His scowl by this point could curd milk, but he hesitated, clearly choosing which of us to shoot to facilitate his retreat. I did not.

"Clock! Freeze yourself!" I yelled as I thumbed the canister's release, hoping it wasn't too jacked up from the throwing around.

The foam went onto his chest, his shoulders, his gun arm, expanding rapidly as I backpedaled, tripping on something, dropping onto my butt, getting foam over my left boot by accident as I fought to keep the stream on-target. He peeled off his last shot, the bullet tearing through the still-setting foam and plinking against what I hoped was Clockblocker's clock-locked chest. I led the stream in a crisscross against Alabaster's legs and feet as I felt the canister's stream start dwindling.

Once it gave up the ghost with a last defiant poot, I dropped it on the floor and admired my handiwork. Alabaster was twitching against a cloud of foam holding his torso and most of his hands immobile, while another kept him glued to the floor. Bonus points: because I tripped, the flow jumped and the two pieces remained unconnected. He was stuck upright and having to hold the foam on his body aloft. Perfect!

I half-turned to check if Dennis was alright and sighed with relief as I saw his time-frozen form still standing in the doorway. If nothing else, he was highly useful as a distraction.

"All clear. Console, we're gonna need a pickup for Alabaster," I reported over the radio, ignoring Sophia's response as a wave of tiredness hit my body. The adrenaline was fading now.

I let myself relax and drop back flat onto the floor. Until my leg was chipped or dissolved out, I wasn't going anywhere.

------​

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"

Director Piggot was slightly dissatisfied with my performance, primarily due to the fact that I all but forced Dennis to tank a bullet to the chest. Talking the boy down from a panic attack was the evening's highlight for me as the PRT van whisked us back to HQ.

"WHAT PART OF 'PATROL THE BOARDWALK' INVOLVES ASSAULTING WANTED PARAHUMAN CRIMINALS?!"

For whatever reason, she chose to debrief us separately, and Dennis, already discarded by the machine of hate, was waiting for me outside out of some sense of misguided camaraderie. Why the hell do I keep comparing him to Greg? He helped!

"I HAVE HALF A MIND TO BENCH YOU INDEFINITELY, YOUR SKITTER PROJECT BE DAMNED!"

She was winding down, I saw, and I couldn't exactly fault her for the conclusions she made. My helmet cam footage was still in my helmet cam, and my six-page incident report, next to Dennis's half-page one, were a crumpled mess in the Director's left hand.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but are you reacting to me as a Ward or as someone Alexandria and the Chief Director have an interest in?" I asked, still riding the wave of elation. Another cape I took down more or less one-on-one! "Because the answer to the first is in my report, and to the second is 'I didn't get to be where I was without being good at my job'. Clockblocker is unharmed and I didn't even scratch the ablative paint."

"What if I was to say 'someone under my command whose death, regardless of status, is an unacceptable loss'?" she shot back, sounding only a little bit petty. That made me feel petty myself. She's the one who has no choice but sit back and watch children under her command walk into danger. I feel like an ass.

"My scan told me an armed perp was in the room with a hostage," I began in earnest, sounding way calmer than I felt. Being masked-up in front of Director Piggot was a novel experience in general, but I was here as a Ward, not The Deputy. "I chose the best stealth option and engaged with the taser, per PRT Field Manual, section--"

"What I want to know," she interrupted, thankfully using her indoor voice this time, "Is why you left your partner behind, instead of waiting for the police to secure the perimeter and moving up with them to apprehend the remaining perpetrator."

"The hostage, ma'am. I was uncertain if I could afford the delay," I admitted, my head hung in shame, "I didn't want his death to be on my conscience, knowing I could have stopped the perp, as I didn't know it was Alabaster yet, from killing the hostage. It looked like the only reason he was still alive was to open the safe."

She steepled her fingers in front of her, sighing heavily.

"That was a good call, Emissary," she admitted, "The safe contained a black ledger -- money laundering reports, Kaiser apparently wanted them destroyed to better separate the compromised E88 assets from the indirectly-controlled. Obviously, this isn't happening now."

I felt like beaming before two things crushed that feeling - the way she said it and the dejà vu that I had already been in this position in the past.

"That said, your further actions were needlessly reckless--"

"Situational risk, ma'am," I interjected, "By the time I realized I was up against Alabaster, it was primarily about not getting shot and keeping him down long enough for backup to get there." I paused to take a breath, "When Clockblocker panicked, both unable to safely approach the hostile cape and incapable of using the containment foam, I had to adapt, and the delay allowed the perp to shoot twice. One shot went wide, the other was negated by Clockblocker's defense."

"So much for a soft launch," the Director exhaled, burying her face in her hands. After maybe half a minute of silence, she looked back up at me. "You have a camera in that setup of yours, correct?" I nodded affirmation, and she continued, "If it corroborates your report, you're likely in the clear. The only real infraction is your storming the room without backup, everything else was pure grace under pressure, or 'badassitude', as Clockblocker summarized in his own report."

She separated the lone sheet of paper from the mess in her fist, straightened it out. He said that in an official report? My mind was torn between Deputy Commander, his superior from another world, wanting to tear into him for informal language in an official document and Taylor Hebert, former bullied girl, realizing she was probably getting a fistbump from Sophia Hess over this. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"May I make a suggestion, ma'am? While we're on the subject?" I ventured, then continued after she nodded, "The Wards need training with the PRT compact containment foam canisters. I know they all have mandatory training with the larger foam throwers, but the portable cans can easily be included in field kits and help prevent escalation of the sort that happened today. Ma'am."

I shut up at the cold glare I was getting. It somehow made me feel she was still pissed I had my own canister on me, because the old regulation I only recently tore down for my Wards was still in force here. When will they realize Brockton Bay is a warzone? The Wards here are child soldiers on the losing side, and nobody wins if they are thrust into danger with inadequate equipment?

"I will take your suggestion into consideration, Emissary," she spoke slowly and quietly, "Dismissed."

I stood up, nearly toppling the chair backwards.

"Ma'am," I repeated before making my retreat outside, "Is… is Clockblocker getting a therapy session assigned over this?"

"Are you asking… or suggesting?" Director Piggot's voice turned inquisitive.

"Asking, ma'am," I replied, tone flat, "Trying to determine how I should approach him, whether it's going to be just me and Aegis bringing him around or Dr. Karpenko or whoever's on rotation this month will chip in."

"Do you approach therapy the same way you do combat?" she did the not-smile I could never copy with my teeth being what they are, like a vague idea of a grin as interpreted by Bosch. Emily Piggot had a nice smile, but she never gave it out unless the occasion merited it. I was yet to merit it in this world. I decided I wanted to change that.

------​

I more or less collapsed into the chair next to Dennis, who was leaning back against the wall, his entire form radiating tiredness. I felt about as badly as he looked, though most of him was about the mental strain, and for me a combination of the same with physical exertion.

I got extremely lucky. He was caught unawares, unprepared for my fighting skill, my entire approach and, of course, Mjölnir. Good thing I had it on the 'normal' setting, Brute 6 mode would have done fuck-all against those resets and drained the batteries much faster.

"So, you come here often?" I intoned, my voice utterly failing to match my body language. I vaguely heard Natalie snicker from her desk, but what I needed was for Clockblocker to snap back to factory settings.

What was that old story called? 'A Little Oil'? I thought I gave the class clown PTSD by accident and felt obscenely guilty at the notion that my carelessness, or, rather, reliance on what my Wards could do and these couldn't, did this to him. And what that would do to the team scared me a little bit. These are my Wards now. I have to make sure they survive. Even Sophia. Can't go to jail when you're dead.

"Nah, not since I got my card punched and collected the novelty mug," he finally said, detaching his head from the wall and turning to face me, "What's the verdict?"

"I am now your court-appointed therapist," I said with mock seriousness, "Please proceed to my office to receive your treatment."

I knew I was giving him an opening. I was giving him an opening.

"If by 'your office' you mean your room, and by treatment--"

I could hear the grin in his voice, and the tension in my back I didn't know was even there melted away.

"C'mon, Clock," I said, cutting him off as I stood up, "You can be awkward at me back where you can actually see the faces I'm making at you under this helmet."

He put a nervous hand on my shoulder, making me tense again.

"Tell me just one thing," he said with the same mock seriousness, "Is your faces all I'm going to be see--"

I didn't let him finish as my hand crawled up behind him to grab him by the nape of his neck and drag him along with me.

"Not with that attitude you're not, buddy."

As the elevator doors closed on us, I could hear Natale finally let go of the snorting laughter she was holding in as she watched this disaster unfold.

------​

"Cheeeers!" was the collective yell that welcomed us in the Wards Commons, with Missy, Chris, James, Dean and even Sophia joining in, however half-heartedly. They were masked-up, but only Sophia was actually in costume, having just finished her console shift.

Carlos was, I noticed, conspicuously missing. Probably getting briefed by Miss Militia on how to handle my little stunt.

"Whu--" I half-wheezed as Missy demonstrated her second Trigger power again, hugging me.

"We heard what happened, decided to come in, greet the heroes of the hour!" Dean explained as I noticed Chris was more or less hanging off his friend, clearly freed from the fey mood that struck him so soon after the last. He was, of course, off duty today, but James and Missy were due to go out on patrol in the next shift, so they weren't here just for us.

"More like, heroine of the hour," Dennis objected, his voice a weird mix of cheer and dejection, "I mostly served as a distraction."

"Don't give me that defeatist crap!" I protested, "You shrugged off two shots of that huge gun! Saved my stupid butt from getting ventilated!" I whipped off my helmet, giving him my best go at Danny Hebert #1, "I'm proud of you, kiddo", something I've seen a good bit of in the past months and hoped would get to see again.

"So tell me, how does a Thinker take down Alabaster?" Sophia said, removing her own mask, "All I could hear after you were done flirting was grunts and broken glass and whatever the fuck you call that sound your thing makes."

I clamped down on the emotional response. Am I going to flinch every time I use the word 'butt' around Sophia now? Also, shit, now there's gonna be rumours because she thinks Clock's half of the conversation meant we were-- but we were, weren't we? What is Carlos--

"Well, I zapped him every time he reset, but then I ran out of batteries and--"

"And then she beat him up!" Dennis exclaimed excitedly. His helmet was off too, now, "And then she foamed him."

"And myself," I corrected, pointing at the yellowish trails of the containment foam solvent on my left foot.

"Back up a bit," Chris said, waving a floppy hand in front of his face. What the hell was he building in there? How is he even standing? "Alabaster? Isn't he, like, a Brute 5 or something?"

"Technically, he's a Shaker/Breaker, but it lets him tank damage with the best of Brutes, yeah," I nerded back, feeling the balance in the room shift dangerously with that, "I'm not sure he can even be killed, so I just hit him as hard as I could."

"I think I actually heard his skull crack at that last punch," Dennis added helpfully. Missy's eye twitched as Sophia nodded appreciatively.

"And then I got reamed out for rushing him instead of waiting for backup," I reminded him, "And I'm guessing you got it for not watching my back?"

Dennis paled a little bit at that.

"I-- Sorry, you--" he stammered, and I felt bad again for comparing him to Greg before, "Wha--?"

He froze up through no power of his own as I hugged him much like Missy hugged me moments before, except I was a bit taller than him, so it was a different kind of awkward entirely.

"You still came to back me up, and distracted him, and got me my foam back," I explained patiently, and gave him a peck on the cheek before letting go. He flushed red as I continued, "So don't go selling yourself short."

Snickers went round the room at that display, or maybe snorts, I couldn't tell.

"Sophia?" Dennis said suddenly, still red-faced, as he turned to the third participant of our patrol, even if in spirit, "Do you want to join in? You had some part in this too, after all."

"Not kissing you, Alderman," my sorta-nemesis snorted, making me wonder if I was doing the same unhealthy thing I did to Madison-- no, Madison was remorseful and broken. Sophia only stopped because she drove Skitter, Taylor, out of school. Maybe she's picking on someone else now as her main target. Maribel, or Greg or--

"What about Rose?" Chris suggested. I somehow missed that in my storm of thoughts I was still standing by the entrance while everyone else was scattered across the sofas with what looked suspiciously like cheese-crust pizzas.

"What about me?" I asked, remembering to repeat the eyebrow-bunching of Madison's for Sophia's benefit. How do spies do this sort of stuff all the time?

I wandered to an unoccupied stuffed chair and let gravity do its thing. Once there, I started snapping off the armor panels on my arms, stacking them neatly on the floor next to me.

James made a show of gesturing at me with one hand, at Sophia with another, then miming them kissing together, complete with slurpy noises I may have found funny were they directed at someone else.

"Not kissing her either," Sophia protested, yet in a tone vastly different from the way she replied to Dennis's proposition. I shuddered, tried to fake it into a shrug, but it looked like Dean noticed me faking it this time. I resolved to talk to him sometime soon, I needed him sold on the reasoning behind my behaviour around Shadow Stalker long enough to bag her.

"So I was wondering," I tried to change the subject, "What were those godawful noises from your room last night, Win? Sounded like you were using a dentist's drill at one point."

"Crud. I totally forgot to thank you for helping me with my specialty, didn't I?" the haggard boy asked, running a hand through his unkempt hair, not apologizing for disrupting my sleep at all, "On behalf of Kid Win's Brain Office: thank you!"

He made a small bow which made his pizza dip a bit, which made it drip a bit of sauce on his pants. He didn't seem to notice or particularly care. My leg armor segments joined the arm ones in a second neat stack.

"And as to what he was building, it was this," Dean said, coming up from behind Chris, depositing a giant metal thing on the table. My breath hitched. Alkonost. He remade, no, he made Alkonost. Is the universe conspiring to make me kiss them all today or what?

"Some of the stuff in your goggles made me think," he careened through an explanation, looking ready to collapse into sleep then and there, "They've got hooks in the software, an API for drone control. Not just PRT issue quads, but also Tinker drones if they're made to spec," he tapped the casing of the red bird-like contraption gently with his knuckles, "And this is. No name yet, but your gear seems to have some weird mythological theme, so I thought you should name it. To fit your theme or what-have-you. Consider it a housewarming gift of sorts? Welcome to the team and a job well done and stuff."

There was a small round of applause, with everyone, and I mean everyone, joining in.

Ah, fuck it.

I stood up, armorless now, so it may have looked a little lewd to an outside observer because of my form-fitting undersuit as I circumnavigated the table with the pile of pizza boxes towards him. I leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek too.

"Thank you, Chris," I said in a stage whisper, making him flush, though pale as he was from lack of sleep, it more made him look normal-tinged, "I'm going to think extra hard on how to name your gift."

When I straightened back up, Missy was facepalming, James was gone (sounds like he's getting costumed up), Dean was staring past me wide-eyed, Dennis looked envious and Sophia… Sophia apparently got a close-up of my butt as I bent down. Some Friday the 13th this turned out to be, I thought as I went back to my seat, realizing Dean was struck by what he saw in Sophia, and I understood why, even as she tried to hide it the moment I turned to look at her, giving her a safe smile, Mr Smith #1, "Visibly Artificial Smile #57".

The look she was giving me I couldn't quite decipher, as it was not one I knew her to use. But when she gave me that look, I felt ice go down my spine, like prey before a predator... I forced myself to suppress those particular memories. What I did know was that I wasn't turning my back on Sophia for a while... Well, for more reasons than a knife-in-the-back, at least.

"What did I miss?" James asked, stepping back into the room, his costume in place save for his mask, "And why is Chris now red too? Is it contagious?"

"Maybe," I agreed, pecking him on the cheek as I went past. Play complete: I am not a kissy-slut, just a girl that's sharing her giddiness, "Tag, you're it."

He was still standing there, stock still, hand pressed to his cheek, slowly turning red too, when I squished myself back into my chair, boots dropped on the floor, my undersuit-clad legs dangling over an armrest.

"Hey, Emissary?" asked Missy, eyebrows bouncing slightly, "No love for Dean or Carlos?"

Dean, for his part, pretended to not react to this. Carlos, who had apparently entered the room during my byplay with Chris, raised a questioning eyebrow at me. I gave a short laugh and reached for one of the plastic cups on the table. The green fizzy thing inside greeted me with ticklish bubble pops against my nose.

"It wouldn't be professional to kiss my commanding officer," I replied primly, pretending to turn up my nose at the implication, "It might cause problems further down the line."

"Oh really?" Carlos' eyebrow darted further upwards, "Then what was that thing in the lunchroom?"

"I said it was unprofessional, not that I wouldn't do it."

"And Dean?" Missy asked again. Was that hope in her eye... because I wasn't kissing him? Poor kid has it bad.

"I need to kiss him like I need a hole in the chest," I said as I gave him a stare, while keeping my mood happy to let him know I was joking, hiding a small grin into my cup.

"Which, thanks to his girlfriend, you would soon have," chimed Dennis at just the right moment that I nearly snorted my soda.

"Didn't want to say it..." I nodded at Dennis as Dean frowned.

"Come on, guys, she's not THAT bad--" but before he could go on about how not bad Glory Girl was, Missy let out a most unfeminine snort.

"Hey, for the record, how long did Piggot ream you out for inviting her to the bank?" she asked, doing a fair impression of Anne Marie when she was trying to get away with things-- entirely too innocent for her own good.

Dean slumped. "Still not that bad," he protested meekly, but it was clear he knew he lost already.

I recalled a bit of the information that I had heard about her from my research on Skitter's activities at the bank.

"Didn't she break down a wall and shatter a window, putting every one of the hostages at risk?" I asked, thinking back to my own argument with Piggot earlier today.

Aegis stepped between me and Dean, clapping his hands, thankfully sparing me any questions about kissing Missy. I would have agreed to, conditional on her letting me call her 'cute'. Alas, my dastardly plan was not to be.

"Okay, I think we've had enough fun picking on Dean's girlfriend--" I had to work very hard to ignore Missy's smirk, "But we've kind of gotten off topic of why we're really here." He turned to face me.

"Emissary hasn't been with us very long--"

"Officially, just under eight hours since she was publicly announced," pitched in James in that nonchalant way of his. Aegis shot him a small glare which James, as always, did not notice.

"But still," he continued, "She's already managed to bring down a major E88 cape. Normally, we have a tradition here in the Wards ENE..." he trailed off, letting Missy pick up the slack.

"Said tradition being that if a Ward bags a hostile cape, the rest of the team buys her dinner," she explained with a grin. I knew this, of course, having been exposed to the tradition first when I had brought in Stagehand. "Unfortunately, because it's also your first Piggot-Reaming... well, the pizza's a little colder than we intended."

"So without further ado..." Clock smirked, before opening his mouth again. "For she's a jolly good fellow..."

As the rest of the Wards began to sing, even Sophia (in as lackluster a manner as was considered physically possible), I felt warmth bubbling up inside me. Even if they weren't my Wards, they were still the same people that they were back home at their cores. For the first real time since I got to this new world... I felt like I was home.

I shot a glance at Sophia out of the corner of my eye. Well, mostly.

------​

When the pizza was gone and the soda a distant fizzy memory of Dean's parting burp (I think it was the loudest I've ever heard Missy laugh), and James and Missy were gone on their patrol shift, only slightly late, I settled in front of the computer again to look up what the Intertubes made of my debut today, both the official and unofficial one.

Instead, the first thing grabbing at me was a PHO private message notification.

From: Gotharina
To: Emissary
Subject: Nice start!

First up, HOLY CRAP YOU ACTUALLY ARE A GIRL! I thought you were totally blowing me off there! I still wanna know if your cute under there ;]
Second, was all that stuff about childhood dreams true? Kinda sounded like PR drek to me. Do they really let you draw your own costume designs?
Finally, what the hell kind of Thinker powers you have? You threw those Empire spooks around like ragdolls! I bet you work out a lot too ;*

So, i was wondering, since you seem to already know my name and all, maybe i already know you? Maybe you want to go grab a coffee or something on Saturday or Sunday, tell me more about your childhood dreams? )))

~Caryn​

My eye twitched. I think I chipped a tooth from gritting them together. Of course the universe had to escalate, and what better than to twist the knife on my ill-fated attempt to use Caryn Ives as a contact?

The girl that broke my rib, then had me punch her in retaliation, the girl that cut herself and had hair more immense than mine, the girl with the silly pun in her name that still made me wonder whether it was real… was flirting with me? Asking me out on what was essentially a date to unmask myself?

Was this really 'everyone gets to kiss Rose Ellison day'?

Freakiest. Friday. Thirteenth. Ever.

 

[Noelemahc]

Interlude 01.C​

[Gallant]​

"Dean? Dean, are you even listening to me?"

I snap to, locking my eyes with hers. Vicky's not looking happy, but then again, this has been an 'off' week for us, so…

"Sorry, Vicky, I've just been thinking--"

"About how amazingly lucky you are I don't punt you into the Bay whenever you zone out on what few dates we actually go on?"

Her tone is… yeah, I'm getting there, don't rush me… she's miffed. Yeah, that's a fitting word. Of course, she has a right to, I've...

"Yeah, extremely. I've kinda been a crap boyfriend lately, haven't I?"

The question takes her by surprise. I love the way surprise looks on her face. I love the way every emotion looks on her face. I guess it's kind of an open secret, but here goes: it's tough to be in a healthy relationship when you're an emotion-sensing Thinker/Master/Blaster. Tougher still when the girl you're in the relationship with has an emotion-affecting aura. But the toughest part is, our emotion-related powers cancel each other out. Here's a fate for you: the girl I was already dating is the one my power worked on for only a couple of months after I got it, because then she got hers and then they didn't.

"Gee, you've noticed? Now stop locking up and tell me what's up with you. Is it the new girl?"

So we have to make this work the old-fashioned way. Because I'm the only guy she knows who will give her an honest emotional response. Because she's the only girl I know who I don't have the 'cheat codes' to, as my best buddy Dennis aptly puts it, the smug bastard. I know he's smug about it because that's what he radiates every time the subject of Vicky comes up. He's a pulsar of smugness.

"New girl?"

I feign confusion. She doesn't buy it.

"Yeah. Green armor, five-ten, named herself after a Turkish soldier?"

"You're thinking of 'janissary', Vicky. She's 'Emissary'. And why do you think it's about her?"

"You make that face every time you get hung up on your new team-mate's hangups. You were out of it for weeks after Browbeat joined."

Did I mention she's also smart? Like, she already spends half her school time on college classes.

"Yeah, because I knew him from school," I over-enunciate, "I still don't know what Triggered the guy."

"So. New girl. Spill."

She waves her hand back and forth, her super-strength actually making a fair bit of wind at me, changing the landscape of my salad. We're in a corner booth of a Boardwalk café, its large windows allowing us to see the people walking by but at the same time affording a sense of privacy to talk about Cape Matters without being overheard. We still make a point of not talking in the direction of the window, for fear of lip-reading cape-a-razzis.

"She's flighty. Flirty. A little intense. No, wait, a lotta intense. I think you'd like her."

"Huh. So what's the problem then?"

"Not her. Shadow Stalker."

"Shadow Stalker has a problem with her?"

She raises an eyebrow. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet. Yet.

"Shadow Stalker is developing a crush on her."

"Shadow Stalker has emotions other than indignance and red mist?"

Oh yes, both eyebrows now. That's a ⅗ on the surprise-o-meter.

"You know she does, Vicky. She's a person, like any of us."

"Not like most, though, going by what you've told me."

I pause, take a sip of my tonic water. Vicky follows suit, her strawberry faux-mojito making weird ice-grinding noises at her.

"Well, the problem is Emissary's reaction."

"Hmm? She objected? She's a homophobe? A racist?"

"Neither. I asked her. She said she's okay with female attention, that it happens a lot with her figure. I'm inclined to believe her."

"What's wrong with her figure? From what little I saw under that armor, she's… I dunno, tall, maybe a little boyish?"

She gestures next to her hips, vertical chopping motions. Nuh-uh, Vicky, I am not discussing another girl's butt with you. I'm not suicidal, and you're more insecure than you think you are.

"Vicky, she's ripped. I don't normally say that about a girl, but she's built like a linebacker."

"Didn't she say she's a Thinker?"

"And Brute. She said her regen lets her train harder, build muscle faster."

"Are you trying to tell me it's not even her final form?"

She's laughing. I love the way she laughs, even the way she sometimes snorts when she laughs too hard. Like her sister. Come to think of it, that's one of the few things they have in common, aside from gender and address.

"Ha, ha, Vicky. Very droll. No, the thing is, she used to work out before she got her powers. She used to be bullied, physically bullied, that's what triggered her. Just working out didn't help."

"Shit. Now I feel like an asshole for laughing about it."

She frowns. I love the way she frowns.

"Well, anyway, she mentioned she has family in Brockton on TV, yeah? Turns out, Shadow Stalker is her cousin's classmate."

"I don't think I like where this is going."

"Yeah. Her Thinker power tells her Shadow Stalker may be bullying her cousin. Now you see how it may be a problem?"

"This also tells you some ugly things about Shadow Stalker, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. So she's meeting with her cousin tomorrow, try to get her side of things."

"That's good, isn't it? Except… should you be telling me all these things?"

"I have to tell somebody, Vicky. If I keep playing secret keeper for everybody, I'll explode."

"Yeah, but you've all but outed her to me by now."

"Ha. That reminds me. On Thursday, she says the airline lost her luggage--"

"That's terrible! Her clothes?"

"Yeah. Gone. So she asks for help shopping. So I have a bright idea--"

"You suggested me?"

She frowns again. This frown, I don't like. I fear it. This frown is the 'Im'ma punch that fool' frown. The fool is me, by the way. It's a personalized frown. I'm lucky like that.

"So she went with Vista in the end, got lots of weird stuff, but she's settling in now. Still staying at the base, though, I guess that's another thing she's hashing out with her cousin. Doesn't want to impose."

"Wait, she's not staying with her family?"

"Something about nearly being outed because she was discovered to have powers while interning at the PRT back wherever home is."

"So wait. You knew this, and still wanted her to out herself to me, to bring her family here into the open too?"

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I can't resist. I have to do it at least once in my life and I'm even justified this time.

"That's what she said!"

I think the slap breaks the speed of sound. I still love her.

------​

[Clockblocker]​

"Damn, that must have hurt!" Dennis exclaimed, his wince unseen to the world under his mask. The mugger that just tried to make off with this guy's briefcase remained upright for a moment, right where he hit the ground, almost perfectly vertical, before toppling over into an undignified heap.

"And that's how you do it," Missy, no, Vista, because she was in costume and on duty, exclaimed, brushing her hands off in mock triumph, "Are you alright, sir?"

The man whose briefcase just did an impressive parabolic arc into the hood of a nearby Mercedes nodded slowly, visibly torn between 'aaaah, capes are intimidating' and 'dearie me, I hope my travel flask of scotch I always keep in that briefcase didn't spill all over the latest issue of Monster Capes Unleashed'. At least, that's what Dennis thought, as he made the decision for the man, picking the briefcase up and handing it to the poor guy. The sloshing sound inside of it seemingly confirmed the second option, although Dennis wasn't certain about the exact kind of the sleazy magazine this kind of sleazy businessman would read. The small angular pin on the lapel of his jacket told Dennis more than he probably wanted to know.

"Nothing hurt except my pride, Miss Vista," Mr Business Man replied, accepting the case from Dennis. He pondered for a moment, what sort of a superpower a cape named Business Man would have. Would he beat people up with… his business? That would be a disturbing thought.

As they returned to their patrol route, reporting that they had handed off the hoodlum to a beat cop, Dennis returned his attention to the question Vista posited earlier.

"I dunno," he said, "Powers are powers. You don't like yours?"

"It's not that I don't like them…" Missy shrugged, gave a thumbs up to a tourist that wanted to take a photo of her, and turned back to face Clockblocker, "But sometimes I wonder if I would have been treated differently if I got some other ones."

"Is it the ageism issue again?"

Dennis winced internally. Then externally, because full-face mask. Bam! Being a superhero is convenient so often!

"Nooo, it's the 'mostly being the transport' issue again. You know my power can be used offensively, right?"

She put her hands on her hips, stopped to stomp a foot down. This far, no further, her pose said. Dennis raised his hands, palms outward. Take it easy, his pose replied, but her pose didn't.

"I know, I literally just saw it," he said, reinforcing his pose's argument. Missy's pose considered conceding, "I'm just not sure what you're driving at here. Do you think you'd be less restricted if you had, say, Circus's power? Or Skitter's?"

"I highly doubt it," came a voice over his comms, "And incidentally, Clock, your comms are stuck open again."

"Emissary? You've been listening?" Vista asked, toggling her own communicator.

"I only heard Clockblocker's side, though I can guess what yours was about," the newest Ward's voice continued, "And to answer his question: Circus maybe, Skitter definitely no. Very few options to make that power PR-friendly, and all of them neuter it in some way."

"Butterflies?" Dennis suggested, "I'm guessing dragonflies and some prettier beetles may work. Ladybirds, too."

"Who even calls them ladybirds anymore?" Vista asked incredulously, "How old are you again?"

"71, but I know a very good chiropractor," Dennis countered without losing a step, "But back to the issue. Wouldn't Circus's pyrokinesis serve as a limiting factor too?"

"Not really, no," he heard Rose reply slowly, as if she was rubbing her chin, "Even without that, you still have the hammerspace and preternatural agility. Kind of like Grace but as a grab-bag, I guess?"

"Hmm. So you're saying Skitter's powers force her into villainy?" Vista chimed in, stepping over a puddle of suspicious origins. Crumbs at its edge implied it may have been ice cream… some time last century.

"More like the perception of them?" Emissary paused to hmmm, "You'll note that there's an edge of necessity to everything she does -- the spiders on the hostages were a way of tracking them and keeping them in line through fear. No need for roughing up that may have happened otherwise."

"Right, and the swarm she set on me?" Dennis wondered aloud, stopping to check his reflection in a storefront.

"Forced you out of the fight, because you were the greatest threat to them after Vista, I'm guessing."

"You don't have to make me feel better, you know," Missy grumbled, not entirely earnestly, "'You got disabled because you're dangerous' doesn't sound more reassuring than being taken out because you're useless."

"Oh, I'm sure the bugs would interfere with your Manton limit, too, but the key thing is they needed a getaway, and you're the getaway deterrent," Rose didn't exactly laugh, but the cheer was evident in her voice. "Speaking of which, there's a police chase about to cross the intersection in front of you. Could you?"

"Sure. Lemme at'em!"

------​

Observation report #017, May 14th, 2011,
Subject codename
[Shadow Stalker]​

>Recorded call #484301
>Phone number not previously associated with Subject
>Identified through voiceprint analysis from call received by related PoI
>Call date May 13th, 2011
>Connected phone identified as belonging to PoI Codename Epsilon Bravo

(Transcript begins)
(Five rings before phone is picked up)​

Epsilon Bravo: Heya, hero.

Shadow Stalker: Hey, survivor. Heard the news?

EB (agitated): Is it true what they posted on PHO? The newbie got Alabaster on her FIRST DAY?

SS (excited): Every word. I was on Console at the time. Clock-wad was useless ballast for her, he only took one mook down.

EB: So how is she?

SS: She said she got training from PRT Combat Instructors. I can believe it, the way she… moves.

EB (hesitant): Soph?

SS (excited): No, really, hear me out: she's like a caged animal. Powerful, strong, independent, working just within the margins.

EB: Is she… like you then?

SS (pensive): Not entirely. She's… polite to these posers. Doesn't put anyone into their place. But then she goes and does something like that. Shows her strength. You saw the footage, right?

EB: What little of it was online, yeah.

SS: I saw the helmet cam stuff. Beautiful. No hesitation, just action and reaction. She's like a machine.

EB (excited): Will you be giving her the Talk then?

(Note: "Talk" spoken as if intended to be capitalized, best guess used)​

SS: Yeah. There's a snag, though.

(pause)​

EB: What? Why?

SS: You heard on TV how she's here because she's got family here?

EB: So? Are they Empire or something?

SS: Worse. She's Hebert's cousin.

(Note: Strike added, disclosure of a Ward's personal family details to third party)​

EB (surprised): WHAT?!

SS: Yeah. She kinda looks like her too, nearly made me think she WAS Hebert. Except I saw her this week, still weak as shit.

(Note: Possibly "weak-ass shit", best guess used.)​

SS: Anyway, you know if Hebert had any cousins named Rose?

(Note: Strike added, disclosure of a parahuman's personal identity to a third party)​

EB (uncertain): Not really… I know they've got distant relatives in Montana and somewhere else, but nothing about them. Her mom's family kinda fell out with them after her parents got married.

SS (stern): Ems, this is important. She said she's related from her father's side.

EB (uncertain): I don't know much about his family. Sorry, Soph.

SS (dismissive): Eh, no matter. So I had an idea today, when I saw the way she was twisting the Wards around her finger already.

EB: She what?

SS: Kissed Browbeat on the cheek, nearly blew the guy's gasket. Clockblocker looks like he's salivating whenever he sees her. Even Aegis is acting weird around her.

EB: Wait. Is she trying to--

SS (interrupts): Almost eating out of the palm of her hand, they are. Pity she's going to Arcadia next semester.

EB (panic): But we can still--

SS (interrupts): So tell me, Ems. How would you like a NEW friend? Who looks a bit like your old weak and ugly friend, but is strong and beautiful?

EB (surprised): Oh... OH, okay. Sorry, I just thought…

(pause)​

SS (confused): Thought what?

EB (dismissive): Nothing, nothing... Hmm. I have an idea...

SS: That we should bring her into our little group?

EB: Wouldn't it break dear Taylor's heart to see her wonderful cousin become our best friend?

SS: I know, right?

EB: So, the usual place tomorrow?

SS: Yeah, see you then. Till later, Ems!

EB: Later, hero!

(Note: As per Chief Director Costa-Brown's orders, transcript sealed, security rating EYES ONLY, until further notice)​

------​

[Kid Win]​

Imagine this: when the world is turning, you are not seeing it move smoothly. You're seeing the highlights, a sizzle reel of it jerking back and forth, changing from slow glacial crawling one moment to a hyper-energetic run the next. As you amble from day to day, one life event to another, the pace of the world feels erratic, random. And then one day you are told, it is not the world that is this way. It is you.

Imagine this: you discover you have powers. In a world where having powers either makes you a celebrity or a person of importance (not the same thing!), this is a good thing, right? Wrong. Powers have a sense of irony. One of the people on your team has a mind that makes them immutable to the things around them. So now he has powers that make him immutable to things around him. You have trouble focusing on things and counting. So of course you get a power reliant on both.

But then: someone points out that there is a pattern to the string of barely-finished, half-done projects that litter your workshop and that set your mentor's already stern face to make that disparaging thinly-pressed-lips expression. And it clicks together. None of them were supposed to be finished. Each of them should be lacking. Constructing connectors and clips and hooks and inputs and-- you put it all together. And it WORKS.

And so: you build things based on your old discarded concepts, things you thought you couldn't build because you're a fuckup. But you're not. You're fucking amazing, because if you pull this part off and instead make an attachment that can fit that piece… you get a gun that puts all your previous hand-held ones to shame.

And then: your mentor is pleased. He still doesn't smile, but that's okay. You all know he only really smiles, like, not a fake polite smile that he can actually do very well, but it's still fake, but a real smile, when he's talking to one person and one person alone. He doesn't seem to be aware of it, but she probably is. But that's not what you were thinking about, right? He doesn't smile, but he praises you, and you're proud to have made another Thing That Works.

But also: now that it's out of your system, you realize you can build more. New things, new ideas flood your head, assembled from the half-formed jumble that used to take up most of your thoughtspace. Some of them even draw inspiration from things you've handled before, things made by other Tinkers. Like the Halberds your mentor is so attached to. Like the bizarre taser of the one who fixed your brain, which looks like it could have been your own work had you not… been lost before. Like the goggles that even Dragon, the greatest Tinker in the world, has taken an interest in, along with, it seems, their wearer.

And actually: so have you. You've unmasked to her first, by accident but still. She unmasked in return, quietly, for a short bit, finger pressed to her lips. Not that the red domino mask hid a lot of her face to begin with, that wide mouth, capable of smiling so infectiously, is distinctive enough to render any mask which leaves it uncovered pretty much useless. You felt obliged to her, she managed something your master couldn't: she gave you your specialty. For a Tinker, this may as well mean she gave you your life.

And then: you saw it. Saw the bird of metal, whose wings and payload can be swapped out at will, saw the way it would work with her goggles, be her eyes in the sky. You think you even saw the way it would make her smile. And it did. And made her get up from her chair, wearing just that skintight undersuit of hers, hugging her athletic form so--

And that was how she kissed you.

Certainly: it didn't mean much to her, she had already kissed Dennis (he did catch a bullet for her) and then James (he is funny when flustered), but that is beside the point. She liked your gift. She will put it to good use. Perhaps… it would be nice to get kissed again.

And so: there you are, in the cafeteria after sleeping off the consequences of your double-whammy Tinker revelation of the week, trying to get some breakfast. And there she is, sitting with her trooper friend, the one she said she's training with. And so you sit down with them (you asked first, of course, they didn't mind). And as you put the first spoon of porridge in yourself, the worst sound known to all the capes across America blares.

Endbringer.

And you'd be in shock, like many other people, thinking something like 'why me?' or 'why here?', but instead, you turn towards her as she slams her fist on the table, just in time to see her do something you've never seen before. It's an interesting sight, always, a pretty girl swearing.

"For fuck's sake," she exclaims, "I was supposed to have lunch with Tattletale today."

 

[Noelemahc]

Interlude 01.D​

[Gallant]​

"Dean? Dean, you really came to see me?"

I sat down, locking my eyes with hers. Vicky looked happy, but then again we haven't seen each other for a few weeks, so…

"Of course, Vicky, I promised, didn't I?"

"So did a lot of people, but you're the first one to actually follow up on that."

Vicky... she still looked stunning, but juvie had taken its toll on her. Her hair was much shorter, only going down to just past her ears. Her skin, once well-tanned, was much paler. Her eyes, which once brimmed with confidence, were dulled significantly with dark circles underneath them.

She looked down, almost shy, before giving me a tired, wry grin.

"So," she said sharply, "What's life like on the outside?" she grinned as she leaned back in her chair, Brute-rated manacles clinking as she put her hands behind her head.

I sighed as I rubbed my brow.

"It's been kind of a mess lately. The ABB's been making inroads into Merchant territory, couple rumors that Blasto has been trying to set up shop in Brockton, and we still haven't caught the Weaver impersonator…"

She waved her hand dismissively.

"No, I'll have none of that, I can get all that from the newspapers. Anything good?" Her voice took on a slight pleading quality, "From our friends?"

I stomped down on a ride of emotions that threatened to break through my mental dam. "Well, James and Mandy just had their three month anniversary."

She giggled, almost her old self again for a moment or two.

"Hard to believe they stuck together. Did you know he asked her what the word 'kike' meant? To her face?"

"Yeah, she mentioned that," I chuckled.

Her mischievous grin grew wider.

"Did she mention that that's how they first met?"

My jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

Still smiling, she raised two fingers.

"Scout's honor."

I shot her a mock glare.

"Wrong gender and you've never been in the Scouts."

Her face took on a look of perfect innocence.

"Oh, really? I don't recall you making that objection last year when I was wearing--"

"Neither of us were thinking clearly at the time," I blurted out, cheeks feeling hotter than Lung's flames as my ex-girlfriend began to cackle.

"Oh, you were thinking all right,"she wheezed, "Just not with the brain that has the Corona in it!"

I finally gave in to the urge to laugh. For a minute or two we weren't on opposite sides of bulletproof glass, just two old friends laughing about better times. We lapsed into a companionable silence.

"So, how are you doing?" I finally asked. She gave me a more excited smile.

"I'm doing much better!" she chirped, "My therapist says I'm making good progress controlling my anger issues, and between you and me," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "I haven't lost control of my aura in almost four weeks!"

"That's great, Vicky!" I really was happy for her. 'Aura incontinence' had been more than a little problem for her before she got put away.

"And what about you?" she asked, "Find anyone new?"

How is it that the people we love are capable of hitting us where it hurts the worst?

"Well... I... I'm…"

She cut off my stammering with a single hand.

"Dean, it's been over two months," she said soothingly, "And I was a little bit of a bitch towards the end. It's fine that you've found someone new. Look at me!" she gestured to her jumpsuit-clad self, "I'm over it and ready to hit the dating scene... well, in two years, give or take, barring the appeals process and the whims of the courts… the dating pool in here kinda sucks..." she trailed off with a sheepish grin.

It was true that the two of us were emotional blanks to each other when it came to our powers. I couldn't sense her emotions and she couldn't rely on her aura to keep me in awe. But I could always tell when she was lying.

"So who is it?" she asked, leaning forward, "Dennis, right? Always thought the two of you were kinda close…"

I laughed, grateful for the change in topic. "Vicky, you know I'm straight as an arrow. No, it's not Dennis."

She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"You're right, you have standards. Hmmm... Purity, maybe? I hear she's single now, and you do seem to be attracted to Bad Girls…"

I sputtered. "When have I ever been into bad girls?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged apologetically.

"Fair enough. But no... she's still too Nazi-ish for my tastes. And I still feel that helping or encouraging anyone with Nazi beliefs is practically a sin."

"A sin?"

"Dating a Nazi is one of those little sins. I'm of the opinion that if you should sin, save it for one of the really big ones."

"The Gospel According To Dean Stansfield," she snorted, "All right, so not Dennis and not Purity..." she recounted, making me shudder, "Is it Amy? I always thought she might have had a…"

She trailed off as I failed to keep the apprehension and distress from my face.

"Dean?" she asked in a low voice, "Is something wrong with Amy?"

"Well... she--"

Vicky slammed her fists into the table, denting it and causing the green light on her suppression collar to turn yellow. Judging by the reaction of the guards, her aura amped up as well.

"Dean, I swear to God, if something's happened to Ames, there is no way--"

"Vicky!" I choked while subtly waving a guard to stand down, "Aura!"

Her presence faded away, and she withdrew into herself. I checked the guards' emotional signatures, making sure she got it all the way down.

"Amy's fine, right?" Her rage had vanished and left behind someone ashamed and scared. "Please, Dean, tell me she's fine, please…"

I raised my hands in a placating gesture.

"Vicky, Amy is okay... well, physically, at least." I sighed and placed my hands on the table. Her face grew cross.

"Dean, just tell me if she's fine or not." She clenched her hands into fists.

"Emotionally," I went on, "Her and Weaver are... well, they're really out of it. Taylor... Taylor disappeared a week ago."

Vicky's face underwent the most rapid shifts of emotions I'd seen from her in a long time. Shock, to horror, to vengeful glee, to guilt, all in less than a second.

I gave her a moment to compose herself, not bothering to hide my disappointment.

Finally, she answered.

"So, what happened?" She asked in a forceful light tone, "Someone stole a loaf of bread and Madame Javert decided to track them down?"

My voice was cold.

"Weaver and Deputy ran into Über and L33t, who had set up some sort of portal devices for their latest stunt. During the fight, Deputy was knocked into one of them and vanished, the device itself blew up. In the confusion, Über and L33t got away."

Vicky winced. "Ouch."

I kneaded my forehead.

"Weaver's been nearly inconsolable. It's a struggle to get her to do... anything, lately." It'd taken three days to get her to agree to eat anything, and I was still hesitant to leave her alone for more than an hour. Thankfully, Rory still owed me a favor, which is what allowed me to come today. "Amy hasn't been as bad, but she did almost punch Vista at one point. Luckily, Dennis had frozen her in time, so she punched him instead."

Vicky looked pensive for a moment. "I wish I could be there for her," she said unusually timidly.

"I do too," I whispered.

The silence dragged on before Vicky brightened visibly.

"Still, this'll give me some great teasing material when I get out," she mused with a mischievous grin.

I frowned. "I don't think either of them would like that," I stated firmly.

"What? Oh, no, no, not Ames or Weaver, no," she backpedaled, waving her hands placatingly. "I mean Taylor. Gonna tease the shit outta her." She scoffed. "Taken down by Über and L33t? Please."

I goggled at her before getting my thoughts together.

"Vicky," I began slowly, "We don't even know if she's still alive."

She scoffed again. "She took me down. I might have--" she paused for a moment, "-- some issues with her, but even I know she's too damn stubborn to die."

The guard cleared his throat behind Vicky and meaningfully tapped his wrist.

"Visiting hours over already?" she asked mournfully.

"I'm afraid so," I replied in kind. I stood up, stretching as I did so. "I'll tell Amy you said hi."

"Please do," she said, sounding relieved. "And Dean?"

"Yeah, Vicky?"

"You'll visit again, right?"

She looked so desperate at that moment.

"Sure, Vicky. I'll be back soon. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Dean…" she slowly waved as the guard on her side of the glass escorted her back to her cell.

------​

[Danny Hebert]​

The days stretched by, the nightmare never ceasing. Taylor, his daughter, a normal kid playing superhero, was gone. Gone, because of a fluke, a series of dumb mistakes, her own included, apparently. But he couldn't afford to fold like he did when her mother died.

He, somehow, had yet another girl depending on him. Anne Marie was not taking Taylor's… disappearance well, but thankfully her friends in the Wards were willing to help her, support her. He had his own friends to call on, but right now? Right now he didn't want to risk getting drunk, because he was unsure of what he would do if he was sufficiently inebriated.

And so, he found himself nursing yet another oversteeped Earl Grey and staring numbly at a documentary on how the world gaming industry changed overnight when Leviathan sank Kyushu and irreparably damaged the Japanese economy with the resulting tsunami. He couldn't help but see the cold irony of the television, as it was those thrice-damned gamer losers, Über & L33t, responsible for what happened to Taylor.

And then the doorbell rang. And again.

He got up, feeling as creaky as the chair he just left. Walked to the door. Opened it. Stared blearily at the surprisingly similarly-weary teenager beyond it.

"Hi," the teenager breathlessly said to him.

Danny's eyebrow rose.

"Hello... do I know you?"

"I think we met once before, sir. I, uh…" his forehead furrowed, and his free hand scratched his head. Something clicked in Danny's mind.

"Didn't I last see you sleeping on my couch?"

The kid's face lit up... though Danny had to admit that it was less like a lightbulb going off and more of a match being lit.

"Mister Hebert, sir, I'm one of your daughter's--" the boy began, trying to get his disheveled hair in a semblance of order with his free hand -- the other one held what appeared to be a laptop bag -- but Danny cut him off.

"Inside."

The boy nodded sharply and took a step over the threshold. His footsteps followed the Deputy's father as the man picked up a cup from the side table near the door and proceeded deeper into the house to take a seat at the table in the kitchen, beckoning him to do the same. Obliging, he deposited the bag on the table in front of him, opening it to reveal some sort of cobbled-together laptop, probably Tinkertech, which he roused from sleep mode.

"Which one are you?" Danny asked, taking a sip from his tea even as his hand shook. "Kid Win?"

"Yeah. Chris," the boy, Chris, acknowledged, before adding, "I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Yeah. Should have asked your name the last time around, so the blame is on me here. Is Synod--" Danny began to ask before the boy superhero cut him off.

"She's fine, sir. Panacea's with her right now," he said, twisting the laptop around for Danny to see the screen.

He ignored it as his grip tightened on his teacup.

"May I ask," Danny began, a growl slipping into his voice, "Why she is with Panacea?"

Chris stared at him for three seconds before his eyes widened and he began shaking his hands.

"No, no, no no no! I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry, I spoke wrong, I've been working for a while... It's Friday, right?"

Danny's eyebrow raised slightly as his free fingers began to drum ominously on the table.

"It's Saturday."

"Huh," he stared into space for a moment, "That's probably why your house kept trying to dodge me. But no no, sorry for the misunderstanding, Synod and Panacea are together because they were just hanging out when I last saw them, Synod doesn't need…" he waved his hand awkwardly, "I came here to show you this!" he pointed excitedly towards the monitor.

It showed what looked like a slightly-melted metal frame, like a performance art piece or something. "I'm here about this. The thing that took De-- Taylor. That took Taylor."

"'Took'?" Danny repeated, his pulse quickening. They did tell him there was no guarantee his girl was dead or alive, hard to tell with the kind of crap L33t sometimes builds…

"Yeah. We spent a couple of all-nighters pulling it apart. I-i mean I guess I already said that- bu-but anyway. It's a teleporter of a certain kind. Are you f-familiar with the stuff Über and L33t do?" Chris explained, looking like he was about to sneeze.

"Videogames?" Danny ventured, throwing a glance back in the general direction of the still-talking TV. It cut away to commercial, advertising a new movie about pirates. Black something something, he couldn't quite hear.

"Exactly. They have a, a thing about authenticity to the source material," Chris explained surprisingly animatedly, "Which is what brings us to this," he jabbed a finger at the image on the screen.

"The teleporter? Does that mean--"

"She's probably fine, wherever she is, Mister Hebert," Chris breathed out, "Just… on another Earth. L-like Professor Haywire's stuff. Sort of. Kind of. We think."

Danny's shoulders, which had been more taut with tension than steel cables, started to imperceptibly relax.

"Haywire? Wait, so she's on Aleph?"

""Well, no…" Chris was starting to waver, and not just in his words. His hands were almost shaking with tiredness now, and Danny noted that he was leaning on the table a bit more than he had at the start of the conversation. "We're... well, Dragon, really, not me, I don't get some of this, she says... well not really says 'cause it's Tinkerbabble and stuff but no, we don't think she was sent to Aleph. So congrats!" he threw up his hands before slapping them down again, "Taylor could be the first Bet native on this new Earth!"

"But she's alive, right?"

Chris stopped, eyes focusing on Danny.

"Uh, what?"

"Is. My daughter. Alive."

"Umm... probably?" Seeing Danny's expression, he hastened to elaborate, "I mean, she was sent to another world... probably... so she's probably okay wherever she is, but... Interdimensional physics aren't really something we know a whole lot about... So the likelihood that Taylor is alive is much greater than it was before we found that out."

"And you apparently rushed here just to tell me that?" Danny asked, trying to calm down even as his heart raced and his veins pumped and-- "Have you told anyone else?"

"Um. No?" the boy seemed to shrink in on himself at the realization of who exactly Danny was referring to.

"Well. I can understand where you're coming from, Chris," Danny said as he stood up, a lot less heavily as he did minutes before, "But you should have started with her sister, considering you were in the same building with her."

"Uh~~ I... I haven't slept since Wednesday... I only got here because I had to tell you... I'm so sorry, sir!"

"Don't worry, I'm not--"

The house phone rang, interrupting his explanation. Danny stepped up to it, took the phone off the cradle.

"Hebert household," he said, idly wondering whether it was--

"Mister Hebert? Armsmaster. We have good news," a familiar voice spoke from the phone. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny could see Chris stumbling towards his living room.

"If that's what I think it is, Kid Win already told me, even if he forgot to tell Synod. Could you please tell her her sister's okay?" Danny replied with a smile, turning to look at the-- where did the boy go? He was just-- his brief search was cut off by a snore. "Speaking of okay, could you send somebody over? This boy seems to be making a habit of crashing on my couch whenever he comes by."

------​

[Panacea]​

I inhaled, held my breath for a moment, then exhaled. Rinse and repeat. Deep, slow breaths. My friend isn't dead. She can't be dead. It's not because she's my friend. It's because the universe has already shat on her enough and the line has to be drawn somewhere. It is because I don't want her kid sister to continue suffering. It is because her father cannot continue losing the important women in his life. It is because I-- because this team will, already has, cease functioning without her.

Dennis is doing his best to pretend, and it is somewhat convincing, what with him and Missy being the most functional of us after Gallant, but I can see the way the smile has faded from his eyes even when it still lights up his face. Chris has buried himself along with Armsmaster into studying the… thing… that did this to Taylor. Similarly, Missy is being Little Miss Soldier, her emotions under lock and key, and her position as Taylor's XO has dredged up some sort of bizarre drill sergeant facsimile out of her, like one of Synod's constructs.

But it is Synod herself that worries me, along with Madison. Neither girl responds to anything Dean and I attempt to get them to snap out of their depression spirals - loss of will to live is not something either of us can cure.

So we agreed to split the load, based on prior experience. Dean is watching Madison, getting her to eat, to move, to interact with someone or something. As much as I shared Taylor's resentment of her at the outset, there is one thing that cannot be denied about our poor insect queen: she's broken. She's been broken by her Trigger, made worse when her containment made her second Trigger. She started to get better, leaning on Taylor for moral guidance and Dean for moral support as it was. And then one of the people propping her humanity up was taken away, worse, it happened right in front of her, and now she blames herself for it.

The inhuman wail of despair that opened her call about what happened was surely heard throughout the entire PRT building and Dennis actually asked me to check whether his eardrums were okay, as he was manning the Console at the time. I sincerely hoped that Über and L33t were quietly shitting themselves to death in an airtight box, because nothing short of the Triumvirate would stop her from tearing them limb from limb if she'd find them. And then feed the remains to her insects. Once she would start moving, anyway.

Since then, she'd either be in her room here on the base, or at home, near-catatonic except when Dean was urging her on, muttering constantly, blaming herself for what those two fuckers (and my dear dumb best friend's recklessness) did to "the most good person she's ever known". If she wasn't so pitiable, I would have laughed at that statement, because she had apparently never seen Taylor do stupid shit without thinking it through, even if it was, ostensibly, for the greater good, at least as she saw it.

Anne Marie was a different can of worms entirely. Leaving aside her hero worship issues which somehow transformed from simple attachment to the idea of The Deputy to broad adoration of her 'big sis', her powers played the cruelest trick of all on her.

"Anne Marie--" I would say, and the poor girl would whimper, and when anyone other than Oxfordian would try speak up, she would shut them up. Especially Deputy. The last two times she bit her tongue so hard, she drew blood. If it wasn't for my healing, I wasn't sure she wouldn't've bit it off at some point, just gnawing at it in despair to avoid hearing her voice.

Deputy, or at least a copy that sounded and thought like Taylor, was a part of her. Nothing drives the point of losing your role model, your sister, further than being talked out of your stupor by your own mouth saying things in her voice thought up by an approximation of her mind.

I am never going to get to kiss her now, I thought bitterly as I sat on the sofa in the Wards' Commons, Anne Marie's still-sobbing form sprawled across it, her head in my lap, little hands clutching at my jeans as if her life depended on it. And I would probably make for a shitty mother. Can't even talk one super-powered tween down from… hell, probably the greatest trauma since her Trigger event? Okay, maybe I shouldn't be playing this game on the hardest setting.

Motherhood… was a painful topic for me. For all three of us. Taylor, who lost her mom and nearly lost herself as a result, Anne Marie, whose mom was locked away and was the cause of her Trigger, and me, who couldn't even remember her birth parents properly. It was funny, in a way, that while Danny was her foster father, it sometimes felt like Taylor and I were the girl's parents, despite only being a few years older than her.

It was then that deliverance from my self-reflection had arrived. The mask alarm blared, but we ignored it - there was nobody else here, the both of us were unmasked capes… and even so, it was only Armsmaster that the large door admitted into the Commons, clad in his lighter at-base armor and looking just as bad as we felt.

"Panacea. Synod," he acknowledged our presence in his usual manner, like a checkout machine in a supermarket. That'll be $99.25, large discount on the sliced Panacea this time of year. "Mister Hebert just informed me that Kid Win skipped his duties and didn't talk to you before coming to him."

Anne Marie perked up at the mention of her foster father. Distraught as she was, she knew his history just like I did, and knew what led to Taylor's current peculiar ethics and character traits. She was worried about him too.

"The device that affected the Deputy Commander was a teleporter, of the dimensional variety. There's a high probability that she's alive. Just-- OOF!"

You see, even when you're a Protectorate Team Leader, it is incredibly hard to keep talking when two super-powered teens in mourning are told their best friend and sister isn't as dead as they thought she was. They would pounce, and they would hug and, wait, what was the word again? Glomp, yes, they would definitely glomp.

A joke I read on PHO yesterday (it utterly failed to amuse either of us then) came to mind, unbidden. "What is the difference between Lung and an excited teenage girl? One is an unstoppable force incapable of being deterred from its target and squeezing the life from it... and the other is Lung."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Anne Marie kept repeating as I myself realized I was crying again, for the first time since Saturday and the dreadful news. Armsmaster took the opportunity to resume speaking now that he could breathe again.

"--just on another Earth, most likely not Aleph."

That got us to un-glomp quickly.

"Does that mean big sis isn't coming back?" Anne Marie asked cautiously, her voice shaky, her eyes watering up again.

"No," the man replied, his voice surprisingly soft, "It only means either she or us will have to build another portal. It will probably have to be us, however, because we have no idea what sort of world she ended up on, and what technology level the local populace possesses."

"Deputy Commander may request Directive 507 or equivalent to be enforced in order to secure aid," Anne Marie spoke in Taylor's voice, making all three of us flinch, "Provided the Protectorate or equivalent structure exists in the world she's on."

"Correct," Armsmaster nodded, taking off his glove to accept my outstretched hand, "But there is no guarantee one does," he paused to look down at the hand as I purged his system from what felt like a month's worth of stimulant buildup, recycling what I could to keep him from crashing. "Thank you."

I nodded at him as he put his glove back on.

"So there's one thing for us to do, then," I concluded, making the oh-so-banal yet oh-so-appropriate gesture, punching my left balled-up fist into the palm of my right hand. "We hunt down Über and L33t and punch them until they agree to rebuild the thing that did this."

And when she gets back, I am going to ask The Motherfucking Deputy out, friendship be damned. I almost lost the opportunity already. I am not losing it-- her-- again.

------​

[Stagehand]​

Apollo had a thing against taxi cars. They all smelled… weird. Like, have you ever been at a garage sale? Yeah, that's what the smell of a taxi's inside reminded him of the most, the Presumably Wearable Shoe table at a garage sale. Granted, he was only at one garage sale ever and nobody would deny that old Mrs. Ohlssen wasn't playing with a full deck of cards, but still…

His father spoke up, distracting Apollo from musing on whether the risk of getting gum stuck on your pants was higher in a cab or at a school cafeteria. And the cafeteria was winning!

"This is an unusual setup you've made for us, Miss-- Marcus, you said?"

"Marques, Mr Herren," the PRT agent assigned as Apollo's guard detail for this trip replied wearily. It was clear from the expression on her olive-skinned face that she was confused as to why exactly she was the one assigned to them, "And I'm sure you'll agree the circumstances aren't particularly usual either?"

Apollo's father didn't have much to offer in response to that, it seemed, as he turned back to look in the side window. Presumably, he agreed, but maybe he didn't and didn't have a good counter-argument? Either way, Apollo supposed, the man would stay quiet which was quite alright as far as he was concerned. Even with his newfound connection with his parents after Deputy brought him in, he still had trouble understanding some of the things his parents did, claiming it would be "for the good of the family". Thankfully, this wasn't one of these times, being mostly his idea. Well, his and Doctor Yamada's, but mostly his.

He was glad to be working with her again. He wasn't fond of the last doctor rotated into Boston, 'Doctor Amber' she asked to be called (he found it stupid, it felt condescending, Wards weren't kindergarteners!) even though she was actually Doctor Roberts. She was a short frail-looking blonde with mismatched eyes and a lisp, both caused by a scar that crossed the left half of her face and even though he was on a team with several Case 53s and her appearance didn't faze him, Apollo still didn't like her. Possibly because she was aggravating in how sugary-sweet she tried to be about everything.

He shook the thought from his mind as the cab slowed down, turning into a fenced-off parking lot, passing a sign bearing the insignia of the PRT. The cab was directed to the far end of the lot, behind a second, opaque fence. His father stepped out first, walking around the car to open the door for his wife and pay the driver. Apollo, for his part, clambered out through the door his father used to stand near the Agent and gape at the figure that walked up to greet them when the cab drove off.

Tall, at least as far as Apollo was concerned, and packed, no, practically poured into a blue uniform with white designs reminiscent of flames or electricity or electricity-shaped flames, the man was as handsome as he was famous. Legend, one of the Triumvirate, was here to personally greet them?!

"I trust your journey from the airport was satisfactory, Mister Herren, Missus Herren?" he asked before offering Apollo a hand to shake. "And you must be Stagehand. Apologies for the way you were conveyed, but with the news of a serial killer hunting down current and former Empire-Eighty-Eight affiliates, we didn't want you to attract any attention."

As Apollo gingerly shook the hand of the country's most famous male superhero, his mother raised a protesting hand.

"But we're not-- We never--" she sputtered, making Apollo roll his eyes. The depths of denial the woman could plumb were enormous, however much he loved his mom. He smothered a grin on recalling how he'd once seen someone call Legend 'Gay Laser Beefcake' on PHO and how flustered she got when he asked her what 'beefcake' meant and why Legend was one.

"But your daughter is," Legend replied calmly, "And therefore you're on the risk list. If you'd follow me…" he gestured towards the unmarked automatic doors behind him before starting to walk. Apollo and his parents followed.

"We've set up a path that will make masks unnecessary," the hero explained as he walked briskly, setting a pace that Apollo had a bit of trouble following, but he enjoyed a fair challenge, and it was clear there was no real reason to waste the time of the local Protectorate Leader.

They took an elevator up a couple of floors, then another one, this one heavily armored, before reaching a hallway of doors all of which, according to the signs on them, led to conference rooms. Legend stood next to Conference Room 2B, gesturing for them to enter.

"I may come by later," he said, "But for now, I leave you in the capable hands of Doctor Yamada," he explained as he opened the door, waving at the Asian woman within. Apollo grinned at the sight of her, but then--

"Cassie!" his mother yelped, practically tripping over him as she rushed inside. Yeah. The reason they even came to New York in the first place. His sister, in her stupid blue PRT-issued jumpsuit. Who always merited attention first. Again. He was the Ward first, didn't that count for something?

------​

[Rune?]​

She never particularly enjoyed her name. Long and pretentious and-- ugh. Being Sandra was easier on the ears too, and Grease jokes at school were more tolerable than Lassie ones. School, double ugh.

"Hey," she said weakly instead of voicing the torrent of feelings that primarily boiled down to 'I hate my brother the least of these people, and we actually tried to kill each other with our powers'. Her mother hugged her tightly as her father seated himself across the table from her and the Doctor. It was a test, all of it a multi-layered test, for her, her parents, even Apollo. The Latina Agent escorting her family here, Dreamboat Rainbow Blaster Dude meeting them, and the sla-- eugh --Asian therapist. It was all a play, they wanted to see if she could at least pretend to play by their rules. And play along she did.

"You're alright!" were the first words out of her mother's mouth when she finally let go of the rib-crushing hug, "I was so worried!"

Sandra rolled her eyes, rather surprised to see her brother doing the same, then finally spoke up.

"Relax, it was only a broken jaw, it's not like someone cut my face off or something," she protested somewhat stiltedly as her mother held her by the jaw in question, turning Sandra's head this way and that, running her fingers over the faint surgical scars where the doctors had to pull her face apart to put it back together. Should have thought better than to provoke Little Miss Catches Capes With No Powers, she mentally growled at herself for the fifth time today. It was just past 9AM, she was actually doing well with that compared to yesterday.

"They refused to let us see you--" her mother continued as her husband reached across the table to put a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"Janice? Let her speak, please?"

"To be frank, that was at my recommendation," the Doctor said, her voice surprisingly strong for someone her size, "Due to the circumstances under which the Deputy managed to arrest both your children on the same day and the information she relayed to me, I found it prudent to set events up in a way that would make you spend a little more of your time with your son."

Her words were met with three blank stares of confusion, and one warm smile of gratitude.

"Wha-- what do you possibly mean?" her father spoke up, his voice a perfect play of indignant protest, all fake, she guessed, "We love our son! We rushed to his side as soon as we could when the matter of joining the Wards came up!"

"And all it took was him trying to kill me, imagine that," Sandra muttered angrily, turning away from them.

"For what it's worth--" Apollo began, but she cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah, it was mutual," she said, waving her hand dismissively. Then, remembering her earlier talk with Doctor Yamada, she added, "Temporary truce, one probationary Ward to another?"

As Apollo reached out a hesitant fist out, she awkwardly bumped it with her own, both siblings ignoring the confused looks of her parents. Both sat back in their chairs, a little more at ease as some of the tension present in the room right from the start slowly drained away.

"I thought we were here to discuss getting Cassie onto the Wards?" her mother ventured, shooting an accusing glare at Doctor Yamada. The Doctor, for her part, shrugged and smiled and produced a stack of papers from her briefcase.

"That was actually something I have already discussed earlier with Sandra," she explained, ignoring Apollo's flitting glance at the mention of his sister's alternate short name, "There's a tiny loophole that permits us to induct a child into the Wards if their parents aren't willing to participate in their trial, which happens a lot more often than you'd think. And so she joined, and got a new cape name and costume and ankle tracker."

Sandra sighed, resting her elbow against the table and depositing her head in her open palm.

"When you rushed to Polly's side in Boston, you were only told I was hospitalized, not that I would be put on trial," she said, raising her head every time she needed to speak, like some sort of puppet. Apollo seemed too busy trying not to laugh at that to be offended at the use of his childhood nickname that his sister used to tease him with all these months ago, before she ran away from home to join one of the most hated gangs of the East Coast. "I am now Maquis, and I even got myself a badass WWII-style greatcoat to wear."

------​

[Maquis]​

"But why--" her father sputtered before being cut off by his son.

"That's why they spent so much time with me? Because you tricked them into being unable to come to you?!" he practically screamed, before turning to face his mother's blanching face, "And you never told me!"

"Honey, it wouldn't've changed any--"

"Bullshit," Sandra cut her mother off, "It was clear he did what he did because he was jealous of me. Of your attention to me," she explained, venom in every word, "Attention I never needed or asked for."

"And that brings us to the matter of the trial," Doctor Yamada said, as Sandra realized she couldn't even remember the woman's first name, "The court summons was delivered to your home. Where you would have surely seen it in your mail, PRT envelope and all. Instead, you chose to spend more time in Boston, with your son, as you were supposed to," she continued, cutting herself off when it became clear even she couldn't resist the pull of emotion on her voice.

"And you asked for this?" Apollo asked, eyes wide, staring at his sister with incredulity.

"Yeah. No big deal," she said, convincing maybe her mother, because the woman was gullible enough to speak to telemarketers for longer than the four seconds necessary to realize who they were and drop the call, "I don't need'em, you do, you told me yourself just as much."

"I… thank you," he breathed out, remembering what the Deputy told him, three months ago: his sister tried to cover his face with her mask before escaping, broken jaw and all, when the unpowered Ward managed to tackle her, landing face-first on the ground and exacerbating the damage already done to her face. The surgical scars were barely noticeable, but the shape of his sister's face seemed to have remained the same. Not that she would agree with that, of course, she actually liked the way her chin became a tiny bit sharper, her jaw a tad narrower.

"But how long--" began their father before the rest of his voice was drowned out by a terrible noise, one that chilled them all to the bone.

Endbringer.

The siren cut out shortly, before Legend's voice rang out throughout the building.

"Leviathan on approach to Boston. Deployment pattern Epsilon, all active capes on the list assemble in the parking lot for teleportation."

The Herrens stared at each other silently.

"You're not going," all four of them said sternly at the same time, before Sandra swore out loud.

"Crap! I was supposed to go to the gym with Flechette today!"

 

[Noelemahc]

Coda 01
[original omake]​

■​

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♦ Topic: New Ward For Brockton Bay: Emissary
In: Boards ► America ► Brockton Bay ► News
Reave (Original Poster) (Verified PRT Agent)
Posted On May 13th 2011:
We are glad to announce that a new Ward is joining the Wards ENE!
Please give a warm welcome to Emissary, who has recently transferred to Brockton Bay before she could join her local Wards due to outside circumstances.

As a result of being a PRT Employee before becoming a Ward, Emissary has the rare experience of combining PRT combat training with Wards-specific training, allowing her to be an effective operator despite her Thinker 2 rating.

You can see the debut press conference [HERE]
Official Ward discussion thread located [HERE]
Please direct all discussion not directly related to the debut to that thread.

EDIT: It has come to our attention that many users misunderstand how the PRT Rating System works. A "deferred" rating, sometimes referred to as "subrating", is given when a particular power type can be used to simulate or emulate another type. For example a Tinker (Mover) is a Tinker whose devices allow them to transport themselves and/or others in unconventional ways. Don't forget, this system is primarily a threat assessment system, not a power measurement one.

MOD EDIT: People attempting to derail the thread into discussion of the Canary case will find themselves tempbanned in short order.

MOD EDIT 2: Thread now locked for consistent derails.

​

(Showing page 5 of 17)

►Miss Mercury (Protectorate Employee)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
That kind of response is unjustified. All PRT employees are treated equally. The situation surrounding Emissary is strictly a consequence of her being discovered as parahuman during routine testing all employees undergo.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On May 13th 2011:
I'm worried about the full-body coverage. Between the armor which clearly is separate from whatever weird material that undersuit is made of, and the helmet which is painted to look like a DIFFERENT kind of helmet? Maybe this whole thing is a setup and she's actually a Case 53 under there?

►Noveltry
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Come on, Void. Who in their right mind would try to cover up a 53 being a 53?

►Clockblocker (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Trust me on this, guys, Emissary is definitely a girl and definitely not a Case 53.
She is, however, a Verified Gym Rat.

►Emissary (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE) (Cape Groupie) (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Thanks, Clock. Thanks a whole lot. I need an extra tag like I need a third hand.
No, wait, I do need a third hand. It would make slapping you for doing silly things so much easier!

To the mods: what do I do about my tag overload? I think merging my prior account with the new one resulted in some weirdness.

►Tin_Mother (Moderator)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
@ Emissary replied via PM. Sorry for the confusion.

►JediLordSeven (Wiki Warrior)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Semi-related question: when are we getting official pics of that sweet sweet armor?

Quarter-related question: did I hear the reporter lady in the press conference right, someone already decided it's a videogame tribute? What videogame is that?

►AtaeHone
Replied On May 13th 2011:
@JediLordSeven that would be Doom, I think? Though someone earlier in the thread mentioned the armor-panels-on-grey-undersuit makes her look like a Boba Fett cosplay gone wrong.

►Oderic (Moderator)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
That would be another question best raised in the specific discussion thread, located [HERE]. Please be mindful of other users' time.

►AtaeHone
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Sorry, sorry, will not happen again.

To re-rail the thread:
How do you think the guy asking about the Master rating knew about it? Leak? Lucky guess? Actually a precog?

EDIT: While we're on the subject of the press conference, what was that bit with the Latin in the end?

​

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■​

♦ Topic: Emissary Discussion Thread
In: Boards ► America ► Brockton Bay ► Wards
Emissary (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE) (Cape Groupie) (Verified PRT Agent)
Posted On May 13th 2011:
Hello everyone!

My name is Emissary and I am Brockton Bay's newest Ward. I asked politely and they allowed me to start my own thread, so here goes:

I am a Thinker 2 (Master 1). My power lies in analysis of things I see, drawing inferences and making conclusions to profile people I interact with. I have been assigned a Master rating in response to the fact that this information can be used to manipulate people in what is essentially power-assisted NLP.

To curb any questions I've already heard asked one too many times: I cannot actually control you, coerce you to do anything against your will or the like any more than an unpowered person can. I am not one of Heartbreaker's (I am not even Canadian! No offense to our Canadian fans!) and I am definitely in no way related to the Simurgh. All I do is learn how to best poke you with words to get a reaction, no better than a stand-up comedian, although maybe with a faster reaction time.

I am also a Brute 1, my bones are denser than a normal human's and I have a very slow regeneration capability. In practice this means it's a little harder to knock me out of a fight, and I will get out of the hospital in two weeks instead of two months, but doesn't give me any special frontline combat value.

So... questions?

EDIT: No, I will not be disclosing my sexual preference. I'm 15, I'm pretty sure that's not something you should be even THINKING about, let alone asking. Yes, Void_Cowboy, this means YOU.

EDIT2: Yes, I've heard all the variations on "sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me". Yes, I'm aware I'm a poster child for that saying. Somehow implying I wanted this powerset is not going to make you look smart.

Links to pics and videos:
Official debut press conference available [HERE]
Cell phone footage of fight against E88 with Clockblocker [HERE] and [HERE]

​

(Showing page 7 of 12)

►Nene
Replied On May 13th 2011:
So let me get this straight. If what we've seen of the Undersiders via cell phone footage and hearsay is remotely accurate, you're some sort of cut-rate Tattletale balanced out by the fact that if you get punched in the face for your words, you'll walk it off faster?

►T_Am_Eye (Unverified Cape)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
@Nene while I find the suggestion I get punched in the face a lot rather insulting, that does seem like an apt summation.

►Emissary (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE) (Cape Groupie) (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
EDIT: Never mind, I can't believe I imagined I would NOT get ninja'd by Tata.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Wait, T_Am_Eye is Tattletale? Really? How is she still unverified? More importantly, why are villains allowed to openly post in Wards threads?

►Oderic (Moderator)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Believe it or not, we still require a "powers in use" picture as proof to get verified as a cape. Thinkers have a lot of problems with that one, as you'd imagine. Emissary got verified as all Wards do: through PRT power testing.

I do not suppose many villains would be willing to go through the same procedure.

►Vista (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
Wouldn't a conversation with a moderator work for such an occasion?

I can't believe I'm saying this to a mod, but PMs exist for a reason.

►Tin_Mother (Moderator)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
@Vista if we did that, we'd spend most of our waking hours responding to verification requests. At least the current system allows us to automate part of the process by filtering out obviously photo-manipulated pictures. Except that one unfortunate incident with Retouche, but that was resolved very quickly.

►Gotharina
Replied On May 13th 2011:
I still can't get over the fact that I thought you were a guy at first. Though I guess I could be forgiven, between the height and the shoulders and--

[User was infracted for this post]
MOD EDIT: Please remember that all Wards are underage and insinuations of this kind will NOT be tolerated.

►WildRose (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
And that, children, is why we have agents stationed at every Wards Meet & Greet. I'd tell you a cautionary tale, but most of them would violate the board's SFW content rules.

►Emissary (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE) (Cape Groupie) (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On May 13th 2011:
@WildRose you can't believe how grateful I am for that fact. Or the work you and your colleagues do in order to keep the peace. Thank you!

​

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■​

"She's lying," Tattletale's voice made me look up from the screen with the press conference video, "She's lived in Brockton most of her life if not all of it. The 'relatives' she's speaking of are her birth family. I'm not sure what else she may be hiding."

I froze, connections forming in my mind, the realization hitting me harder than Bakuda's bombs or Armsmaster's weird Halberd attachments. Tattletale's phone slid limply from my hand, clattering to the floor as she stepped back, staring at me in wide-eyed terror.

"Taylor? Is she--" she asked, but I wasn't paying attention to the rest of her words.

I couldn't believe it at first, thinking it was just what it looked like on the surface, some new Ward brought in from out-of-state, maybe secretly a Changer or Trump, someone who could shift into a person to get at their mindset, to screw with me after shaming the Protectorate at the gallery. But the details, the timeline, all added up to a conclusion that was impossible to accept.

The exchange on PHO only added fuel to the pyre in my brain. Nobody else knew certain details about my childhood. About the bullying journal. The design of the suit, a little more professional and streamlined, was still unmistakably Forest Guardian, a friend of Mouse Protector I… we… made up as kids. And that name…

The height was off, but the weird armor plates on the shoes could be hiding lifts. The chestplate was relatively flat, but depending on how the undersuit was padded and armored, you could hide any bust size in there…

And it would explain so much. Shadow Stalker helping her back at that mall, less than a month ago. The powers, ready-made for bullying. The way the school authorities looked the other way, going along with her whims. Harboring a nascent Ward must have brought the school coffers some extra funding...

In the end, the press conference video and the grainy mobile phone photos on PHO made undeniable the facts that I didn't want to be true. I knew that design was only known to one other person.

The new Ward, Emissary, was…

THAT FUCKING BITCH.

 

[Noelemahc]

Responder 2.01
[original omake]​

[Rose]​

The torrential rain banging against the window was the only sound in the room. Director Piggot sighed heavily, her coffee untouched before her.

I couldn't exactly blame her, not every person's reaction to an Endbringer siren heard at 7 AM is going to the office. Thankfully, our shared work ethic ("I'll sleep when I'm dead") conveyed itself nicely to such stubborness, which is why her first reaction was to show up at the office, looking like death warmed over, and mine was to be waiting for her at the door of her office, a cup of coffee made to her preference in my hand.

She was wearing her uniform, I was costumed up. I was vaguely aware that after we scrambled out of the cafeteria, Chris ran off to get ready himself, but he wasn't in his room when I found myself facing the one bureaucratic niggle I didn't want biting me in the ass down the line. As a Ward, I needed extra permission to attend an Endbringer battle. As a red-carder, however, that meant asking a PRT Director in place of my parents.

"I'm only asking for the moral weight of it," she finally spoke, pausing to take a sip of her coffee. It probably got colder than she liked it by now, but she was pleasantly surprised, "Because I've already learned you're stubborn enough to do it even without my permission. So. Endbringer?"

"I've trained for multiple scenarios with my Wards, ma'am," I explained. My helmet was on the table, my face rigidly unsmiling like hers for a change as I wrung my hair back into the torturous shapes that would fit inside my helmet in closed mode and tried really hard not to think that my Wards were most likely facing their own Endbringer right now. Without me. "My goggles also let me interface with the gauntlets Dragon made, see their locations and tags in real-time overlay. Your Dragon copied the software from it but I don't know whether she had time to put any of it to use yet. I'll expect at least her and Armsmaster to make use of it, making coordinating both attacks and S&R easier."

"I see. I expect you will be volunteering for Search and Rescue operations then?" she asked, sparing a glance at her watch, looking up in time to see me nod acknowledgement. "You have seven minutes until deployment, and I have to get to the shelter. I don't have to guess that you hope to find Skitter and the rest of the Undersiders joining the effort?" another nod followed, and she nodded back, a little reluctantly, "Permission granted, then. Please try not to die, or the Chief Director will be very cross with me."

"To be fair, ma'am, if I died, I'd be very cross with me too."

------​

The office building chosen as the staging area belonged to a now-defunct software firm, and if I had to guess, the primary reasoning behind it had been the fortuitous location: waterfront, a short distance from the Boardwalk, and a large parking lot bereft of cars for the teleporting. A loud crack announced the arrival of Strider and a group of unfamiliar capes, which filed into the building quickly before the blue-capped independent hero departed with another crack.

"I wonder if we'll get more volunteers owing to the advance warning," Dean mused next to me as we quickly crossed the parking lot through a path indicated by PRT troopers keeping watch. They pulled double duty here: enforcing the Endbringer Truce with stern looks and confoam throwers and keeping people out of the designated teleport areas. Most Mover powers did ugly things to people caught in their path, after all.

I shuddered at the memory of reading up on Telefrag, a villain from the Midwest whose MO involved abusing the shit out of the fact that his power forcibly displaced any matter from his destination. He was, in a lot of ways, the Siberian of teleporters. Except, of course, you couldn't have stopped the Siberian with a high-caliber bullet to the head.

I spared a quick glance to the mass of clouds rapidly approaching from the sea as Aegis led us into the building's spacious lobby, where chairs and TV screens were already set up for a briefing, a unique situation for an Endbringer battle. More of Strider's cracks sounded from the outside as I scanned the room, taking in the who's who of the local and national cape scene. The E88 were here, sans Alabaster and Purity, both thanks to me, although the glares I was getting from the Wonder Twins were probably only for the Whitest Guy, and I was okay with that. He would be sitting this one out in the PRT's own underground shelter, with the unpowered personnel that was doing the night shifts when the siren sounded. And the Queen of Not Backing Down, of course. Purity was probably out of town by now, her children in tow. It was interesting that I saw no sign of Cricket -- she didn't go murderhobo on her comrades in this world, seeing as how Hookwolf was here, and so she didn't get vaporized by Purity for her trouble, so where was she?

Individual villains gathered up in bunches here and there, towards the back of the room I saw the guys of the Undersiders -- but neither of the girls I wanted to see. Where the hell are they? Come to think of it, where's Hellhound?

"Flechette, hey, Flechette!" I heard Sophia call out, probably aiming to network her way into a crossbowmance after all. The New York Ward walked over to where our team stood, meekly waving greetings at all of us.

"Shadow Stalker, hello," she said somewhat awkwardly, probably unsure what commonalities she had with the other dark-clothed tall athletic crossbow-wielder girl whose sexual preference I had reasons to doubt. Wait, that's a lot of starting points already. "I heard your transfer request for me fell through?"

"Yeah, that's my fault," I admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of my helmet, "I got shuffled in as an emergency transfer, ruined your crossbow team-up. Hi, I'm Emissary and very new," I added, offering her a hand to shake.

I got what body language told me was a puzzled look from Flechette and an annoyed look from Sophia. Right. The fact that Sophia only wanted Flechette for her huge weapon was supposed to be a surprise to the pale girl in the half-mask. She shook my hand before speaking.

"Technically, it's an arbalest…" the out-of-town Ward began before cutting herself off, having spotted something out of my sight, "Sorry, this will only be a moment."

She rushed off to the side, apparently to rescue Parian from what looked like an extremely awkward talk with Bambina, the diminutive 'child' villainess clearly offended at the interruption.

I cast a look around the room, watching Dean wander off to greet his girlfriend and her team (darn it, Amy's right there, but I can't approach her in a crowd), as Alexandria and the rest of the L.A. contingent entered. Awed looks followed her as she crossed the room, and more than a few of them stuck to me when she gave me an acknowledging nod, presumably impressed I had the gall to go into an Endbringer battle with no powers and only a small pile of borrowed Tinkertech to my name. I could practically taste the 'Well done, child' in her posture. As she approached Legend at center stage, they exchanged greetings and he, too, spared a glance in my direction. I gave him a small wave and grinned like an idiot when he returned it. Thank Scion for full-face helmets.

"Becoming popular, aren't we?" I heard Missy's voice behind me, "How'd that happen anyway?"

"She kinda… handled my transfer here?" I replied meekly, trying to project the image of the awkward girl taken to the Annual Cape Awards by her aunt who was there to receive one herself, "I guess this is her way of checking in on me."

"Huh. You realize this will paint a few targets on your back after all this, right?" she asked. I shrugged, not like cape nepotism wasn't a thing in either of the two worlds.

I kept scanning the crowd, noting that Flechette returned with Parian in tow, to the displeasure of Shadow Stalker, all the while stifling my urge to wave at Weld and the rest of the Boston team as they walked in-- followed by Skitter dragged by the hand by a very disheveled Tattletale.

My heart nearly stopped at that moment, then started again, then stopped once more as they spotted me among the Wards and-- gave me looks of pure malice? What? Tattletale waved a greeting at her teammates and sauntered off to join them, leaving Taylor standing awkwardly alone next to the Travelers who were giving her odd looks. Didn't they work for Coil together? Or was that a one-time team-up?

"Be right back," I replied to Dennis's questioning glance as I pushed past Flechette's feeble attempts to get Parian involved in her talk with Shadow Stalker about urban tactics. Parian gave me a passing glance that I belatedly realized was a sizing-up one. Congratulations, Rose, you are officially lady catnip! I thought to myself as I approached the other me, seemingly abandoned by her new best friend (shit, girl, we're bad at this friends thing, aren't we?), whose other self in turn was apparently the closest thing I had to a nemesis back home. The way that Grue looked at Skitter when they entered suggested there was a rift in the team forming. Might as well capitalize on that.

"Guess we'll have to take a rain check on those burgers, huh," I said with my best Clockblocker voice (not as good at it as his smiles), remembering to project my best superhero posture for the benefit of Tattletale's powers in case she was watching. The glare I got in response (well, I assumed Taylor glared, her own full-face mask didn't help) felt like a bucket of ice water this time. I cocked my head questioningly at Skitter, hoping additional input would help me sort this out.

"How-- how could they let you be a hero!" she sputtered, confusing me further, "When you even picked your name to mock me!"

It was not the shock of hearing my voice from the outside - I got plenty of that from Synod - but the tone. The words. The stubborn rage behind them.

"Skitter, I'm afraid I don't--"

People were starting to look, now. Shit. Double shit. Come on, other me, don't make a scene!

"Yeah you don't! You've pretty much outed me!" Skitter hissed before pointing an accusing finger at me, "And the thing about the diary was such a transparent ruse to destroy evidence! EB my ass!"

What. The. Fuck. Did she... But how... Fuck, I was a brainless worm. She only knew two people who knew about Forest Guardian, and she was not the one wearing the costume. So of course she decided I was Emma fucking Barnes. Somehow. FUCK. MY. LIFE.

While I was stunned by my revelation on her conclusion, she stepped closer into my personal space.

"How'd you get away with it?" she hissed, "The Wards just overlook anything you do? Must come in handy, holding that money over Blackwell. Explains why no one looked into--" she hesitated for a second, "--the Locker."

"What?" I asked dazedly. Wrong move. Her posture grew more aggressive, and Tata wasn't even bothering to hide that she was watching us anymore.

"You don't remember?" I had never felt such raw, overpowering rage and hatred before. Even when facing down Nazis to defend minorities, they'd never been this furious. "You... the worst thing you've ever done and you don't fucking rem--"

I closed the distance between us. "Taylor!" I hissed. She hesitated, startled, and I took advantage. "I am not that fucking, treacherous, lying bitchbag of a redhead!" Breathing exercises, one, two, three... "Skitter, you are literally the most important person here to me right now. I want to help you more than anything."

I had an unbidden flashback to Aegis asking me out for the first time, and the paranoia I felt over that.

"Why?" she challenged me slowly, "Why now? What's so different that someone tries to help me now of all times?"

"I'm here," I stated in my Deputy Commander voice, "And I promise on--" I took a gamble, "Lexie that I want to help you," as I said this I made the requisite sliding motion on the helmet to depolarize the visor. As I did so, I turned to face Tata.

With the Eyes of Wadjet on, my identity was still secure, but what she could see was enough to make her flinch and her mouth drop open. 'Not in public,' I mouthed to her. The Thinker's mouth settled into a firm line and she gave me a quick nod, earning her a confused look from Regent.

I turned back to Taylor, who... well, based on how her mask shifted, was also in open mouthed shock.

"How..." she sputtered.

Internally, I sighed in relief. Lexie was a small stuffed doll that I had made back in first grade, shaped like the Triumvirate member. I had told everyone I got rid of it, but she still stayed under my bed to this day. I had been in the habit of pulling it out and remembering better times before I joined the PRT, though I hadn't done it in a while. It seemed Taylor was the same in that regard.

I gave her a Taylor Hebert #2, "Have i found understanding?", which seemed to enhance the effect.

"If I was her and I knew that, I'd have used it by now. I'd like to talk to you later when we have some time, but..." with one hand I gestured around the room, "That's not really an option."

While she was still out of it, I took the opportunity to look, really look, at Taylor Hebert, Skitter, the person whose life I was thus far epically failing to unfuck.

Next to me, she still looked too tall for her figure, packed into black widow silk that hugged it just like mine did, except where I had the outlines of taut muscle and a body shape that many boys would kill to have, she had the wiriness and a hint of frailty that I left behind me when a certain Biostriker made me a Brute. I realized I was staring when I noticed her yellow goggles were boring into me, absorbing what she could see of my nose and mouth. Her nose and mouth. It seemed to freak her out a bit. Nodding slowly, I made my faceplate opaque once more.

"If it makes you trust me more, put some spiders on me," I said, reaching out an open palm, "See if you can get them inside my helmet, it's the only place they'll stay dry out there."

It was her turn to give me a confused look as she reached out her arm towards mine, a few spiders whose species I didn't recognize passing from her hair down to it and onto me. All the while I was thinking I'm a bad leader, I should be more aware of the resources at Weaver's disposal… but at least I no longer flinch when insects walk across me. The last bit seemed to freak Tattletale and Sundancer (she kept throwing weird side-eyes at Skitter until I glared at her and she promptly looked away) out more than it did Skitter, although she quickly caught up with them in HSQ as she did a double-take herself, though for a much different reason.

"Wait, is that suit made of--"

"It is. Don't say it," I replied, feeling tiny legs brush against the bare skin of my neck. The helmet was good protection, but it wasn't airtight. It was just unfeasible with its modular nature. This made me think they could enter via the neck.

"They can't fit through the foam padding, could you..." she spoke quietly, and I nodded in response. I turned my back to her, opening the back of my helmet by a fraction to let her see the black hair within. Once she gave a grunt of acknowledgement, I sealed the spiders in, hoping they'd find refuge in my hair.

"Emissary, you alright there?" Sophia called out to me, clearly confused by my manipulations. I waved back, handing Skitter a pre-prepared piece of paper - option 3, I've been paranoid about this on the ride over - and departing with a final word to my-- what? Doppelgänger? Other self? Sister? Cousin? "Little Owl... Please make it out alive."

I walked off, refusing to look back and hoping nobody could see me shaking.

------​

[Taylor]​

The trip to the meeting location was frantic enough, my mind roiling over the multitude of issues with the fucked up mess my life was at the moment.

Coil and Dinah Alcott, who was a parahuman he abducted for her Thinker power with our, with my help. The Undersiders being okay with it. Tattletale, Lisa, the one among them I most thought of as I my friend, saying that she had no choice but to obey in this even as she'd look for ways to free Dinah.

And Emissary. That name felt the most offensive. It was not enough that she chose a design from my childhood that I helped create, she had to put her name on it. Emma-ssary. Lisa tried to argue that we had insufficient information for this conclusion, that her power told her it could be someone else close to me, someone who knew about my childhood, but of the three people that weren't me, only one was both alive and of the age appropriate to enlist in the Wards.

Emma fucking Barnes.

And she had the gall to ask us to meet her unmasked, bring the bullying diary I'd been forced to reveal to her when I brought it to Blackwell. Did she seriously think we were that dumb? That I was that dumb? Apparently I was, until I saw the press conference. And the next day became a swirl of emotions. Mostly rage and paranoia.

I threw myself into my cape life so fervently because it got me out of my school life. I didn't need the fucking Bitch Trio getting involved in that too. What's next? Madison is secretly Vista? Sophia is Clockblocker? Or… shit, she kinda had the same body type as Shadow Stalker, didn't she? She was a Ward before Emissary, and active as a cape for much longer than that. So naturally when Emma Triggered, she'd take her under her wing, have her sign up for the Wards, have a spiffy set of armor made…

I idly wondered when did she gain those Thinker/Master powers, and how much of my bullying was power-assisted? How much of my life was ground out in a way that would explain her sharp reaction to the question about Canary?

My rage hadn't subsided significantly throughout Saturday by the time we met with Coil, and it may have coloured things somewhat. I may have screamed a little too loudly at my team-- my friends. Frankly, I was more than a little surprised an assassin from Coil wasn't waiting for me at the loft after my outburst, but maybe he or she just got waylaid by the Endbringer siren? Or maybe Lisa talked him down, I wasn't sure what to think anymore.

In the end I still let Lisa talk me into going to fight Leviathan (might as well die in a blaze of glory, I mused), and so here I was, standing like an idiot alone in the middle of a crowd, clutching the piece of paper that Emissary gave me. Except...

She wasn't Emma. Couldnt't be. She was really that tall, maybe a little taller than me. Those weren't lift shoes. The undersuit she wore hugged a figure that was more Sophia than Emma-- or rather, Sophia probably looked next to her like I did next to Sophia. Couldn't be Sophia either, there seemed to be a bit too much hair packed into that helmet that I've had a hard time maneuvering the spiders she shockingly allowed me put inside her helmet into a position where she wouldn't accidentally squish them with her head.

What was worse, I recognized the material she wore. Black widow silk, the real stuff, like what I used, not the synthetic Tinkertech stuff the Toybox was fiddling with, still without realizing it shouldn't simply be made into sheets for later sewing. The craftsmanship was different from mine, but the basic technique must have come from the same, or at least similar, books and videos as the ones I used first starting out, and it was clearly something mass-produced. This was made by someone farming spiders in better conditions than mine, but the tradeoff was a less personal and detailed approach. No armor inserts, but that was what the snap-on armor panels were for, I guessed. The suit used the same logic as mine, full-bodied with a separate headgear option, except hers was a weird Tinkertech helmet with a faceplate she could make transparent.

And within that lay my face, Empire Strikes Back-style. I did a double-take, and hesitantly realized it wasn't exactly mine, just similar. A bit older, maybe, and definitely prettier. Where my lips were thin and useless, these looked… kissable, like a movie star's. The chin was stronger, more defined than mine. The nose looked like it may have been broken at some point, then carefully mended, but the signs were there. And though the goggles hid the eyes, I wouldn't've been surprised to learn they would look something like mine as well.

Was she a Changer? Was this an aspect of her Master power or a feature of the helmet, the whole thing actually a three-dimensional hologram? And the way she spoke… it was like someone took my voice and ran it through one of those pitch shifter programs, like I'd imagine myself sounding when I'd be 25. Or like I imagined my mom sounded as a teen?

So maybe, just maybe… I gingerly unfolded the paper she gave me, watching as she walked up to the Wards, gesturing finger guns at Clockblocker, who shot me what I assumed was a confused look. Then they all laughed, presumably at my expense.

The paper was mundane, it looked like it was torn out of a common note pad, scribbled over unsteadily in pencil as if the writer was in a hurry or in a fast-moving vehicle. And the note was in my handwriting.

T, it said, I really am trying to help. The spiders will let you track me. My gear will let me track you. We can look out for each other.
I made deals with the Protectorate. They knew your identity, but your Dad is now off-limits. I will fight to get you and Tt into the Wards if you'll let me, and I need the Journal to solve Winslow for you, likely get you into Arcadia with me.

I looked up from the paper to see Shadow Stalker give Emissary a friendly pat on the shoulder. I looked back down at it. I missed a scribble at the bottom.

P.S. My name is Rose.

What the fuck is even my life? Who the hell was this girl, who knew my identity, knew how my powers worked, knew about my life, short of being some sort of bizarro alternate reality Amazon Lesbian Goddess version of me? Or my mom? That… wasn't the case, was it?

------​

[Rose]​

"What the hell were you talking to Skitter about, M?" Dennis asked incredulously, "It looked like you scared the crap out of her and her friends for a moment there."

"See the way they stand? Skitter clearly is leaving the team. I made the pitch," I replied semi-honestly, "She gets the same deal Stalker did, I win my bet with Alexandria."

"That is unlikely," James protested, "Alexandria is not the type to bet on something she cannot win. Many forget about her Thinker rating, and I doubt she would have made a bet if she was not certain of the outcome."

"We'll see," I said, looking at the way Taylor was reading and re-reading my note over and over again. I turned back to Dennis, made a dumb pose, "Those lines you were suggesting on the ride over don't work on girls when said by other girls either."

"Guess it's really not you, it's your sense of humor," Chris concluded for us, throwing an arm around Dennis's shoulders, "But don't despair, maybe when Emissary brings Skitter into the fold, she'll let you have sloppy seconds."

Laughter broke out around him, but it only made me a little pissed off. She was still me, damnit, and if he'd met her out of costume he'd change his mind if I had anything to say-- Wait, did I just nearly talk myself into setting up other me with Dennis? What if she's not into him? Or into guys at all? Wait, but I am into guys, right? How di-- NOT NOW.

The laughter made Dennis look at Taylor, shudder, then look back at me, pleading in his body and voice alike.

"Please tell me that's not what this is about," he said, "It's not the kind of wing-womanning I wanted you to do."

"Is that all I am to you now, Clock," I said, mock indignation in my voice, "A chick magnet shark, for you to remora around?"

Somehow, the laughter that erupted at this remark even included Sophia, Flechette and Parian, who seemed to still stick around despite the cold shoulder Sophia was giving her. Our horsing around was cut short when Legend strode up to the microphone, no doubt to give us a pep talk. Morituri te salutant.

I spared another look at Skitter before settling down, offered her an emphatic thumbs up, to which she replied with a confused shrug as she sat down herself. As Legend spoke, and several Wards he drafted while I was manipulating my other self distributed the armbands, I sifted through Wadjet's diagnostic functions.

Step one. Armband scanner online. It detected the armband I was given, and locked into its datastream once I registered with it.

Step two. Calibrate view distance. I swiveled my head around, glad to see names pop up in a green overlay on capes without pre-assigned groups. The Triumvirate lit up in gold, Armsmaster and Miss Militia in a dark blue, and the Wards that overlapped with my own team were a lighter shade of blue. I fiddled with the settings to extend that to Carlos, James, Sophia, Flechette and Parian, who seemed to have been adopted by the New Yorker for some reason. I shuffled in my seat to get a lock on Skitter, then marked her in red. Need to be able to tell her apart from anyone else.

I fiddled with the settings until I could see the purple marker for Dragon's suit through the wall, then set the system to show anything farther than that as markers without names attached.

Step three. The drone. It was slightly different from my Alkonost drone, less agile, better armored, and without the modular payload system. Yet. But its main purpose was to be my eye in the sky, co-ordinating team operations and dumping confoam canisters on escaping perps. The machine this Kid Win built for me was perfect for this task, and just in time for the inevitable chaos of an Endbringer fight.

As I was without the control suite haptic gloves when I entered this world, I was limited in what I could make the drone do with just the gesture interface of my helmet, which meant setting it to hover above my location and actively avoid any obstacles or hostiles for now. Preferably without attacking anyone as well - the Truce meant no touching the villains, and Leviathan has been proven to not give two shits about containment foam on more than one occasion.

So of course as soon as Finist (turned out, Slavic mythology had a ton of magic birds to name drones after) took off from its perch on top of the PRT van that brought us here, it gave me a warning warble, projecting a picture-in-picture into my left eye: there was a fuckhuge wave coming right towards us.

I stood up, drawing the attention of everyone in the room and interrupting the team assignments as I yelled.

"WAVE INCOMING!"

 

[Noelemahc]

Responder 2.02​

The jaunt of the teleport was sudden and loud and left me more than a little disoriented as my left eye kept showing me the overhead view Finist provided while my right showed me that we were suddenly at an intersection a couple of blocks away from the building. Even through the incessant pitter-patter of rain against my helmet, I could make out a horrible crashing sound as in my left eye I saw the wave obliterate the building we just left and continue to smash into the streets beyond it. Thankfully, the layout of the streets meant that particular wave wouldn't reach us in any meaningful way other than raising the water level at our feet. I checked for Skitter, found her further out, getting up from all fours, it looked like she got a mouthful of water on the teleport in.

I hope Strider got all the PRT troopers inside his field. Doesn't look like any of the vans departed. Wait, he brought Dragon along somehow, and she was pretty far out, wasn't she? Or did another-- NOT NOW.

As the armbands rattled off the casualty list - presumably those that decided to leave the building on foot or were already outside when I shouted my warning, I twisted around, watching the capes and troopers around me scatter, directed by their armbands in accordance with their assigned teams. But I interrupted my assignment, and didn't have a task set in my armband as a result. I watched Sophia and Parian to the side of me activate their armbands to get tasked, and followed suit, jabbing both buttons at once.

"Search and Rescue, please," I spoke into the device, "Dragon, you can patch in to the feed from my drone for an additional vantage point when tracking assignments for fliers."

An acknowledging beep preceded a change in the display, and I quickly received a zone designation and a direction to follow. Scoping out the best path to do it without wading in the ankle-deep rush of water in the middle of the street, I found myself running further inland alongside Hookwolf, a Traveler whose name I didn't know and a PRT Trooper bereft of a containment foam dispenser. Strange bedfellows doesn't begin to cover it.

"Trooper! You got an armband?" I called out, "Tagging along?"

"Trooper Carlsson, ma'am," he yelled back, hopping with practiced ease over a twisted shape I recognized as the remains of a motorcycle, "You got me M/Sed last week, remember? No band but if you're on S&R, I can help you carry people."

I nodded, gesturing with a chopping motion to correct his path to the building my armband was leading me to. Finist's feed showed the drone has reacquired my location and was headed over, scanning the debris from the initial wave as it passed above. As it read the armband tags it could find, the knot in my guts continued to grow tighter. So many dead from the first wave, and Leviathan hasn't even--

"INCOMING!" Carlsson yelped, throwing himself aside, as a deafening crash rolled across the street just in time for Finist's bird's-eye-view to show me Leviathan rushing through a building to our right. I rolled over a parked car's hood, taking refuge behind it as debris of glass and concrete rained onto the street, throwing up fountains of water with their impacts and striking several capes below. My armband dutifully locked onto Leviathan's position as I cast my gaze across the Endbringer.

Carapacitator down, CD-5, WCM deceased, CD-5. Iron Falcon down, CD-5…

Its scaly form towered above the street, its asymmetrical flat face slowly turning as if its four eyes were trying to decide who to kill first. Then it moved, and that infamous watery 'shadow' of his, a mass of water that seemed to duplicate his every move, like a ghostly afterimage on a badly-tuned TV, moved with him, slashing when he slashed, dodging when he dodged.

Thankfully, the giant didn't even bother looking in my direction as he turned around to swat a flying cape out of the air and into an adjacent building. The lack of an armband notification and the retaliating strike with part of the building's wall told me that was Alexandria. I insulted the woman that's punching an Endbringer right now to her face. She punched all the Endbringers. Multiple insults.

I snapped out of it as Legend swooped in, accompanied by several capes I didn't recognize, blasting the monster with rays and streams and missiles and ghostly copies of themselves. My readout showed me their names, but none of them besides the Triumvirate members were in a special color and I still haven't reached my destination.

I motioned to Carlsson to move and we continued down the sidewalk and around the corner to find our first target: a cape that I think I saw coming in with Alexandria's group. It looked like they were a flier that got struck out of the air by a piece of railing or the like from one of the buildings on the beachfront that were torn up by the initial tsunami. Their long dark hair and blue cape were in their face, it was hard to decide which gender they were. The fall didn't do them any favors either. Wadjet identified the cape as 'Paranatural' and I called it in, requesting another flier to pick him up. In the meantime, Carlsson and I dragged him off the street so he wouldn't drown and put him carefully onto a torn-off car hood, another apparent result of a car crash caused by the shock of the Endbringer siren taking someone aback at the wrong time, like the motorcycle earlier.

"Can't do jack about the metal thing," my partner hissed, "But we can at least make splints for her legs?"

I nodded, not bothering to correct him. We tore up Paranatural's cape for the cloth, securing his legs together with an abandoned skateboard's deck beneath them, making sure the binding was tight enough not to rattle anything but not too tight to cut off circulation. With an enthusiastic yell, a cape I didn't know -- one of the out-of-town Wards, judging by the cheery costume -- dropped down next to us as I was stripping Paranatural's armband off.

"Holey moley," she exclaimed, "I'm guessin' I oughta carry'er steady as possible, yah?"

Resisting the urge to facepalm at the apparent lack of any sort of panic or urgency in her voice, I nodded and Carlsson and I helped her heft the car hood with Paranatural secured on top of it above her head. She took off easily, twisting away from the receding noises of the fight. I handed the armband to the trooper.

"In case we get separated," I said tersely as I checked my own for the next destination, "Aren't you supposed to carry a beacon instead of these?"

"Carlsson," he introduced himself to the armband, "Sorry, ma'am, we were just coming off patrol when we got redirected to babysit your cape circlejerk. Wrong gear for this."

"Great, please try not to crash on me from lack of sleep?" I intoned, as Finist saw Leviathan rend several capes with his oversized claws.

Fenja down, CD-5, Little Miss Priss down, CD-5, Acoustic deceased, CD-5. Harsh Mistress down, CD-5. Resolute deceased, CD-5...

"Dragon, slave Carlsson's tracker to mine, he's an unpowered," I asked of my armband as we set off back towards the moving battle. Once I crested an area of buckled concrete that ended up above the water, I spun around, trying to check on the Wards and Skitter.

Taylor was trying to assist some cape Wadjet IDed as Iron Falcon all the way on the other side of the fight from me while Brockton Bay's junior heroes were scattered all over the place. Aegis was hurling pieces of smashed buildings at the Endbringer to cover for Kid Win's unfolding cannon, Gallant was trying to co-ordinate the evacuation of a still-giant Fenja from the immediate vicinity of the fight, while Shadow Stalker and Flechette were apparently setting up some sort of sniper's nest on top of a nearby building. No sight of Parian or Vista, but I assumed they would be far away from the actual fighting. I was surprised the local Wards doctrine had even allowed Vista onto the battlefield, considering she was constantly restricted from fighting villainous capes.

Armsmaster and Legend were taking turns barking orders through the armband, but I wasn't really paying attention, focused on the fact that our destination was someone smashed into the second story of a clothing store, mannequins and jackets spilling into the water below. Regretting that I have never learned to use a grappling hook, I hoofed it towards the store entrance. Come on, Prissmas or whatever your name is, try to hold on while I get up this fucking winding staircase, I hate pretentious stores with these narrow-- right, there you are!

"Shit's fucked up," Little Miss Priss (thank you, Wadjet!) told me in lieu of a greeting, limbs splayed around her on the pile of soaked clothing she was tangled in in, "Dislocated shoulder AND something crunched in my hip. I'm also stuck."

"Hold on," I said, trying not to think that a lot of the shirts wrapped around her abdomen were stained red, "Can you still feel the dislocated arm?"

"Yeah, just not move it much. But!" she added triumphantly, clearly dizzy with shock and blood loss, "I've finally managed to lick my elbow! Gonna shut that asshole Derek right up along with his damned double-jointed -- OW, SHIIIT--"

While she was ranting, Carlsson and I maneuvered her arm into a good position and crunched it back into place, interrupting her and, apparently, dislodging something in her hip.

"For fuck's sake, do something!" she yelped hysterically as I gestured for Carlsson to free her arms from the cloth and went to work on her lower body as the white of her costume became increasingly darker red.

"Open fracture, shit," I hissed through my teeth before yanking my confoam canister out. "Hold on, this is gonna feel fucked up."

"Wait, what are you--" she tried to protest before I tied a couple of shirts round her waist, trying not to jolt her too much, and began filling the enclosed space they formed with confoam. I paused, added two more round her upper legs, poured on some more. As a result, she was immobilized from the chest down, the shirts holding the foam in place and the foam holding her everything inside of her. I didn't even notice the stream of profanity that erupted from her once we lifted her up as I hooked my arms under her shoulders and Carlsson took the glob of foam.

Sham down, CD-5. Woebegone deceased, CD-5…

"We're not getting her down that staircase, ma'am," he noted dryly.

"Wasn't gonna," I protested, pulling them both over to the shattered window, ignoring Priss's swears of protest. She didn't want to get tossed out of a window for some reason. "Relax," I snapped at her, "See the water below? We're tossing you into that pothole, so that the water and the confoam will cushion your fall. Or we can leave you here."

"Shit, I hope Panacea survives this, I really don't want to wear a burquini to the beach for the rest of my liiiiiiiii--"

Again, I interrupted her rant with trying to save her life. She landed in the crater made by some sort of explosion and filled with the slush of rain and seawater with a loud splash but no notable increase in swear intensity. Why did so many people forget that containment foam floats when solidified?

We rushed down the motherfucking stairs just in time to see our rescuee wiggle her way out of the water and roll ungainly down the side of the crater into the rushing water of the street. The thought that she's a Blaster tried to make itself known to me.

"Oh, for FUCK'S SAKE!" I growled as I ran after her before she got swept away, "Can't you just STAY STILL?!"

Wave incoming!

The armband's warble was just in time as I saw Priss hook herself on an open car door to keep from floating away. She was beyond cursing and was now simply muttering angrily, her costume a mess of small tears, some of them bloodied now.

"Ma'am?" Carlsson asked cautiously, gesturing at his armband. Belatedly I realized that I had a better option, directing Finist to swivel from showing me me to showing me the direction of the fight. It wasn't pretty, as the wave has already passed the ruined Boardwalk as I reached Priss and the car she was clinging to.

"Hold the fuck on!" I yelled at her, getting riled up myself from the rude way she's been treating us, as I stepped up to her backwards, kneeled and grabbed her hands over my shoulders. "Carlsson, the bar!"

He reacted well, doing an awkward 180 and rushing to the small set of stairs leading to a bar entrance. The door resisted his attempts as I was already by the foot of the stairs and could hear the onrushing wave coming up the street. He kicked it in and stepped in and aside quickly to let me collapse through the door and out of the water, Priss collapsing on top of me with a hiss of pain. However much foam I put on her, she was still hurt badly inside of it and tossing her around like a beach ball did her no good.

Chubster down, CD-5. Good Neighbor deceased, CD-5. Hallow deceased, CD-5. Krieg down. CD-4.

"C'mon you two, we have to move, they're moving back this way," Carlsson huffed, rolling Priss off my back. I stood up wearily, looking at my reflection in the bar's mirrored entry arch, finding that half the ablative paint on my face was gone already, silvery streaks of the bare material shining through. Fuck.

I raised my arm to my face again, happy to see that at least the paint on my forearm was still there.

"We need a pickup for Little Miss Priss, she's got a broken pelvis and possibly spinal damage," I spoke into my armband, "We're currently inside MacLaren's pub up on Carson street, over."

Another confirmation ping.

I scanned through the walls, trying to figure out where Skitter went. Dragon was seemingly locked in melee with Leviathan (the overhead view made it look more like 'being torn apart' rather than 'engaged in melee' but that's unprofessional talk), while multiple capes were using the distraction to pelt him with all they've got. That didn't seem to faze him all that much.

"Why are you staring at that wall?" someone behind me asked. I turned around. Priss, right side up again, was fidgeting in place, her face, surprisingly intact for what she'd gone through, was in what a kinder person would have called an 'inquisitive' stare but what I liked to call the 'none of my business but maybe you'll answer anyway' stare.

"My scanners let me see through walls, plus I can see the armband-wearing capes as motes of light even when the backscatter is off," I explained patiently, switching off Finist's view for now, I was starting to get cross-eyed from using only one to navigate.

Have to keep her awake, no coma for you, little miss Little Miss!

"Neat! All I can do is shoot little blasts that make things fall apart," she replied sullenly. Carlsson's marker told me he was taking a bathroom break. How can he-- ah, right, just returned from patrol. "Doesn't work on living things though, which is actually good? But does work on their clothes if they have any. Boy, that was fun…"

Great, just great. I'm stuck in a place I can't legally be in with a pervert. Suddenly, I was very glad she was immobile. Carlsson emerged from the bathroom, adjusting his pants and huffing.

"What's the verdict, ma'am?" he asked, his deference beginning to grate me. Then again, I have stepped up, haven't I? Why did I still feel useless?

Hew deceased, CD-5. Strapping Lad down, CD-5. Intrepid down, CD-5.

That's why.

"Keep watch on her," I nodded in Priss's direction, she started whining again while we were talking, "I should be marked on your armband with a blue marker, once you're free, look me up if you can. I'm gonna try and meet up with my team."

"What was your power again?" he asked, stepping after me as I rechecked Mjölnir in its holster and the charge on the confoam canister.

"Social Thinker," I replied, grinning through my helmet, not that he could see it. "So before you say anything else: I'm fifteen. The best you can offer me is a coffee in the PRT cafeteria.

"For fuck's sake, this is no time for flirting!" Priss called out from behind him.

"I was actually going to ask who trained you," I couldn't see his face but he sounded apologetic, "The press release said you got PRT Trooper training?"

"Martinez, actually," I replied, stepping back out into the rain, "Take it up with her!"

He waved at me and stepped back inside as I ran towards the fray, stabbing the armband's buttons again.

"Next target please," I huffed out, checking off the names I could see. Taylor was doing CPR to Chubster, the poor guy seemed to be really out of it. I was directed to somewhere beyond the sidewalk she was kneeling on, so I decided to help, make sure she didn't spend the rest of the day attending to the guy that weighed more than both of us put together.

I could see Sophia and Flechette shooting Leviathan from their perch, Sophia's phased arrows doing fuck-all like most Blasters below 6 did, but Flechette's needle-like bolts penetrated deep into the Endbringer's hide, as did Narwhal's forcefields. The beast was bleeding from a wound in his neck, one the Canadian heroine tore open, but didn't seem too bothered by it.

I kneeled by Taylor's side, patted her back as she paused from trying to make Chubster breathe again.

"I see you're attempting CPR. Would you like some help with that?" I asked as cheerfully as I could. Taylor jumped slightly.

"Gah, you scared the shit out of me, you bitch!" she growled back, some resentment clearly still lingering in her. Was it easier for her to think of me as Emma? Some semblance of her, of our friend back? Not the time to dwell on that. It was easy to see how she gathered herself up, collecting her anger and shoving it down. We may look different, but on the inside we're still the same. "Can't get him in the recovery position, he's too heavy."

"Got it. Keep track of his head, don't let him breathe water," I replied, shifting position. She grunted angrily in response but didn't object. Kneeling to the other side of the downed cape, I touched my way down his side, grabbing hold of an armor plate's edge and pulled, shifting it into a rolling kind of push. Beyond Skitter, I could see that some flier named Aquila (isn't that just Latin for Eagle?), has touched down near Carlsson's location, probably to free him from Priss's foul-mouthed presence.

Chubster rolled over to the side, started coughing up water and things I'd rather not think about and I could see my cousin (guess I should stick to thinking about her like that, get used to it and all) visibly unclench at the sight of him regaining his breathing. But because we can't have nice things, of course at that moment--

Tidal wave!

A flurry of activity unrelated to Leviathan spun up, Narwhal setting up fields between the crowd and the direction of the coast, and Shielder yelled to gather 'round him, and so we shook Chubster to near-wakefulness and pulled him up together and penguin-walked him towards the New Wave cape as I saw the wave making its devastating progress across the city through my drone.

Shielder put up his shield with nary a second to spare as the water crashed against it, smashing people and debris alike into the blue field. I felt Chubster's hand tighten around my shoulder, Taylor's breath hitching told me he did the same to her.

"Thank you, both of you," he rasped, coughing up some more water, as we saw a huge dark shape swim past us through the water as Shielder fell to his knees, the strain of keeping up against a force of nature clearly getting to him.

Heavy casualties, please wait, a chorus of identical voices announced, coming from the armbands of everyone within the maskless hero's shield. This meant the losses were too much for Dragon's system to handle? Shit, did Priss make it out okay? I wasn't watching the feed! Wait, Carlsson was out in the open--

The surging water stopped suddenly, a misty fog in its place. No, not fog, steam. Through it we could vaguely see Myrrdin and Eidolon doing something in the middle of the street, one evaporating the water and the other directing it away, shaping it into a ball above his head. Almost as if by-- no, I'm not saying it.

Leviathan dropped down from a nearby building, his claws ripping through cape and concrete alike, as he made great use of the disorientation all of us suffered after the wave, some reeling in shock at the sudden attack, some still worn out from holding up the forcefields for so long. I felt more than saw as Chubster let go of us and took a hazy step forward, then another, then, with a roar, his voice still raspy, he reached his hands out before him, pulling a half-torn building down on Leviathan with whatever it was his power actually did, once it was clear nobody in the group the Endbringer had rushed survived.

This brought a moment of respite for everyone involved as activity resumed, people scattering from the street while Myrrdin directed the ball he was creating at Leviathan, impacting his face right as he emerged from the ruins of the building Chubster brought down. It sheared off a fragment of the Endbringer's face, wiping out two of his eyes as if with an eraser, sending him toppling head over heels, the hardest I've seen him hit thus far.

"Try to hem him in towards us," a voice came over the armbands, "We're can't allow him to escape to recover!" Chevalier, I realized, it was Chevalier speaking.

All the capes still able to resumed their attacks, throwing, shooting, zapping, casting, shouting, even spitting, most of them trying to focus on one side of the Endbringer as he slowly got up, reforming his afterimage.

He wasn't merely standing in the ruins of a residential building, he was standing knee-deep in the dead, crumpled forms of capes, heroes and villains alike, scattered around it, most of them killed by the wave. It didn't merely cut our number more than by half, it ravaged the entire city around us, as buildings were left torn open, some of them collapsed. Offices, stores, restaurants, homes, broken, ruined, their contents, the paraphernalia of people's lives spilling out of them, as if the lifeblood of the city was draining out of a wound ever so slowly.

More forcefields popped up around Leviathan, trying to cut off possible ways for it to leave, allowing a specific corridor between the ruined buildings in the direction Chevalier indicated. He struck a forcefield, watching it shatter like glass, and another quickly reformed before it. I saw more fliers swoop in to sift through the broken bodies on the street as the armbands came to life again.

Losses are as follows: Debaser, Ascendant, Gallant, Zigzag, Prince of Blades, Vitiator, Humble, Halo, Whirlygig, Night, Crusader, Uglymug, Victor, Furrow, Barker, Elegance, Quark, Pelter, Snowflake, Carlsson, Mama Bear, Mister Eminent, Lady Photon, Biter…

I roared in impotent rage, startling Skitter who was standing next to me, equally dumbstruck by the devastation so casually brought on by the Endbringer. Shielder's power dropped as he did, slamming his fist into the concrete with a cry of despair. Then Taylor's quiet wail joined mine.

…Cloister, Narwhal, Vixen, Flashbang, The Dart, Geomancer, Oaf, Tattletale…

Who was Carlsson to me? A chance encounter. Tattletale was her Amy. Her new best friend to replace the ravaged hole in our soul left when Sophia ripped Emma out. I reached out, put a hand on her shoulder.

"That's casualties," I said softly, "She may not actually be dead."

She shook my hand off, glared at me. It looked like she was trying to work through the emotions she was feeling but then she gathered herself up again. I could see the emotion drain out of her form, as if she was-- wait, she's not doing it through her insects, is she? I felt motion on the back of my head, which nearly panicked me before I remembered the spiders she put there.

"Skitter!" I called out, "Let me help you! Did you want to find her?"

The last thing I needed right now was for her to lose herself and go do something suicidally stupid. She shook her head, turning her attention to her armband instead. Then her hand dropped down uselessly. It took me a moment to realize why: she wanted to go help save someone, but the overloaded system stopped tasking us. She looked up back at me as the air around us shook with a series of powerful explosions. Leviathan, still hemmed in, was being bombarded by Miss Militia using some sort of grenade launcher, its shape glowing green every time she fired. She's using her power to reload it, I realized before we saw another flash of green as Eidolon surrounded himself with a myriad of sparks, enveloping most of the relatively-intact bodies scattered around us and then vanishing along with them.

It was at that moment that Leviathan cut the Gordian knot and walked out of his improvised prison through a wall of one of the buildings, leaving more debris in his wake, one wall of the building collapsing on a group of close-range capes.

Brandish down, CD-6. Karakuri deceased, CD-6.

Everyone still on our street rushed to follow, except for Shielder, who decided that he didn't want his aunt to join his uncle and mother. As we rounded the corner, the scene was a vague repeat of what happened before: forcefields blocked Leviathan's path on most sides, Sundancer's sun, already almost as big as the Endbringer itself, on another, reaching a point where it started to do collateral damage to the buildings around it.

"Care!" Miss Militia cried out, "Fire in the hole!"

She resumed firing from the grenade launcher, but no longer reloading with her power. I flashed back to the reports: the Protectorate seized a large stash of Bakuda's bombs, many of them were specced to 20mm grenade launchers, she even used one herself. The first grenade left the Endbringer slathered in sticky golden string of some sort, the second sheared off parts of its shoulder and the third… the third created a sphere of shimmering air within which everything seemed to slow down. The flow of water, and Leviathan's leg caught in it, seemed to move slower and slower.

He pulled on his leg, trying to get free, when somebody called out "Don't let him escape before it sets!" and everyone who was still standing opened fire, set forcefields, threw debris, all trying to do what my voice told them to.

What? Did I yell that? Did Skitter?

And then he was stuck, a part of his right leg in permanent stasis in a Bakuda-made reproduction of what looked like Grey Boy's time-stop effect. And then he whipped his tail into the crowd of capes that wasn't far enough, his afterimage reaching out a bit further, throwing some capes aside, hooking several others up with the tail, tossing them into the time-stop bubble.

Jotun deceased, CD-6. Dauntless down, CD-6. Armsmaster deceased, CD-6. Morningstar deceased, CD-6.

His afterimage didn't stop, however, moving further out, slashing a watery scythe across his assailants.

Miss Militia down, CD-6.

Menja and Browbeat moved forth, trying to smash him while he was immobile, but he sent a pickup truck flying in their direction, bowling the giantess over as he started pulling on his leg harder. Skitter and I rushed in, unanimous in our decision to help Miss Militia get up from the side of the bus Leviathan's swipe smashed her into.

Menja down, CD-6.

There was an ear-splitting scream and a crack of a building crumbling as the giant's twin sister howled her pain and rage, jumping from the top of an office building. The force of the impact briefly drove the monster down a few feet, but before it could try and throw her off, she started slamming her spear into its head and neck over and over, leaving bleeding holes all over its backside.

Militia was a mess, an elbow turned the wrong way around, gouges in her legs left by bits of the bus's torn-up side that she went through, her hair scattered around her face, her expression unfocused. Skitter picked up her bandanna from where it fell on the floor, tied it back across her face.

"T-thank you, Taylor," Miss Militia slurred out, eyes slightly glazed, "I'm Ha-Hannah--"

She was cut off by Fenja's scream and a deafening impact as an arm the size of a bus slammed into the ground not twenty feet from us, the giantess following shortly after. She cradled her stump as she shrank in size, the tail of the monster cracking through the air exactly like a whip. The Echo that followed it carved laser-fine gashes into buildings, trees, cars... and people, I winced as I noticed the bone sticking out of the severed arm looked like it could be used to slice steel, so fine was the cut.

Fenja down, CD-6. Nature's Child deceased, CD-6. Chimichanga down, CD-6.

I shook myself out of it, contemplation of Leviathan's power could wait for later, right now there were bigger fish to fry... like that I could feel movement in my hair and that Skitter looked to be trying to burn a hole in my armor with her glares. I cleared my throat.

"Ma'am, I alrea-"

"H-hi, Taylor," she slurred, turning to me, "H-have you m-met Rose?" She leaned towards Taylor, "She looks just like you," she stage-whispered. Then she twitched her shoulder and winced. "Why does my arm hurt?"

Legend down, CD-6.

Both Taylor and I turned at that, seeing the melee has moved on, only the dead and the time-locked left where we could see. Leviathan was nowhere in sight, but it looked like he left a chunk of his right foot in the time bubble along with Armsmaster and the others.

"We have to fix her arm up," I said, breaking the sudden stillness punctuated by Miss-- Hannah's ragged breathing, "Can you check the joint?"

Taylor didn't move, staring at me.

"What did she mean by that," she whispered, not even bothering to give the question an inflection.

I had been less than fifty feet from a creature that had single-handedly sunk Newfoundland and a healthy fraction of Japan. I didn't feel as much fear as I did in that exact moment.

"She's being literal," I nodded towards the concussed heroine, "And I will explain. It is phenomenally complicated, and we WILL talk later assuming we get out of this, but I think that right now we have bigger fish to fry," I sounded exasperated, repeating myself, but to be fair I was having a really, really bad day so far. "So if you don't mind, I think we have a job to do?"

Taylor nodded, moving to the heroine's right side as I fished out my confoam canister again. Unsanitary, sure, but still, a plugged wound was better than a leaking one. She hissed louder as I gave her legs funny-shaped bands of foam and held them up till they would harden to a point where Taylor and I could carry her without sticking to her ourselves.

"No bones broken, but a severe dislocation, and ligaments torn," Taylor reported, "Before we can sling it, we'll have to put it back into place."

"Get her something to bite down on, I'll do it."

"I can do that myself," Hannah protested, her eyes a little clearer, the green glow of her power providing an escrima stick which Taylor promptly helped her bite down on. I twisted and pulled. She screamed, a raw, animal sound that nearly drowned out the armband's announcement.

Shielder down, CD-6. Laserdream down, CD-6.

"Fuuuuck," I exhaled, unhooking Hannah's waist flag and tying it off around her neck into an improvised sling into which we carefully maneuvered her wounded arm. She switched her stick out into a cane (does a cane count as a weapon or is it a sword cane?) and protested when we tried to help her beyond getting her upright.

"He's slaughtering us," Taylor whispered, barely audible above the incessant rain. "Like we don't matter."

"We don't-- ugh-- matter, not really," Hannah replied, wincing as she stepped over the threshold of the bus's normal entryway where we lead her, "Endbringers always have a specific target, we're just rarely aware of it even after the fact."

Sundancer down, CD-7.

Belatedly, I reactivated my view of Finist, hoping Dragon made use of its vantage point. The gaggle of the last capes standing against Leviathan chased him near the bank building, which he used to prop himself up because one of his legs was now shorter than the other. That didn't deter him from using his afterimages to keep them away even with Othala surprisingly taking a frontline role to empower other capes. Why would she? She's more useful as a healer-- Victor. Victor was on the unspecified casualty list. Shit, I hope to hell and back Amy stayed in the hospital.

And then he did what nobody seemed to expect, dumping all the water in his afterimage into a wave that ran down the street all the way to us, tossing the capes aside. I threw Miss Militia in front of me, ignoring her grunt of pain, allowing her cover behind a brownstone's entry staircase as I myself grabbed hold of the wrought-iron railing on its side, looking behind me…

Skitter down, CE-6.

Oh my god.

 

[Noelemahc]

Responder 2.03​

[Rose]​

As I collapsed bonelessly onto the flagstones next to the bloodied form of Miss Militia, I had two thoughts on my mind. Fervent prayers of gratitude to the nameless ironmonger that made the metal whatchamacallit that may have just saved my life, and equally frenzied prayers that Taylor was okay.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" I managed to force out, trying to stand up, carefully working the joints in my arms. It seemed I hadn't dislocated anything but my right arm was a mess of pain regardless, the strain on my muscles too significant. In addition, as I checked myself over, thankful the spidermesh was intact, I realized most of the ablative paint was gone. I looked more like a robot now, the armor segments a sandblasted mirror surface with the occasional pockmark where the debris carried by the wave has struck me. There were multiple small rents on my rightside plates, but the real action was on my left, complete with a deep gash on the forearm segment and across the left of my chestplate, complete with a corner chipped off. That will be a pain and a half to replace. Guess I'm back to wearing castoffs again...

"Been… better… but I will live… to be better…" Miss Militia grunted with effort, working through some sort of mantra, with her power giving her a bo staff instead of the cane which she used to straighten herself as she tried to stand.

I stood up straight, surveying the damage around me. It looked as if someone took a belt sander to everything in this street, from the shorn-off lampposts and cars stripped of paint like I was and to capes whose costumes were lacking in armor paneling. Curiously, Fenja's severed arm was gone. Leviathan himself was nowhere to be seen, so I had to prioritize.

"Gonna check on Skitter, will you be okay in here?" I asked the heroine and she nodded in response, her face loaded with effort. I had Finist do a sweep of the area, pointing out to Dragon which capes were still moving despite having been reported as dead, and one name caught my attention.

"Hannah," I hissed, trying to put a stopper in my excitement, "Colin's still moving, could you please check on him? Looks like he's stuck in the time bubble, but not all the way in." I winced at my accidental slip of Armsmaster's name -- she didn't need to know in advance that I had the lowdown on each of Brockton Bay's protectorate members, from Ethan and Sam to Robin and Nate.

She lit up at that, moving with purpose-- well, hobbling with purpose, my confoam on her legs got in the way of faster movement, but still. Purpose. I followed her example, starting at a light jog down the street in the direction the wave must have carried Taylor-- and where Wadjet was telling me her armband was still active, surrounded by others, meaning it was still attached to an arm with a pulse and someone may be helping her. Okay, that was needlessly morbid right now. She probably has both arms still attached, considering our suits are similarly made.

Then I tripped, righted myself, tripped again. Paused. I saw that I had just tripped over someone's leg. Legs. The someone themselves was conspicuously absent. Cursing my half-finished breakfast, I stifled the urge to throw up and pressed onwards.

I passed what looked like a lattice of blades, torn apart, apparently while I was out of it, Kaiser had tried to stop the Endbringer from leaving. Wait, the battle went right past us?! How long was I out? Panic rising, I sped up, following Skitter's signal.

Then I rounded a corner and saw the most bizarre sight imaginable. Leviathan was standing still in the middle of what used to be a small park square (I vaguely recalled there was supposed to be a fountain where his intact leg now stood), silent, unmoving, his afterimage equally stuck right behind him. Within it I could vaguely make out a familiar form. Shit, Dennis!

The ramshackle group gathered in front of the improvised statue was shouting at each other, not seeming to bother with the Ward that was about to drown. I saw Kaiser erecting more blades around the Endbringer's feet as Myrrdin and Eidolon were generating glowing bands of energy in the air around him, white and red respectively, presumably to restrict his movement once he unfroze and hopefully inflict some more damage.

"Clockblocker down, CE-6! Need a teleporter to get him free, stat!" I screamed into my armband, continuing my jog towards the gathering and the red ping in my HUD. I saw Trickster pop into the crowd, looking around for directions, so I flipped my visor open and put my hands together in front of my mouth.

"Clockblocker, inside the water clone!" I yelled, "Swap him!" God, I hope my intel on his power was good.

He turned to me, nodded, then did something with one of the bodies lying at the edge of the park. Clockblocker's white outline within the water was replaced by a black one, while the class clown of the Wards East-North-East popped into being at the feet of the Travelers' leader. Someone immediately bent down to help him, as I felt my heart stop. The red signal was somewhere among those bodies… there! She was sitting, back leaning against a trashcan, probably someone had carried and put her down there.

The curse froze on my lips as Leviathan resumed moving, burned himself against the rings of power set up by the country's most powerful capes, started flailing, his afterimage following suit. As it shifted, I saw the body Trickster replaced Clockblocker with fall out its side, thankfully away from my general direction. I didn't have time to ruminate on that as Leviathan's tail swung my way, forcing me to drop to the ground as fast as I could, making me exude an undignified yelp as I felt something crack. Goodbye, fair ribs, may Valhalla welcome you-- wait, that wasn't my ribs.

Mjölnir's harness gave up the ghost, the collision with a twist of metal, likely more pieces of Kaiser's blades, had sliced the paracord. I gathered it up, restringing and reclipping it into a belted holster, as automatically as I had done countless times before during my self-imposed drills. Take that, Dennis, you smug-- no, not when he's lying right there.

Not even bothering to pay attention to the giant monster that was trying to scatter the remaining capes with his afterimage while it tried to break through its improvised prison -- a metal ping against my helmet told me that Kaiser's barricade was likely torn apart now -- I kneeled before Taylor onto what little was left of the grass. She wasn't awake. I roared another curse, rolled her mask halfway up her face to make sure she didn't throw up in it, then hoisted her up into a fireman's carry and set off at a brisk pace away from the fighting.

I risked a glance sideways, confused by the lack of armband notifications, as I saw that the rings were down, but Leviathan was still stuck, beating himself uselessly against multiple overlaid forcefields, blue and orange and teal and more blue. Bastion, the hero that landed on the news recently for his racist remarks, and a few others assigned to the forcefield group with him, were repeating their earlier trick. It wouldn't hold the Endbringer for long, I knew, but it bought more time for Eidolon to pull off another mass-teleport with the bodies, except this time the effect was a reddish glow instead of golden sparks.

The ones left behind were the few surviving frontline fighters that were expected to do something against Leviathan when it came to that. I recognized Manpower, Glory Girl, Hookwolf, Aegis, a monstrous shape I presumed to be Genesis considering the presence of other Travelers, and eight capes I didn't recognize. Behind them stood two of Parian's inflated cloth figures, but I didn't bother looking for the doll cape herself. Hopefully, she had a good vantage point.

Before turning back onto the street with the time bubble, I spared another glance at the standoff just in time to see Leviathan swing his tail through a building.

Bastion deceased, CE-6. Hexagon deceased, CE-6. Herald down, CE-6, Escutcheon down, CE-6.

That was a troubling development, like before with Miss Militia. He was smart enough to localize the threat to his continued rampage. The battle was joined, as the frontline fighters were trying to do something to stall him from going after the Blasters and other ranged capes (is Flechette a Shaker or a Blaster? I can't remember…).

"Taylor, please tell me you're okay," I said to the girl I was carrying, "Because we have to get out of here right fucking now."

She stirred, her sputter halfway from retching to the word Fuck, and turned her head to face me. I gave her a weak smile and a thumbs up, realizing my visor was still up. I could see her scowl as she reached her hands up to roll her mask down her face.

Escutcheon deceased, CE-6.

"Wass gowin ohn?" she breathed out unsteadily as I shifted position to keep her from sliding off me, jolting her slightly.

"Clockblocker froze Leviathan but got knocked out for his trouble, then it all went to shit," I explained, totally not ruining the moment by wiping my own mouth from the spittle I suddenly was aware of. "Before we could get ready, the freeze timed out."

Kid Win down, CE-6.

What? Where was he even-- I began to wonder before the hoverboard and its owner clattered onto the pavement in front of us, Alternator Cannon still attached.

"Shit! Check on him?" I hissed, rushing to the board. I lowered Taylor to the ground, glad she could stand on her own, however gingerly. I blanked on the two times my Chris showed me how to fly the damn thing, but I didn't need it to be aloft to fire the gun, I hoped, because the trajectory of his fall meant the fight was following us. Up ahead I could see Miss Militia tugging on what I guessed Armsmaster would look like after a date with a grindstone, the Tinker's armor likely partially or completely non-functional, just a weight holding him down now rather than enhancing his strength and speed.

A flash of green told me they decided to give it up as I saw Miss Militia raise a vaguely Oriental sword above her head and brought it down on something I couldn't see behind Armsmaster. His grunt of pain told me all I needed to know.

"Can't tell if--" she paused to cough, curse, then cough again, "--anything's broken, but the armor seems intact, and he's still breathing."

"Good," was all I could say as I wrested the cannon-and-hoverboard combo into an upright position, just in time to see Leviathan head back our way again, something clutched in his hands.

Kaiser down, CE-6, the armband informed me just in time for the upper half of Tzar-Nazi's body to flop into the water in front of us, drawing out more swearing, almost in unison. Wait, 'down'? What is this guy MADE of?

I risked a glance at Skitter, she was glaring at me again. Finist told me the rest of the hunting party was following Leviathan as he moved towards us. Was he running… or chasing US?

"Danger close!" I yelled into my armband, hoping the fliers would take the hint, "Firing path down Dirk street!"

Not bothering to dwell on it further, I angled the cannon upwards, hoping I figured the power dial out enough to give it 50% charge until I could sight it in, and depressed the double-action triggers. A beam of something fierce slammed into Leviathan's chest briefly, leaving a glowing gash that lost its reddish tint as it cooled. My teeth bared in what was the best approximation of Director Piggot #2, "You WILL NOT enjoy this", that I could muster under the circumstances, I dialed the power to full and finally closed my visor.

Finist was above me now, showing me myself, Skitter pulling Kid Win towards a brownstone's entryway like the one that saved me and Hannah earlier, Armsmaster striding purposefully towards me from behind, one Halberd in his intact hand, another on his back, Miss Militia hobbling towards a service vehicle crashed into a wall just beyond the time bubble. Beyond the Endbringer I could see the shapes of what Wadjet told me were Glory Girl and Aegis in flight, but without moving Finist, I couldn't make out who was who on the ground. What confused me was the absence of Parian's figures -- did they go down or did Leviathan move beyond her range, wherever she was?

No matter. I just hope he doesn't fall over and crush someone from this.

The charger signal pinged, one second after I rolled the slider all the way up, the adrenaline pounding in my temples, as with a final What the fuck am I doing?! and an indistinct growl, I fired the cannon again.

The beam's brightness blinded me, as I stubbornly held on to the triggers. I had the beam aimed at center mass, and the Endbringer showed no sign of trying to dodge when I fired -- either suicidally overconfident in his ability to tank it or too certain he would reach me before I would cut loose -- so I hoped I was still pouring the beam into him, when a burning sensation in my hands told me that something was going terribly wrong.

I was wrenched off my feet, thrown aside by what felt like the cannon exploding rather than Leviathan striking me, before a sharp impact first to my back and then to my head told me gravity was still angry at me over that incident with Vertigo last month and was all too willing to pay me back even across dimensions. Maybe it knew I was here, and followed me, waiting for the best time to enact its vengeance?

No, wait, that's probably the concussion talking.

Emissary down, CD-6, I heard someone else's armband say before blacking out.

------​

[Taylor]​

As much as it hurt to walk on my own, I still preferred it to the undignified way that overconfident idiot with my face carried me like I was a sack of potatoes. When she rushed towards the cannon on Kid Win's hoverboard I recognized from the bank, it became clear she was actually suicidally overconfident.

As she wrestled with the Tinkertech gun, I heaved and pulled and cursed and pulled again, trying to move the cannon's red-and-gold plated creator to a relatively safe distance from it and my whoever-she-was. Counterpart? Doppelgänger? Creepy stalker?

I couldn't help but notice that she felt like all the Undersiders rolled into one: Brian's muscle mass and almost military body language, Lisa's tongue and ability to pull information you'd thought was buried where no-one would look right outta her ass, Alec's crude humor and thick skin, Rachel's stubborn determination and alien system of values and my face and, likely, hair as well, based on what little I saw of it and what my spiders could tell me. Her costume looked different now, too, but flecks of green here and there and the deep gouges in some of the plating told me the story: she must've weathered the wave that blew me away.

As I stewed in my thoughts, I reached out with my power. The buildings in this area were mostly intact, so they had to have-- there! I gathered what few insects I could from around me, hiding out in dry areas and indoors. I directed them to scout, placing several spare flies inside Emissary's back armor plate, and making sure to pack as much as I could into Leviathan's open wounds -- I will not get blindsided again.

Then the idiot was yelling something I couldn't quite make out into her armband, broadcasting? -- I checked my silent armband for damage but it didn't look even scuffed too badly -- and then the world went white. Whatever it was she did to Kid Win's cannon, it was likely not the intended use, as the beam felt like it was going to give me sunburn just from looking at it. Nevertheless, all that output must have counted for something as it looked like it punched clean through Leviathan's side, leaving a gash between what passed for his ribs, before cutting out.

And by 'cutting out' I mean 'the cannon blew up in her face'. Shit, did she close that mask thing? Where did she go?

Emissary down, CD-6, I heard someone else's armband say, confirming my fear - my map was working but the sound was shot. The someone else in question turned out to be Armsmaster, who strode past me, giving a cursory glance at Kid Win's prone form at my feet.

"He's alive," I croaked, for some reason sounding apologetic. He gave me an inscrutable look and ambled past, doing something with his free hand. Belatedly, I realized it was bloodied, apparently missing all his fingers but the thumb, and as he was holding a Halberd in his right, he was limited to pressing the buttons on his wrist-computer-thing with said thumb. It didn't look comfortable. Then again, it didn't seem to faze him either. I finagled an earthworm onto his boot and a few sets of mosquitoes into crevices and nooks on his armor. He was going into direct combat, I needed to make sure I could track him if need be. I was wary of him now, between the words we'd had during the fight at the Gallery and beyond it, and the weird look he just gave me… better safe than sorry.

I pulled Kid Win up to a sitting position, resting his back into the corner between the brownstone's wall proper and its impressive entryway stairs -- this would give him some cover at least, I'd seen her -- Rose -- do the same with Miss Militia earlier. Finally convinced I could leave the Ward unattended, I stood up to survey the battle… only to see it wasn't here anymore.

Who are you in the dark? I wondered, checking for the insect markers I'd spread, noting that Armsmaster was trying to pursue Leviathan who was, presumably, now pursuing some other target after he pretty much caused Emissary to self-destruct trying to beat him. Idiot.

She only had the one spider in her helmet left alive on her, and even so it was on the helmet now, not inside of it. Her backplate must have come loose when she fell. I found her across the street, half-buried in the hood of a car that was awkwardly angled upwards due to a half-destroyed section of the road from someone's powers - it looked distinctly like the result of an explosion and Leviathan didn't do explosions.

Planting my foot against the bent front fender, I pulled on her arm to dislodge her from the idiot-shaped imprint in the car, clearly too angry to articulate my irritation with her. She held secrets I needed to know, and I wasn't letting her die before she'd spill them to me, one way or another. I had her halfway out of the car when she jolted like she jammed a fork in a toaster and began to furiously try to free herself.

"Lemme out," she groaned, shaking her head as she tried to extract her other arm. I rolled my eyes, what, exactly, did she think I am doing?

I helped her sit down on the curb next to the car, the air around eerily quiet aside from the pattering of the rain.

"Geroff," she protested incoherently, struggling to free her arm from my grip, then held it up to her temple in a weird gesture that looked like she was using it… as a keyboard? How did that even work?

"What are you doing? Didn't you say we gotta move?" I asked, incredulous with her odd behavior.

"Sa-saving Aegis," she stammered, hammering the side of her helmet, "My d-drone is overseeing the fight. They moved towards the Docks. Let's follow."

Aegis down, CC-7.

"That didn't sound like saving," I protested, my voice reproachful, as I helped her get up to her feet once she let go of her head.

"It's a world of difference to a regenerator," she said, waving her hand to someone to our side, "How much there's left to regenerate from."

She stretched, and I could hear her vertebrae popping even through the rain. Shit. She's a regenerator, like Aegis is. Did her drone stop Leviathan from killing him?

A sudden roaring sound had me snap my head to the side, as an orange-marked truck rolled up to us, Miss Militia at the wheel.

"Get in, girls, it's time to catch up," she said, her voice sounding as tired as I felt.

Rose swung the passenger door open and climbed in, settling next to Miss-- Hannah. She told me her name so I wouldn't freak out about having seen her face, addressed me by name to show she already knew who I am, like Rose said. How the fuck did they find out?

I climbed in next, dwelling on another data point: with her backplate gone, Rose's hair spilled out into my face, black and curly, just like mine. This all felt surreal, like we were about to drive into a red-curtained room with a dancing dwarf and a lady talking backwards.

'She is my cousin. I feel like I know her. She is filled with secrets. Sometimes, my arms bend back.'
The owls are not what they seem.
I could never understand what that last one was supposed to mean. Seriously, fuck Lynch.

We drove down the street, swerving around-- Was that Fenja's arm? What was it doing here? --then made a turn, then another. On approach to the Docks, however, a bright flash lit up the sky. Two of our three armbands immediately chimed in:

Heavy casualties, please wait.

"Shit," I muttered, dreading a repeat of the earlier butcher's list. Were we too late? Miss Militia gunned the engine as we reached a relatively undamaged stretch of road, while Emissary fiddled with her helmet again. I tried to reach out with my swarms, feeling Armsmaster standing in front of Leviathan in a parking zone between warehouse buildings. They were surrounded by unmoving bodies. My heart fell as the armbands spoke up.

Losses are as follows: Browbeat, Manpower, Hookwolf, Glory Girl, Shadow Stalker, Parian…

It was my turn to place my hand on Rose's shoulder when I heard her growl. She seemed to have three basic states: stone cold soldier, like Miss Militia, needling smart-ass, like Tattletale and… yeah, that's why she reminded me of Bitch.

"You said it yourself, they may not necessarily be dead," I spoke softly as the truck made the turn before last. We could hear the sounds of fighting, yelling, a male voice… Armsmaster? He wasn't on the list!

"Dragon, that last one wasn't a death report, all armbands within a certain radius failed at once," I heard my voice -- Rose again -- speaking into her armband, "All but one. It coincided with some sort of explosion. Please make a note for review later?"

"Acknowledged," her armband replied in the same voice, but not pre-recorded. Dragon answered her personally?

"Sitrep," Miss Militia ordered, and while I fumbled through the meaning of the word, distracted by the sight of Aegis sticking out of a mound of containment foam stuck to the roof of a one-story building, Emissary spoke again.

"Some of them are down but most are still fighting, primarily ranged," she reported, making me realize the order was 'situation report' or something like that, "Armsmaster is engaging Leviathan directly, not getting hit, his combat prediction software, probably." She paused, turned to Miss Militia. "How did you get him out? I thought you can't pull out of a Grey Boy bubble?"

"It wasn't Grey Boy. More like Clockblocker," I offered, and she turned back to me, "I've seen Bakuda use ones like this before. Tattletale said that to copy a parahuman's power, Bakuda had to be able to look into it first. No Grey Boy victims in Brockton." It was a little unnerving to stare directly into my own reflection in that now-bare-mirror visor of hers.

"We pulled out as much of his arm as we could, like Leviathan did, but there was some sort of inverse-proportional thing in how Bakuda set up the effect," Miss Militia finally replied, not taking her eyes off the road, "I had to cut his fingers off to free him. Once it was all out, he rebooted his armor, as it must have short-circuited due to the time-displacement. Get ready!" Miss Militia quipped as she sharply turned the wheel, squeezing the truck into a narrow gap between two long warehouse buildings.

We sped out onto the lot where the action was, taking in as much of the situation as we could, although between us three Hannah was probably the most disadvantaged, as Rose had her drone flying overhead and I had my swarms flitting to and fro through the thinning rain. Wait, thinning? Does that mean…

Both Armsmaster and Leviathan turned to face us, as another of Flechette's bolts snapped into the Endbringer's hide and got stuck there. He seemed pissed off by that fact, as he swiped at Armsmaster, sending the Tinker tumbling away separately from his so recenty de-fingered hand.

Armsmaster down, CC-7.

"Jump out, I'm ramming him!" Hannah barked as I scrambled to get the passenger door open and kick off to land in an awkward wet roll through the ankle-deep water of the lot, gritting my teeth in expectation of sudden hidden obstacles. Another splash told me Emissary landed nearby as two explosions went off in the general direction of the Endbringer. I chanced a look: the truck's impact did little to Leviathan's feet, but the rocket Miss Militia sent after it was enhanced by the shrapnel the truck was turned into and the fuel in its tank. Still didn't faze him.

In a repeat of his earlier performances, Leviathan gathered up the water around us, visibly draining the flooding level, bunching it up into a wave that sent Miss Militia careening into and through the wooden front of one of the warehouse buildings.

Miss Militia down, CC-7.

It stared at me, all four of its mismatched green eyes burning into mine. It twitched its head once, then it was in front of me. It reared on its hind legs and it's one remaining front leg raised up, cocking it back to strike down. Blasts, shots, and Brute hits from Armsmaster's group rained down on it, but it ignored them.

And then he was looking at us. At me? And for the umpteenth time I asked myself, why did I even bother coming here? And for the umpteenth time I answered myself: because whatever my reputation. I wanted to help people, even if they didn't want to help me. Except the idiot, of course.

Who was suddenly standing between us, pulling something out of her hip holster, pointing it at the Endbringer's face, making him pause in confusion at this defiance. I couldn't help but think of mom again, what with the way Rose was standing above me, her long wet hair splayed across her armor, that defiant pose and that voice...

"YOU CAN'T HAVE HER!" she roared and apparently pushed the trigger on the device and there was lightning coming from her hand and it was striking Leviathan in the face and there was a shower of gore and it was reeling and you utter idiot, who uses electric attacks when we're in knee-deep water?! I thought as I blacked out once again.

 

[Noelemahc]

Responder 2.04​

The monstrous head snapped back, one of its eyes exploding like a microwaved egg, the attacks of other capes driving him further off-balance. I could vaguely make out Skitter yelling something at me, but I didn't hear it, adrenaline pumping blood through my veins, the hammering in my ears blocking out any other sound, despite the thinning rain. I more felt than heard Mjölnir's report of an empty battery.

Fuck, we're immersed in water, why didn't I-- right, the rain, the volume, Leviathan got the brunt of the attack, like a lightning rod, and I'm wearing a suit that's not particularly-- NOT NOW!

And then Leviathan paused, cocking its head as if listening to something, and turned away and then it hopped over a warehouse and was gone, leaving me to survey the charnel house around me. I was suddenly all too aware I was the last woman standing, as nobody fired at his departing back, nobody gave chase, the realization turning my blood cold again despite apparently scoring a critical hit on an Endbringer with no witnesses except my drone.

No, wait, not all of them are dead, just their armbands. Skitter's didn't even report her as downed! Trigger event fainting? What is that--

The rush of water out of the storm drains meant Leviathan had just done something big. I snapped back to words half-heard during the briefing while I was setting Finist up. Brockton Bay sits on an aquifer…

I jabbed the armband again, moving towards Skitter as the water level in the parking lot began to rise.

"Dragon, mass cape blackout in CC-7, possibly due to Trigger event. Leviathan departed AO, heading west, no, west-north-west," I reported as I made my way to Skitter, yanking her out of the water, feeling dead on my feet from all the running and the panicking and the goddamn water and now she's waterlogged too, completely soaked, was she this soaked when I carried her out of the park? "Please advise on possible targets."

"Acknowledged, please stand by, alerting possible intercept teams," the armband responded as my 'cousin' began to come to.

"Did anyone get the number of that donkey cart?" she asked, a lot less groggy than the last time. I let her go as she straightened her hair out, wiped her mask lenses, checked herself up and down again. She looked intact, if a little worn-out, but by that metric I envied her the miniscule rest she got when she was conked out. The cold dampness on the back of my head made me finally realize my own hair was loose and exposed to the elements, probably ever since the explosion of the cannon threw me around.

"Sorry, Rincewind, that was a Trigger faint. And considering all of us here are already powered…" the lie slid easily off my tongue now. Better to hide my suddenly-realized advantage of dubious tactical worth for the time being.

"Wait, what if everyone is already powered?" she repeated in confusion. Did she not know how second triggers… right, how would she?

"Second Triggers are a thing, Skitter. I'll explain when we have the time for it, 'kay?" I tried to sound as relaxed as I could, because she was a coiled spring, looking past me to where the man she likely thought had betrayed her lay.

The other capes around us were gathering up as well, some converging on Armsmaster's messed-up form, and we were no different. Quickly, threads and fibers flew around him, sewing up his shoulder as much as was possible, with Parian doing what she could despite the rising water level. His armor was busted up, one segment looked as if a small explosion went off there. Was he the source of that EMP blast?

Looking around me now, I saw that Sophia was still down, and Manpower's slumped pose likely meant more terrible news for the New Wave movement. Shit, Vicky's right here!

"Glory Girl, could you please carry Armsmaster to the field hospital?" I heard James speak, calm as always. "We will assist your uncle, I do not think he can be moved yet."

Vicky nodded blankly, sparing a brief look at Manpower (I saw Flechette and Parian already hurrying towards him), then accepted Browbeat's help in picking the Protectorate leader's body out of the water. I followed her trajectory out via Finist while the following two things dropped into my head at once: Parian was the oldest cape still standing here but she was no leader material and there was no hide nor hair of Hookwolf anywhere.

Finist returned from following Glory Girl, showing me a view of an ice dam Eidolon was erecting along the beach, including over where the Boardwalk used to be. Not that it would help much, one earlier fight had shown Leviathan could manipulate frozen water just as well. Then again, he did just move inland... Turning to the Deputy Commander voice again, I started barking orders while we waited for the response on Leviathan.

"Alright, the armbands are down, we have to check on the remaining downed capes!" I called out, "Skitter, Miss Militia! Browbeat, Shadow Stalker!"

I myself ran towards the place the Halberd held in Armsmaster's severed arm flew (along with said arm), and the two out-of-town adult capes which-- were cleaved through by whatever the weird fuzzy field around the Halberd's end was doing, awesome. Fuck you very much, other Colin, it's like you jinx everything you touch.

As I carefully pried the arm's dead man's grip off the Halberd and pulled it out ever so slowly out of what was left of the second cape's chest cavity, my armband came to life again.

"He's at CB-5, heading Northwest!"

That wasn't particularly close, and my (I guess it's mine now, ha!) group only had one person worthy of a Mover rating. We'd need some help if we were to get back into the action fast enough to stay relevant. I couldn't find an off switch for whatever weird disintegration field this thing was running so I had to settle for slinging it over my shoulder like a rifle on parade and hoping I wouldn't vaporize any of my hair with it.

I returned to the parking lot to find Skitter supporting a dazed Miss Militia, exchanging silent masked glares with Shadow Stalker, who looked relatively okay. Browbeat stood to the side of her, his stance uncertain, but seemingly ready to stop whatever Truce violation I nearly missed. It's like herding cats, I swear.

"Manpower?" I asked of Parian, who stood next to Flechette, a small but appreciable distance from the standoff. The clothier shook her head sadly, as I saw the New York Ward was working her fists in a stress relief exercise. They were all antsy, anxious, and we were missing out on the combat. This made them volatile, and I didn't need that.

"Okay. Nobody kills anybody without my say-so, you got it?" I said needlessly. The only villain here was Skitter, and she surely felt antagonized with the way Miss 'Undersider Murderboner' was looking at her. I turned to my armband again.

"This is Emissary, CC-7, Glory Girl has evacuated Armsmaster but we have no fliers or Movers to get the rest of us to the AO. With me are Skitter, Miss Militia, Shadow Stalker, Browbeat, Parian and Flechette, but we only have two fully functional armbands between us. Please advise."

"I can track Leviathan if we get closer," Taylor piped up, "Got some insects on him when he was distracted by you blowing yourself up," she explained, an edge of not really caring whether it was funny about her voice. Sophia looked ready to snap at her for the jab at a fellow Ward (or maybe just because Skitter rubbed her the wrong way - must be the Hebert pheromones, hard at work), but seemed to bite back whatever she wanted to say when she saw my gesture. Bad Sophia, no attacking the girl propping up our boss!

I handed the Halberd over to James, then gestured to Taylor, took Miss Militia off her, slinging her over me into a fireman's carry. Her power fizzled on her belt, alternating between several flavors of knives, it was clear she was out of it even if she kept trying to open her eyes. Concussion or worse? Can't tell, and no help for whatever it is anyway.

"Alright, I say we go West, follow the general direction. This place keeps flooding, and any progress is better than no progress," I began, before Sophia made her displeasure known.

"Pff. I can get there on my own, I don't have to babysit you," she spat, but for some reason didn't follow through with actions. Seeing that no-one else was willing to respond to her, I took it on myself.

"How are you for ammo? Or knowing where to go?" I countered, noting that Flechette was quietly counting the bolts she had left, "Skitter's our best bet for tracking that fucker if he's not actively engaging, and there's enough flooding in the city by now for him to play Jaws with us till Scion decides to fucking show."

"Please wait, redirecting support," my (and only my, did Miss Militia's get borked when she was thrown through the air?) armband squawked in an unfamiliar voice.

I wrung out my hair in a futile gesture to get it to look a little less like Taylor's so that Sophia wouldn't get any funny ideas. I was in no position to distract her with my butt again, I had an Endbringer to chase out of my city. Taylor seemed to notice what I was doing, gave me a puzzled look, head cocked to the side. Sophia, it seemed, was simply looking. Enjoying the show?

"Parian? Do you have any fabric left?" I asked next, gesturing for our whole group to move, as the rising water was up to knee deep now and worried me further.

"Not on me, no, I had to abandon my things back at that square where the monster was frozen," she replied hesitantly, as if unused to speaking so much in one go. What the hell kind of life did you have here instead of what I've seen, Sabah? Then again, with her dress so thoroughly soaked, it was amazing she could still wade through this mess, she was probably the most overdressed among us here, between the skintight things Flechette, Skitter and Browbeat wore and the utilitarian value of my armor and Stalker's cape.

"Look," James gestured in the direction we were headed. Something oddly-shaped was rapidly approaching until Wadjet scanned the armband and told me it was--

"Vista! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" I called out as the city's littlest badass made landfall in front of us. Waterfall? Underwater landfall? Never mind. "Can you take us all?"

She shrugged, and I saw how tired she was. Compared to these Wards, I was a finely tuned machine and I was barely standing. She was two years younger on top of that. "I'll just hold the bridges for longer, no biggie."

"Just… try not to overextend yourself, okay? We're going to CA-4, see if we can find that scaly bastard."

"Sure thing, R-- Emissary," she caught herself in time. Not that there was anyone here who could do me ill with my false first name, but still. I waved at her dismissively to relax, and gestured ahead in an 'after you' way. She nodded and did her thing and we were stepping out of the water and onto the roof of the warehouse Leviathan hopped over, and then the next one over and there was Fenja's arm again, floating lazily towards the Dockworkers Association offices!

Missy kept to shorter jaunts, double-checking that we were all bunched up enough to fit through her tunnels in space, which led to some high-school grade awkwardness when Taylor and Sophia brushed their hands against each other accidentally. By the time we reached CB-5, Taylor was gesturing to correct our direction and speaking her insights into her armband, only to be repeated by Dragon's voice synth in a stilted rewording as the system converted the intel into arrows for the armband maps and spoken word for those unable or unwilling to look.

In the meantime I used Finist to survey the damage to the city: here was where Leviathan cut a corner through a building, here two cars were stuck into a wall in classic Glory Girl style, and over there a fire was raging despite the rain and the flooding and the hydrokinetic god-monster on the rampage. This almost made me wonder whether one of us would one day learn that their father sacrificed their mother to build a giant killer robot fueled by her soul to fight these things. I hoped to all things holy that the local Dad wasn't that kind of Dad.

"He's at or near BZ-6, heading south."

Target in the vicinity of BZ-6, southbound.

Taylor's voice made me snap out of it at the sight of a familiar place: Weymouth Mall was half-collapsed, looking like it was hammered first by the waves and then by the Endbringer taking a shortcut through it. The area beyond it was ruined worse than what we've seen before: the forcefield users couldn't cover the whole city from the Endbringer's destructive waves.

"That's what happens when you talk me out of shopping here," I deadpanned at Vista, drawing a snort out of her and confused looks out of everyone else.

"Yeah, you're really gonna be missing that spiked bra now, aren't you?" she gave as good as she got, and I thanked the heavens (may they please rain this fucking rain elsewhere) that I wore a full-face helmet and nobody saw me blush.

"Um, not to intrude or anything, but should you be carrying Miss Militia?" Flechette asked with the tone of someone who finally worked up the courage to ask a girl out for the first time, "What about--" she nodded at James, who shifted awkwardly under her gaze, like the aforementioned girl was supposed to, according to popular opinion. While I was fighting back snorts of laughter, Vista explained.

"His power won't let him. His TK field is Manton-limited, he can lift her clothes or her with it, one or the other, not at the same time," she said, trying not to laugh in earnest, "You don't want to know how that was first discovered," she specified, making me snicker harder, because I looked it up after he unmasked to me, "And when it comes to using your physical strength to carry someone, Emissary is not a frontline fighter, we can afford to have her tired."

"BX-8 or very close to it!," Taylor announced, looking up from her armband, even with the speaker dead, she could still use the map to look up the co-ordinates. "He's downtown, and he just stopped moving."

"You sure?" came Chevalier's voice from the armband.

"Ninety-nine percent."

"Noted. We're teleporting forces in."

Target stationary at BX-8. Begin attack!

"Alright everyone, get your game faces on," I announced as we stepped onto yet another roof, "Lots of high-rises in that area, we really don't want to get squished by one."

We arrived to a scene of battle, with Hookwolf (did he run after Leviathan while I was occupied with helping Skitter?) doing his level best to slice into the Endbringer's scaled hide, while ghostly warriors (Crusader?) and ghostly bears (what was that response team cape's name?) provided a distraction. We had to hold out till reinforcements arrived, prevent Leviathan from going further into the city.

"Vista! Take Parian to where she left her dolls, then come back ASAP!" I was giving out commands, gesturing with my one free hand, as I sought a position where I could safely put Hannah down, "Flechette, Stalker, spread out, firing positions! Browbeat, that thing you're holding can cut through anything, use your field to keep it from breaking, please. Skitter-- Skitter?"

I turned to Taylor who looked dumbstruck, staring at the skeletal half-built structure a bit further out, not moving. I double-checked, making sure the Wards were out of earshot, then stepped up to her.

"Taylor? What's wrong?"

She snapped out of it, her mask turned to face me. Shook her head, then pointed her hand down.

"N-nothing. I'm setting up swarm clones for distraction, needed to bring in more insects from the surrounding area," she explained, though it felt somewhat forced, 'give up a sliver of truth to conceal an omission'-style, "For some reason, my range is greater than normal, it's taking effort to concentrate."

"Alright, holler if you need anything," I left the issue slide for now (not that I had much goodwill with her thus far), returning my attention to Hannah.

Finist allowed me to keep track of the way the fight was going while I set her down, resting her back against an air circulation device-type thing. Ursa Aurora, the Protectorate cape whose name eluded me at first, was standing on top of a smaller office building further down the street, her projections co-operating with Crusader's to harass Leviathan enough so that he wasn't paying sufficient attention to the movements of my team, or the arrival of backup. Hookwolf ran/sliced/hooked his way up the building I was standing on before throwing himself off onto the Endbringer, hooks and blades slicing into his ribcage, finding purchase on the hole I blasted in him earlier. Shadow Stalker and Flechette were sending bolts at him with varying efficiency, it seemed Sophia's phasing didn't cut it for Endbringer hide penetration, but she at least would serve as a decoy for Flechette if Leviathan decided to retaliate against shooters like he did with Miss Militia and Bastion before.

The Protectorate heroine herself was still delirious, though I couldn't tell whether it was the damage to her arm, her legs, the impact with the warehouse or some other damage I was unaware of. I tore the Ka-Bar off her belt, waved the knife in front of her.

"Hannah, please give me something to shoot Leviathan with," I whispered to her frantically, keeping one eye on the semi-stalemate below, "I'm out of juice for my own weapon, I need you to help me!"

Flechette's bolts were having a much more pronounced effect, when one struck the Endbringer in the knee of his bad leg, it buckled, making him drop onto it. That only seemed to enrage him further, as he reached for Hookwolf with one of his claws and tore him off himself, leaving hooks and other bits raining onto the watery street, then casually threw him in Flechette's general direction, taking a chunk out of her vantage point. I couldn't see what happened to her, and the armband stayed silent - both her and the Nazi's armbands were fried from that EMP blast earlier. I hoped to hell and back that that would be the end of the counterpart of the man who killed my Aegis, because I didn't save this Aegis for nothing.

As the damage seemed to egg the giant on, the whole scene reeked of how those old arcade games I barely remembered playing with Emma at the mall operated: beat the boss enemy up bad enough, and it would start flashing red, move faster, fight harder. Except this was the fourth or fifth time Leviathan escalated and with the way he way becoming harder and harder to hurt, it was impossible to tell whether the end was in sight or even attainable. With the Endbringers, the win condition was not their defeat, but the survival of the most people possible. And that made our current task not letting him get anywhere near the nearest shelters at BX-8 or CA-10.

"Rose?"

Hannah's were open, properly open. The knife in my hand glowed green, shifting form again.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, ma'am," I threw her a mock salute, "Stay down, just give me something to shoot with."

She nodded, leaning back against the metal of the air rotation implement, while the green glow reformed into a nasty-looking long-barrelled rifle. Mentally crossing myself, I stepped up to the edge of the roof and set the gun down on its tripod, snapping open my visor so I could use the sights properly.

Crusader down, BX-8.

While I was distracted, three giant stuffed toys joined the fray, telling me Vista has brought Parian back. The multi-colored octopus, goat and tiger were set against the Endbringer, as he swatted through black people-shaped masses produced by Skitter, ineffectually swung its tail at the ghost bears and still ignored Shadow Stalker's shots. More capes were arriving as I could see Eidolon flying in from the direction of the coast, Laserdream's signature lasers drilling into Leviathan's back, Browbeat swinging the Halberd in wide arcs trying to slice into Leviathan's tail, and then it somehow went sour again.

As I fired my first shot, watching with satisfaction as the high-caliber monster of a bullet impacted the side of Leviathan's head and trying to ignore the jolt of pain my sprained shoulder gave me from absorbing the recoil, he turned to face me again, his two remaining eyes expressionless but still intimidating. With a swipe of his claw, he sent the stuffed tiger flying across the street, bowling several people over in short order. The other stuffed toys collapsed bonelessly right after that.

Vista down, BX-8.

Another swipe brought Laserdream's risky maneuver behind his back to a painful halt as she crashed through the building I last saw Sophia on, apparently breaking the proverbial straw as it began to slowly, slowly angle sideways in the direction of the fight, risking a collapse on top of the melee. The motion of the Endbringer's claws snapped off a section of the now-collapsing building, sending them flying every which way. A swing of his tail knocked Browbeat off his feet, and a kick with the monster's good leg sent him careening away, Halberd in tow.

Laserdream down, BX-8. Ursa Aurora down, BX-8.

"Wave incoming!" I yelled into the armband as Finist's camera showed me an approaching mass of water, larger than anything that came before. At the same time, the ground beneath Leviathan seemed to begin sinking, the hole immediately filling up with water. The impression that left in me felt as if I was watching a Bond villain departing from his self-destructing lair. I was aiming my rifle at one of his remaining eyes, still boring into me, before I even considered my next move.

"No, Mister Bond, I expect you to die."

It took me a moment to realize it was Skitter who said that as I squeezed the trigger, another nervous shock jolting my shoulder as the rifle barked and the asymmetrical lone eye popped, spewing the contents of its orb into the watery mess surrounding Leviathan.

As the wave crashed into our building and I felt it, too, starting to collapse, the armbands announced the maligned "Heavy casualties, please wait."

I scrambled to grab Hannah, throwing the rifle away (the green blob quickly snapped to her hip holster, forming a handgun) as my drone's eye view showed me Eidolon and Myrrdin doing something to the water surrounding Leviathan, both standing on a chunk of tiled roof held aloft by Rune's power. The water seemed to turn to morasses, flowing slower, slower, as the Endbringer struggled to get free, caught in the sticky stuff from the waist down.

I stopped paying attention to the feed as Skitter and I made a run towards the next building over, which we were passing as our own continued to fold in on itself. I managed to get Hannah onto a jutting ledge beneath a row of large windows but failed to find purchase with my own rain-slick fingers. The last I saw of her was another green blur as she broke through a window and fell inside the building.

We were collapsing away from the street with the fight, the next building over in that direction was a few stories shorter, and the impact into it sent us sliding down and off and rolling onto the tarmac of the roof as the one we just left behind continued to collapse.

The losses are as follows: Myrrdin, Scalder, Cloister, Strider, Frenetic, Penitent, The Erudite…

"What the fuck?" Skitter exclaimed, "We just saw Myrrdin, didn't we?"

"Must have gone down while the system was doing its headcount," I shrugged, snapping my visor closed again, "Let's get off this roof, can you still feel Leviathan?"

"Yeah, he's still stuck in that goop Eidolon made, but he's worming his way out, using water to dissolve it, I think."

Thankfully, this building had an external fire escape, which we made use of, politely ignoring the fact that at some point we entered into the casual bantering stage. The alley below bore an interesting surprise for us: a gaggle of dogs surrounding a very irate Hellhound, all of them distinctly unhappy to be this wet or, more likely, to be here at all.

The dogs were warily sniffing at what looked like a brown sack of-- oh shit, that's James! And he's still got the Halberd!

"Careful with the Halberd!" I called out, "It cuts literally anything that touches that fog!"

"Rachel!" Taylor called out, obviously happy to see her friend.

"The hell you doing with a Ward?" the other girl asked gruffly, throwing me a dirty look. "Talk and walk," she added, leading us and the dogs away from Leviathan, in the general direction of the shelter at CA-10, I realized.

"She saved my life twice today," Taylor countered, "That's worth a bit of trust, Truce or not."

We made our way towards the washed-up Browbeat, careful to step over whatever debris was hidden beneath the somewhat still waters of the alley. For the second time today I was pulling the Halberd from someone's resisting fingers, but at least this time they were still attached to their owner. I handed the Halberd to Taylor, then proceeded to secure Browbeat like we're done with the others before, in a recessed space of the building's wall, hoping it would protect him. It wasn't in me anymore to carry someone his weight while treading water, not unless I wanted us both to die when Leviathan cornered us again. I was beginning to suspect he was more or less aiming at points of interest to me or Taylor, or outright targeting us for some reason. Does he know?

"We're heading towards the shelter," I spoke to no-one in particular, "Join the defences there, maybe?"

"My-- my dad is probably there," Taylor offered, voicing my hidden worry.

Rachel's noncommittal grunt was interrupted by a loud crashing noise and Taylor's gasp which needed no comment: with his plan to escape underground via the storm drains or sewers foiled by the morass, Leviathan took the overland route towards the shelter. Through us.

His leap over one of the buildings wasn't that clear, the accumulated damage to his bad leg threw him off his strides, and it rained brickwork on us from the one he clipped, knocking out one of Rachel's dogs as Leviathan himself tumbled into the middle of the street-turned-creek, throwing me aside (and likely giving me a dent in the helmet), whereupon Taylor did something terrible.

While I was trying to get back up, she charged. I could see her forming humanoid-shaped swarms of insects around her, as she more or less dragged the heavy Halberd after her across the scant few yards separating us from Leviathan. Like Armsmaster before her, she dodged the incoming claws -- flying insects on his claws and tail, I'd wager -- all the while swinging the Halberd around in a semblance of an attacking swing.

"Help... Her?" I croaked at Hellhound, whose dumbstruck reaction at Taylor's sudden spike of suicidal overconfidence seemed to have been identical to mine. Silly other me, I can do that because I'm a Brute! You're squishy!

Rachel Lindt, whose counterpart I lured away from the Undersiders with promise of exoneration and safe haven, who didn't know me from Eve, but clearly cared for her teammate, my counterpart, nodded resolutely, and took her hands off the dogs nearest to her, who have already grown while I was reeling. Then she said one word.

"Kill!"

I looked back at Taylor, who dodged another swipe, managing to counter it with one of her own, then cowered in surprise as sliced bits of Leviathan's claws splashed into the water around her. She rolled under a tail swing, the Halberd producing an odd mist when its cutting cloud touched the water briefly, then swung back again, cutting some more of the already-damaged claws.

I struggled back to my feet, finally managing to reach my armband with my other arm.

"Leviathan at CA-9, engaged in melee with Skitter and Hellhound, need immediate backup, he's heading for the shelter at CA-10!"

Chevalier replied, "Shit. Our best teleporter's dead, but we'll do what we can. We'll get to you as soon as we shore up the shelter's defences."

I swore wordlessly. We're dying out here, and they--prioritize the civilians. Dad. Dad's probably there. We have to manage.

Taylor was stuck, the Halberd dug too deep into the Endbringer's wrist, and realizing that, she let go of the handle, turned to run back to me as Hellhound's dogs charged at the monster around her, jumping at him, biting, clawing, roaring. He ignored their attacks in favour of raising water from the street-sized river around him, sending a wave to knock them aside. I grabbed onto a fire escape rung to avoid being washed away again, watching helplessly as Taylor sailed past me, the wave crashing her into the building that we just descended from. As the water subsided, I dropped back into it, checking on Hellhound and her dogs - she had them all giant now, and they were attacking like a pack of wolves, one or two distracting, the others striking at it from behind or the sides.

I turned to look at Taylor-- Fuuuck! --She was trapped under a mess of brick and metal from the building's fire escape collapsing on top of her, and I didn't need to have Panacea's lifesight to realize her legs were probably mincemeat by now. Please be at the hospital and alive and well, Amy, because only you can unfuck this for me.

"Shit, h-hold on!" I stammered out, rushing to her side, watching her whimper from the pain, as I started pulling the bricks off of her. I didn't glance behind me, redirecting Finist instead, just in time to see Leviathan lose a chunk of meat to an engorged bulldog. The dogs charged it again and again, ripping, shredding, but not really doing any damage beyond the surface that I could see.

I shifted enough bricks to uncover the problem: a section of the fire escape crushed Taylor's hip and shin bones, probably shattering everything below the pelvis. How she could stay awake through the unimaginable pain, I could not understand, because she wasn't making that much noise any-- Shit, she's in shock, I have to get her out of here! I kicked a section of the metal framework off the top of the segment that lay across Skitter, then crouched, took hold and pulled, and pushed, and swore and pulled again. Crabwalking in tiny steps, I managed to shift the metal girders enough to drop them just beyond where she lay, unmoving, blood seeping out through her costume. I started stringing zipties together to create makeshift tourniquets for her thighs, to try and keep some blood inside of her.

"Come on, Taylor, stay with me, please!" I pleaded, as I looked back at Hellhound and Leviathan. Half her dogs were dead already, one torn in half, another missing its head, and she was half-growling, half-screaming commands now. The other dogs were starting to flag as well, until the Endbringer grabbed one to throw at her. She tried to jump aside, colliding with it in mid-air instead, jacket snagged on one of the bony protrusions, and they landed in a tangle of meat and exposed broken bone right in front of us.

Her face was twisted in rage and pain, gurgling noises escaping her mouth. Her neck was torn open, blood flowing freely. One arm was free, moving limply. I took her hand. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the fear in them. She was trying to say something, but I couldn't make any sense of it.

Then she... stopped. Her eyes went glassy, and the gurgling noise ceased. She died saving us, protecting Taylor, and villain or not, I could not hold back the tears at her death. Tears and...

This time I could not stop the impulse to retch, barely opening my visor in time, expelling all I had in me and then some, trying not to get any on Taylor, although by this point sepsis was likely the least of her concerns, as it looked like she finally passed out. I was torn away from my grief by a loud thud - when I looked away, Scion was there, hammering Leviathan into the ground. I felt enraged, I felt helpless, I felt agony, I felt pure loathing and gratitude and shame and hatred and panic. I was a gnat in the presence of gods fighting. Collateral damage negligible in the grand scheme of things. But why couldn't you golden fucker come a minute sooner, before my other me's friend had to die to save her life? Before all these people, good and bad, had to die? Before Taylor got crippled for trying to do the right thing?

I heard a whoosh behind me, turned around, startled. An unfamiliar cape stood there, the teleporter, I guessed. He looked at us, shuddered, glanced at his armband.

"You okay?" he called out, glancing uneasily at the scene unfolding next to us as Scion tanked a localized wave from Leviathan.

"Her legs are messed up, I'm intact," I said wearily, "Hellhound's dead. Browbeat's out cold over in that alley. Fight's over, I guess. Scion's here."

He kneeled, touched one hand to Taylor's shoulder, another to mine. There was a rush of cool air, and we were in the midst of chaos. Nurses, doctors, moving all around us. We both stood up, and he left while I corralled nurses to help me get Taylor on a stretcher. There were shouts, countless electronic beeps, screams of pain, some of them hers.

"Her legs are shattered," I told no-one in particular, aiming at the flow of nurses around us.

She was moved to a bed, monitoring equipment hooked up - curious how the spidermesh didn't get in the way of heart rate monitors - an IV drip was prepared but not put in use, not with a nigh-bulletproof suit on her. I finagled a catheter needle between the fibers for a nurse who somehow managed to manipulate it into a vein (I hoped) blind through the fabric. That gave some much-needed painkillers into her system, as I could see the tension bleed out of her. Or was it the blood? I followed along as they wheeled her into a curtain cubicle, one of many, ten by ten feet at best.

"Your name?" someone asked.

I looked to the open side of the cubicle. It was an older woman in a nurse's uniform, pear shaped, gray haired. A man in a PRT uniform stood behind her, holding a gun on us.

"I'm Emissary, with the Wards. She's Skitter, of the Undersiders."

"Villain?"

I shook my head. "What?"

"Is she a villain?"

"Former villain, now independent," I stated calmly, "She was leaving the Undersiders when the Call came."

"Then she's still considered a villain, ma'am, and we need to cuff her," he answered, clearly bored. He stepped forward, and I blocked his way.

"Just mark her down as independent, then," I argued, trying to keep my voice level.

He rolled his eyes. "There is no independent label here," he ground out, clearly exasperated.

I sputtered a that. "Wha--" I threw my hands up, "We've been fighting these things since before I was born! How do we not have a tag for independent capes?!"

He leaned in and began to whisper.

"Officially, any independent who isn't a villain is a hero. Unofficially..." he shrugged apologetically, "It's been stuck in committee for years."

I slapped y helet's faceplate. Of course. I made a note to look at his nametag - Davidson - hoping my helmet cam was still rolling. Better safe than sorry.

"Powers?" he asked, clearly glad to be able to return to the script.

"Hers? Master 5, insects. Not humans, no other powers."

"Yours?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm a Ward, you prick!" I protested, before remembering that my most distinctive feature - my paint job - was gone. I held up an arm, pulled out my uniform ID tag for him to scan with his device.

"Sorry ma'am, but I still have to cuff her," he replied, nodding at Taylor. She shifted, moaning in pain. I sighed, biting back the argument about the futility of cuffing a Master, and helped him do it, as gently as possible, before needling the nurse into leaving me alone with her and a pack of whatever haemostatic they could spare. I couldn't get her out of the suit, but I could try and stop her from bleeding out by saturating the fabric with the stuff. If it ruined the suit, she'd at least have legs to stand on when she would be making a new one.

When I was done, I sauntered out, giving a contemptuous stare to the red tag they hung from her curtain. The inflow of patients slowed down while I was inside, and most of the traffic around me was limited to wrung-out nurses, tired-looking PRT troopers and the occasional haggard cape.

You didn't win an Endbringer fight, you survived it. Because sure as fuck nothing about this felt like a victory.

------​

I was deposited in a similar cubicle, despite my protestations that I was a regenerator and didn't need a healer. They didn't let me stay with Skitter either. All it got me was reproachful looks and the occasional tut-tut of older women complaining about the callous youth. At least I got to keep my (relative) freedom, a blue tag and the visit of Carlsson - still alive, still moving, although the large bloodied bandage across his left eye didn't exactly leave me filled with optimism. He promised to check in with me later and left me alone again.

I spent my time waiting for the checkup fiddling with Finist. It was running low on energy after searching the city for me after the teleport, but now was touching down on the hospital roof, deploying its emergency 'I'm a Ward's Tinkertech, touchers will be prosecuted' flag. Just as I was done with it, I received my ticket out of here: Panacea walked through my curtain.

She wasn't simply worn out, she was frayed like a piece of cloth that spent a decade hanging in the wind on a seashore. Her robes were spattered with a rainbow of various colours, her body language screamed 'I'm in need of a smoke' and her face looked like she would never smile again. Shit, is my Amy looking like this right now? As soon as this blows over, I'm kicking Über and L33t until they agree to work for food.

"Do I have your permission to heal you?" she asked in a familiar monotone that made me want to scream.

"I'm sorry about your family," I replied instead, "I couldn't get to your uncle in time."

"You… you're Emissary, right? The new Ward?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah. I toughed out one of the waves, lost my paintjob as a result," I admitted sheepishly, opening my visor to offer her a Jessica Yamada #3, 'This is a safe space'.

"Don't blame yourself," she replied in a tone I did not fully believe, "I heard you saved Miss Militia. And Chubster. And that garbage-mouth Miss Priss too," she replied, still standing awkwardly at the entrance. I patted the space next to me, she sighed, closed the curtain after her and sat down.

"I'd offer you a smoke, but we're indoors," I said humorlessly, "So you'll have to make do with calming conversation."

She gave me a puzzled look.

"How did you-- oh, shit, this is like talking to Tattletale all over again, you're like her?" she sounded exasperated and pissed and tired and I wanted nothing more than to hug her and tell her it will get better, but I couldn't just yet.

"Except with no boobs, and on the other side of the law," I countered with an unnamed smile of my own, "If you need a little break, just stick around, I regenerate. I'll live."

"You realize that would keep me from healing other patients, right?" she fumed, hopping off the cot, "But still, thanks for the offer."

"Wait, I..." I began, moving after her, not knowing what to say, before remembering exactly how starved Amy and I were for physical contact when we first met back home. "Do... would you like a hug?"

She turned to face me, arms crossed under her chest, not amused. I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, it's not like we don't both need one," I gestured at the curtains, "It's been kind of a shitty day."

She continued her glare of disapproval, but I knew Amy's body language well enough to know that her desire to be a hero was warring with her desire for hugs. Seriously, Amy back home really liked hugs. She was pretty good at giving them, too, and had the advantage of-- not now.

Finally, she seemed to slump and opened her arms, allowing me to step forward and wrap my arms around her midsection. I squeezed slightly, and mentally smirked at the tiny, nearly inaudible squeak that ensued, as well as the slight stiffening that preceded her attempt at an embrace. Carefully, I lowered my head to hers and bumped my cheek against her own.

It was then that I knew I screwed up.

Or rather, it was the feeling of Amy stiffening in my arms, followed by every muscle in my body seizing like it was hit by an electrical currant that I knew I screwed up. My arms moved back against my will, muscles contracting on their own, and she backed away from me, fists balled, face snarling.

"What the hell are you!" she growled, then shook her head, "Or who the hell are you!" She stepped closer, hand raised threateningly, "Answer me right now, and you might walk out of here!"

I stared at her, mentally making peace with God. I said nothing. Her eyes were burning with anger and fear.

I grunted instead of replying. She slapped her forehead, then poked me in the chin.

"Now that I've unfrozen your jaw, same questions."

I gave her a creaky smile, one of Dad's, it had no number yet.

"Like I said, long day, huh?"

"You don't get to be flippant," she barked, "How did you get out? Where did your powers go, and why are you built like a truck... Skitter?"

I grimaced as much as my face would allow.

"I see you've met her, then."

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't report who you really are. You get one chance, spy."

Spy? Oh come on, how did she-- wait. She thought I was Skitter. She thought I was Skitter posing as the new Ward. Shit shit shit.

"Listen," I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible, "Please put your hand on my face. I want to tell you, and I know you can use your powers as a lie detector."

She quirked an eyebrow at me.

"And you know that how?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'll tell you once you're sure I'm telling the truth, or you'll think that's a lie too."

She looked at me. Very, very closely.

Then she cupped one of my cheeks. Her hand was pleasantly warm after being soaking wet in the cold rain all day...

"All right," she commanded, snapping me out of my thoughts, "talk."

I took a deep breath.

"I'm a version of Skitter without powers from a parallel universe. I got sent here via accident because Über and L33t are vast, gaping anuses." I scrunched my forehead in confusion, "Anuses? Anii? Hey, you work with doctors, do you know the--"

Amy, who had looked confused for a moment, was back to distinctly unimpressed. I cleared my throat.

"Doesn't matter. I got here, found out my other self was a villain, decided to fix that. Wanted to help all the friends I had back home." I smiled at her. "You were one of them... over there. I tried to contact you but I just got the New Wave 'Thanks for saying hi' message.'"

Amy stared at me, expressionless. We stayed motionless for a long time, before all my muscles relaxed and I crumpled to the floor, free from whatever she froze me with. I tried to rub feeling back into my legs, but my arms felt like they were made of rubber.

"You're either telling the truth," she stated, "In which case, you're crazy for doing what you did... or you're so crazy that you believe what you say...." she trailed off, looking at me suspiciously, "but I've heard of memory-altering Tinkertech, and Blasto..."

"I can prove it!" I blurted before she could finish that thought. "We were friends there and you told me two things you've never told anyone else."

She crouched down, her face close to mine. "Go on," she stated, deadly serious.

I took a breath.

"Your orientation and brains. Not saying anything else."

Amy leaned back and fell on her behind, losing her balance. I winced as I climbed to my feet.

"Believe me now?" I asked as I offered her a hand. She hesitated for a moment before taking it.

"Not a chance," she replied, and mentally I groaned. "Tattletale could have figured it out and told it to you."

"So where--" I was interrupted by the sounds of yelling and a struggle. This time my groan was audible when I heard one of the voices.

"Quick question," I asked a curious Amy, "You healed Skitter, right?"

She looked offended. "Of course I did!"

"Did you then do that passive-aggressive snarking thing at her?"

She withdrew into herself slightly as she replied "Maybe, so what?"

I snapped my faceplate back into position.

"I'm guessing she tried to escape. C'mon, let's go make sure she's not doing something really stupid."

With that I grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the cubicle.

 

[Noelemahc]

Interlude 02.P​

They were starting to blur together. Masks, faces, names, damages. Ruptured spleen, broken ribs, missing lung, fourth-degree burns (Friendly fire? Collateral damage? Leviathan doesn't use flames, does he?), crushed joint, partial decapita-- what?!

I was ferried from one curtained-off area to another, resigned to trusting the triage nurses to filter the dying from the merely hurt and for the fifth time today to stop putting regenerators on the damn list, because my power often hindered the way some of theirs worked. Hoping for the capes I visited to recognize me, or at least respect the Endbringer Truce enough to be cooperative or at least not too ornery while I was trying to heal them. Longing for a chance to get the fuck out of here and breathe some air that wasn't antiseptic and shit and pus and blood and tears and sweat and for fuck's sake just let me have a smoke already!

I didn't say that out loud of course. What I said was "Do I have your permission to heal you?"

"Yes, you do," was Miss Militia's quiet answer. I wasn't certain if I wanted to know whose bright idea it was to plug the holes in her legs with containment foam, and whether they knew of the damage it did to the wounds when the triage nurses decided they had to cut it off because they didn't think to ask for the solvent. Oh, wait, that would make it the nurses' fault, right? I rescind that demand, I need some coffee. And sleep. And some arsenic to go, please.

"You're not the first cape I see with wounds sealed with containment foam," I began to distract myself from cataloguing her damage out loud - the lacerations on her left leg were the worst of these, but easily dealt with, and the mess that was her arm needed more urgent care. "Do you know who I have to slap in the face for how unsanitary that is, then maybe hug for not having to deal with gangrene and necrosis?"

Mentioning the necrosis may have been a bit overboard, Amy, dear.

"Emissary," Militia breathed out, exasperation mixed with relief, "I swear, the skillset of that girl makes me suspect she may have been a Marine in a previous life."

"The new Ward?" I fished, keeping her talking. She seemed to want to ramble, I ascribed that to the concussion, no, plural, concussions, she's had a pretty shitty day thus far, and distracting her from it would help a lot, because I wasn't going anywhere near her brain. "No scars, right?"

It was a simple gentlewoman's agreement I had with Protectorate and Ward capes (except that asshole Shadow Stalker, but she seemed to revel in that stuff), where, situation permitting, I would go a little farther to keep their caping scars from lingering, to help protect their identities. No such offers for villains, what few of them I had to heal. In fact, I think I healed more villains in the past hour that I ever had in all my career, and I was thankful as all fuck I wasn't the one who had to tell Kaiser that he likely wouldn't ever be having any children of his own.

"No scars. Thank you," she confirmed, her eyes drooping a bit, "Yeah, she's the newest Ward. This was her fourth day on the job. She said she's had prior training -- PRT intern, you know? But…"

She trailed off. With her pain gone, her body decided it was time to put out the light, and I didn't feel like objecting. The faster I was done with this, the faster I could get some sleep of my own.

Stepping out of Miss Militia's enclosure, I turned to the nurse that was babysitting me for the past hour or so. She was fairly young, mildly attractive, and utterly bow-legged. Not that it had any impact on her nursing, but the longing looks she was giving me clearly indicated she wasn't about to declare her undying love for me, that's for sure.

"Who's next?" I asked, rubbing my eyes to get the sand out. When I was younger, I always joked that if Ole Lukøje, the Danish version of Mister Sandman, would ever come for me, his colourful umbrella would be an LSD dreamscape because of my powers. Vicky would then call me a nerd for obsessing over weirdo Euro fairytales and I'd throw my pillow at her. Right now, I would settle for the black umbrella of dreamless sleep, and Vicky…

Vicky was still crying her eyes out over Dean's body, probably made worse by the state he was in. I almost felt sorry for his family, a closed-casket burial would… no, I am full of shit, even if I hated him, no family deserves to lose their child. And he's only one of many here. Hell, our own family lost two of its members today, and while Eric and Crystal were still out of it and didn't know their parents were both gone, the rest of us were already dreading what the death of the Pelhams meant for the future of New Wave as a team or as a symbol. Or for Carol's mental health.

Instead of replying, the nurse simply led me along the row after row of curtains, some stained, some clean, many muffling sobs or whimpers of pain. We stopped in front of a red-tag room, and I steeled myself mentally for another argument about boundaries like with that clothes-vaporizing asshole who thought she was entitled to an ass-kissing just for showing up, then getting her hip broken at the very beginning like some old lady. I've healed old ladies that walked with hip bones in worse states than hers!

Tamping down my anger at her, I swung the curtain open, only to freeze in confusion. In front of me lay Skitter, the bug bitch that held a knife to my throat at the bank while her asshole teammate blackmailed Vicky with my secrets about-- I sighed, this is not the time for this shit, there are other people, better people, waiting on me to heal them. The faster I get this over with, the better.

"You're so creepy, you know that?" I said, stepping inside and closing the curtain behind the PRT man accompanying me. She had cockroaches dancing in circles and other geometric patterns on her chest, apparently to keep herself distracted from the fact that her legs were the wrong shape. That is, they had no shape at all, the legs of her costume were like two elongated sacks of potatoes. To top it off, they and the formerly white sheet beneath her were covered liberally in dried blood, hers presumably, and a purple powder that I suspected was the result of someone trying to stop the bleeding without having to remove her full-body costume.

"I've heard worse," she replied, sounding as tired as I was, turning her head to face me as the cockroaches scattered off of her. It looked like she was hopped up on painkillers, but not far enough to completely numb the pain, as even that little amount of motion seemed to cause her discomfort.

"I'm sure you have," I frowned. I tried to figure out where I was supposed to find a seam in this thing of hers, to get it over with and get out of here. No intention to stay anywhere near my would-be killer, nosiree. I spoke, sighing the words, "I need your permission to touch you."

"What?"

"Liability reasons. The cape that brought you in said your legs are 'shattered', there could be a thousand and one complications from that. You could refuse to let me touch you, but that would mean having to go through the hospital, with X-Rays, splints, reconstructive surgery or whatever you have in there, which would cost the government a pretty penny and take years," I waved vaguely at her lower half, "You'll still likely never walk again without healer involvement, and who's to say you'll even live until the next one goes on shift?"

"Um."

"Just agree, so I can move on to other patients." More deserving than you.

"What was it you said during the bank robbery? You'd make me horribly obese? Make everything I eat taste like bile? What's to stop you from doing something like that here?" she asked, and I seriously pondered my options. I did not particularly enjoy the answer I got back.

"Nothing, really. You could sue, but good luck proving I was the cause beyond a reasonable doubt. And, let's not forget, Carol, my adoptive mother, is a pretty kickass lawyer. Whatever you did by trying to sue me probably wouldn't cripple me as much as what my power did to you."

"That sounds suspiciously like admitting to a Truce violation," she said, turning to the PRT man. He huffed dismissively at her. I turned to glance at him, then back again. "Am I under arrest? Is this what all villains get for helping out?" she asked, jingling the handcuffs she was chained to the bed with.

I frowned, cuffing both her hands seemed a tad excessive for someone whose legs were literally useless meatsacks and a bit meaningless for a cape that could kill you with a wasp sting from who knows how far away.

"Be thankful you get anything at all," the man spoke quietly, clearly taking care not to be heard from the outside. "One of you assholes vaporized my aunt this Tuesday."

"My team fought to stop Purity!" she protested, rather loudly, "Besides, she only did it because you idiots abducted her children and forgot to tell anyone it was you!"

"Shush!" I silenced them both, mulling her words over. Was she lying? What would she stand to gain? Cape politics were not my purview anyway. "We're getting off track here. I'll be frank, Skitter. The more horrible a human being you are, the more you'll agonize over what I might have done to you, with a time delay of minutes, hours, days, years," I paused, my face an unkind mask, "Yet if you're a decent person, you'll be more inclined to think better of me."

"Are you?" she asked suddenly, grunting a bit with the pain of jerking her head up as she did so.

"What?"

"Are you a decent person, Amy?" she repeated. The nerve of that bitch!

"Does it matter?" I sneered, "I will abide by the Truce. You pitched in, you get healing for the damage done to you, your secret identity preserved. What more do you want?"

"I… use your power, please."

Fucking finally. Like pulling teeth, every one of them.

I nodded to the guard, who stepped out. He was not a cape, and the whole preserving secret identities part was sketchy enough as it is. Now for the thousand-dollar question: how do I reach her skin?

"I'm going to have to move some of your mask aside, to touch your skin," I explained as I leaned down towards her face.

"Permission granted," she replied, a lot less hesitantly, "Though I've been wondering since the bank robbery – why didn't you reach up and touch my scalp?"

"No comment." Sneaky bitch, still trying to get a grip on my powers?

I fumbled around with the edge of her mask, the faux mandibles, but however I moved them, all I found was more of the strange silk-like material her suit was made of.

"Lower," she offered, "The mask and body part of the costume overlap just above the collarbone."

I finally found the edge, which was about as fun as finding one on a roll of misused sticky tape -- thanks a lot, Vicky! -- then pulled the layers apart, reaching out to touch her neck. I stifled a gasp, the fact that she was still lucid was astounding considering the only intact bones below her pelvis were in her toes, and even then, not all of them made it through unscathed. I numbed her pain receptors, didn't need her blacking out from what I was about to do, then started listing off the butcher's bill.

"You have a brain injury that's not fully healed," I noted. It seemed to be part of why she was still awake, her pain receptors were already messed up.

"Bakuda's fault." Right, the villains teamed up to fight the ABB while the Protectorate defused the bombs…

"Hm. Outside the scope of my abilities."

My reply was curt, matter-of-fact. Her reply was almost dismissive, to her core, she didn't even show a proper chemical response to the disappointment I expected, although there was some weird neurological activity going into her-- huh. So apparently, she was deserving of a Thinker rating, considering some of her thought processes and, apparently, emotional response, were routed through her powers now. I needed more data.

"Okay," her voice was stronger, more assured of herself. I wrote it down to the pain relief.

"Microfracture in your shoulder, nerve damage to your left hand, reduced fine dexterity," I continued, watching her reactions on a neurological and chemical level. Who said I can't look if I can't touch?

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

She sounded genuinely honest, and it bled into the appropriate internal responses - if she was unmasked, I'd be seeing surprise on her face right now.

"It's there," I confirmed, "I'm not going to bother with that, either."

"Wasn't expecting you to," she replied, feeling like she was trying to be snide, but the emotion fell out of the words somewhere along the way.

"Broken femur, shattered femur, both tibias… It's easier to list what's still intact," I scrunched my nose, didn't they say a building fell on her? "Whoever drowned you in haemostatic powder did an okay job, but you've still lost a lot of blood. This will take a few minutes and you will have to increase your food intake for a couple of days if you don't want those wonderful leg muscles to degrade."

Yes, that may have been petty, but I felt justified, and a little envious. Criminal or not, she was in better shape than me, and I've been a cape for three years, while she had less than three months.

"Ow, ow-ow-owww," she howled as the pieces of bone inside of her minced meat began to re-orient themselves. I had to admit, making her suffer a bit did lift my spirits somewhat.

"I've got to rebuild your legs like a 3D puzzle with missing pieces, and I can't dope you up with endorphins because Armsmaster, Battery and Legend will be coming to talk to you in a bit, and I've been told you need your head one hundred percent clear for that," I explained patiently, not ceasing the task for even a moment, then added, not without deriving some pleasure from it, "So some of this is going to hurt."

"Wait, what?" she seemed to flinch, at least as far as my power was concerned, "Why do I need my head clear to talk to them? Why are they talking to me?"

"Mmm. I can feel your emotions in your body, hormones and altered chemical balances. You're scared," I teased her, well aware of the whole Emperor Palpatine tone I accidentally achieved, which was likely only compounded in effect by the robes I was wearing.

"Damn right, I'm scared-- ouch! Fuck, that stung," she hissed, and her limbic system tried to jerk her leg in response, but I wouldn't allow it, I didn't need those pieces already in place to be jolted, "My last two encounters with Armsmaster ended in me stinging his face with wasps," I winced, and she howled with pain again, "Shit, and the second was him looking down on me while I was saving Kid Win. Guy hates my guts."

"You know, this is going to happen any time my concentration slips," I chided her, trying to locate a piece of bone that was apparently now outside of her skin, "Best to stay quiet. And for what it's worth, I have no idea why they want to see you, or why these three."

"Why tell me at all then?" she fumed, likely meaning both Armsmaster and the distractions, before hissing in pain again, "Do you enjoy watching me suffer?"

Did I? Yes. Did she deserve it for what she and her friends did to me and Vicky? Probably.

"I am healing you, aren't I?" I retorted, sounding like a prissy teen, and hated myself immediately for it. "There, your left leg is whole again. Try it."

She stiffened, obviously bracing for the pain, then hesitantly moved the foot up and down a bit, bent the knee, straightened the leg again.

"Thank you," she exhaled, but then unrelaxed again, alarm in her voice, "And the other one?"

"Working on it," I replied tersely, "What's with the microfractures in your arms? They're healed over, not something that happened recently, I think. You don't look like a boxer or a motorcycle crash survivor."

She stiffened again, swallowed nervously. Hah, did I strike a nerve?

"Likely the souvenirs from my Trigger event," she replied, a little heated, "Instead of a simple Brute power to break out of the box I was locked in, I got a Master power over the insects that were gnawing on me."

My blood chilled at these words. Was that actually her Trigger event? Was she screwing with me? How would I know the difference? She felt honest to my power, but if she could route her thoughts through her power... She was still not done speaking, however.

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you got a different power, or none at all?" she asked, making me feel a bit queasy, "One that didn't shape your life the way yours did?"

Was she still speaking about herself or about me? Insect control is a creepy power… but what would I have done in her stead if I was saddled with it? Be the sideshow attraction? The Marvelous Glory Girl and her creepy sister, the Skeevy Bug Girl!

I was suddenly aware that I had long since reconstructed her other leg and even fixed her arm and shoulder - the one I promised not to touch - because I got carried away. I withdrew my hand, took a step back.

"Even if I did, there's no changing it now," I remarked, trying to keep my voice level, "I think we're done here."

"Wait, I have a question," she called out just as I was about to turn away to open the curtain. "Tattletale. Did you heal her?"

I quirked my eyebrow at her. She was worried about her asshole teammate?

"No," I shook my head, "I can tell you I didn't."

"You didn't… Because she didn't need your help, or because she was already dead?"

Why does she-- oh, right. Hellhound. Shit. Does she even know about her?

"Not so fun, is it, the uncertainty?" I asked, stepping back towards her, leaning closer to her creepy fucking mask, "Let me tell you, this isn't a hundredth of the mind-fuckery that your teammate was pulling on me, back then at the bank."

"That wasn't-" she tried to protest but then stopped, the senselessness of it probably making it through that thick skull of hers (literally, it was very impressive, from a biological standpoint). "I'm sorry," she finally said, her voice small.

"Maybe you are," I said, shrugging dismissively, still not committed to feeling sorry for her, "I doubt it. I'm sorry to leave you wondering what happened to your teammate, what the big name capes are going to say to you, but I do have others to help."

I turned on my heels to leave, and she called out again, this time as I opened the curtain.

"Hey!" she raised her voice again, "Come back here!"

I turned my head to give her a chastising look as I walked away, "Good luck with Armsmaster."

As the PRT man closed the curtain, I could still hear the rattle of her handcuffs against the bars and the muffled cursing. As we departed, I noticed that a different PRT trooper - this one a red-haired woman in full combat gear, accompanied by a nurse I hadn't seen yet - has approached Skitter's curtain and opened it just as we turned a corner.

The nurse led me to the next one on the list, one of the Canadian capes that showed up to assist us. Her chest was partially caved in and she only survived due to some creative Tinkering of the one who recovered her, but now that contraption he built to work around her lungs was no longer necessary, so my aid was required to even begin administering aid to her. I enjoyed patients that couldn't talk, I would ask questions, they would nod, I would heal them and leave. This one took only a few minutes compared to the teeth-pulling experience I'd just had with Skitter. She was still thanking me when I left her enclosure.

The next name on the list was circled in blue for some reason. The tag on their curtain was also blue, and it was wide open, presumably to admit more light and reveal the fact that I've been played by the nursing staff into a fake break: a cape that didn't really need healing. Both the nurse and the guard made themselves scarce shortly after that.

Probably a regenerator too. Gods damn it, just let me out to have a smoke already! It would do more good than this… this… fake charity!

"Do I have your permission to heal you?" I asked in a practiced monotone revealing nothing of my internal rage.

"I'm sorry about your family," the cape replied instead, the voice sounded female? "I couldn't get to your uncle in time."

"You… you're Emissary, right? The new Ward?" I asked hesitantly, racking my brain for who else could fit the general shape and was featured in the reports about Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil.

"Yeah. I toughed out one of the waves, lost my paintjob as a result," she said sheepishly, drawing my attention to the ton of pockmarks on her mostly paint-free armor plating that looked like she was dragged up and down Main Street until she was scrubbed raw. She suddenly lifted up her visor to offer me a warm smile that didn't show teeth and reminded me of a PRT therapist I was once forced to talk to after a day of dealing with Bakuda's victims.

"Don't blame yourself," I replied in a similar kind tone neither of us probably could fully believe, "I heard you saved Miss Militia. And Chubster. And that garbage-mouth Miss Priss too," I listed off, frowning at the last name, all the while still standing awkwardly at the entrance. She patted the bed next to her, so I sighed, closed the curtain after me and sat down. I could have had worse company for this, I thought as I shifted my hood off. Even with her visor up, I couldn't see all of Emissary's face, I noted, with some sort of Tinkertech goggles covering her eyes. Up close, she looked less like a movie character and more like a girl my age, with pretty soft lips, a strong jaw and a nose that looked like it was once broken, then carefully re-set. She was, I mused, probably pretty, all put together, even if her long dark hair did kinda remind me of Skitter's.

"I'd offer you a smoke, but we're indoors," she said in a flat tone, surprising me with the offer, "So you'll have to make do with calming conversation."

I gave me a puzzled look. How did she know? Or was she a smoker herself and couldn't wait to get out of here too? I grudgingly admitted I'd maybe have to thank the nurse for this contact.

"How did you--" I began, then cut myself off with the realization, "Oh, shit, this is like talking to Tattletale all over again, you're like her?" I exclaimed, wincing as I did so at how rude that sounded. Tattletale was a turbobitch. This girl was a hero, four days on the job, and she contributed more than some Protectorate members did, despite being a Thinker 2.

"Except with no boobs, and on the other side of the law," she deflected with a wider smile that actually made me look down at her pockmarked armor, then look back up quickly, red in the face, all too aware I wouldn't have seen anything through it anyway, "If you need a little break, just stick around, I regenerate. I'll live." she added, refusing to comment on my faux pas.

"You realize that would keep me from healing other patients, right?" I fumed, cursing the nurse despite my earlier promise to thank her as I hopped off the bed, "But still, thanks for the offer."

"Wait, I…" she began, and I saw her take a step after me, hesitate, then slowly say, "Do... would you like a hug?"

I turned back to face her, arms crossed across my chest, decidely unamused by the offer from someone who was a complete-- Social Thinker, duh.

"Come on, it's not like we don't both need one," she gestured at the curtains, conveniently punctuated by a distant wail of pain, "It's been kind of a shitty day."

I warred with myself. She was not Tattletale, they didn't let just anyone into the Wards (Shadow Stalker is on probation, isn't she?), and I kinda felt like a hug would help. I would have preferred one from Vicky, but even to my sister, I still rated below a corpse. Shit, I am doing the ill-of-the-dead thing again.

Dejected, I opened my arms, allowing her to step forward and wrap her arms around me. I stiffened at the expectation of the unknown, but still let out an undignified tiny squeak when she squeezed my ribs. Damn, she's strong. And tall. And… now she's squishing her cheek against mine? Is this a come-on? Well, it is nice and warm and-- wait a minute.

My face twisted as I fought between what I had to do while maintaining skin contact and the urge to get as far away from her as possible.

Shut down muscle movement, contract necessary muscle groups to make her release me, make sure vital organs continue working, double check she won't fall over when released. Finally, I backed away from her, fists balled, face snarling.

"What the hell are you!" I growled, then shook my head, correcting myself, "Or who the hell are you!" I stepped back towards her, raising a hand as if to slap her (the thought of knocking her over like a store mannequin suddenly became very enticing) "Answer me right now, and you might walk out of here!"

The inside of her brain, the shape of her skull, the familiar shape of the extra-long tibias I just spent an agonizing amount of time reconstructing from little more than bone dust… this body, this person in front of me, was Skitter, or rather a carbon copy of Skitter made maybe a year or two ago, going by the absence of a lot of her accumulated damage, which then lived a vastly different lifestyle, including an intensive muscle-building regime which she started about a year ago. With impressive results. Whoever her nutritionist was, I wanted to pick their brain for tips. Keeping Vicky fit was an uphill battle in the best of times.

No wonder her hair reminded me of Skitter's, it is Skitter's! No, wait. The state of her bones, the Brute rating, of course! Correction: workout regime begun five or six months ago, enhanced by the minor regeneration and enhanced durability of her body. Interesting, same body, different Trigger? But… no, that's not it…

Then the realization hit me.

SHE HAS NO GEMMA.
She has no powers.
An unpowered person waded into an Endbringer battle and walked out on her own two feet.

She said nothing. Her eyes darted to and fro, clearly panicking over her frozen state. Finally, she grunted unintelligibly instead of replying. I slapped my forehead in frustration, then poked her chin.

"Now that I've unfrozen your jaw, same questions."

She gave me a lopsided smile, like a parent caught by their child in the act of having sex.

"Like I said, long day, huh?"

"You don't get to be flippant," I barked at her, still trying to process what my brief scan of her told me, "How did you get out? Where did your powers go, and why are you suddenly built like a truck... Skitter?"

She grimaced awkwardly, because not all of her face was unfrozen, then changed the tone, dropping all levity.

"I see you've met her, then."

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't report who you really are. You get one chance, spy."

Petty? Knee-jerk? Sure, but holy fuck, I was reeling, trying to wrap my brain around how the FUCK did a perfect copy of Skitter make it onto the Wards, or even EXIST, no, wait, she wasn't a perfect copy, just--

"Listen," she said, her voice eerily calm for someone in full-body paralysis, "Please put your hand on my face. I want to tell you, and I know you can use your powers as a lie detector."

I quirked an eyebrow at her. How dumb does she think I am?

"And you know that how?" I sneered, wondering if Tattletale could have been following me in my normal life. I mean, I did have a predictable routine, and...

"I'll tell you once you're sure I'm telling the truth, or you'll think that's a lie too."

I narrowed my eyes and looked at her. Very, very closely. She remained impassive, but how much of that was my doing and how much was her self-control? I had no way of knowing except for...

I reached out, cupped one of her cheeks. Not the one she touched mine with, just in case. It was cold, but not deathly so, just as cold as a tired soaking wet person would feel to someone who spent the day indoors, healing people left and right.

"All right," I tried to say in a commanding tone, channeling my best Carol, "Talk."

She took a deep breath.

"I'm a version of Skitter without powers from a parallel universe. I got sent here via accident because Über and L33t are vast, gaping anuses." she briefly made a confused face, "Anuses? Anii? Hey, you work with doctors, do you know the--"

I gave her a skeptical look. Claiming otherworldly origins was insane enough, but that anal aside? Granted, I wasn't a big fan of Über and/or L33t either, but still, not the best opener for a 'why I am a clone of a supervillain?' speech. She cleared her throat.

"Doesn't matter. I got here, found out my other self was a villain, decided to fix that. Wanted to help all the friends I had back home." she smiled awkwardly again. "You were one of them... over there. I tried to contact you but I just got the New Wave 'Thanks for saying hi' message.'"

I stared back at her, my face blank. Like earlier with Skitter (which one's the original though? Probably Skitter, this one has signs of parahuman tampering, maybe Blasto?..), I was watching the minute changes in her body and brain chemistry, and whatever other emotions she may have been feeling, she implicitly believed her words to be the truth, as far as I could tell.

We stayed motionless for a long time, before I made most of her muscles relax (wouldn't want a potty emergency!) and she crumpled to the floor, free from my hold over her. She started to rub her legs, probably because this much muscle seized up at once was a wonderful risk of permanent damage, but I did freshen her muscle tone before releasing her. I am not a monster.

"You're either telling the truth," I began warily, "In which case, you're crazy for doing what you did... or you're so crazy that you believe what you say...." I trailed off, still eyeing her for potential danger, "But I've heard of memory-altering Tinkertech, and Blasto..."

"I can prove it!" she blurted out, interrupting me. "We were friends there and you told me two things you've never told anyone else."

I crouched next to her, still floored, lowered my face close to hers. "Go on," I ordered, deadly serious.

She took a deep breath.

"Your orientation and brains. Not saying anything else."

She… knows? How much did I-- does she?

I suddenly found myself tipping backward, landing ungainly on my bottom and probably doing no friendly gestures to my coccyx. When the stars of pain cleared from my eyes, she was already standing above me, sympathy to my pain on her face.

"Believe me now?" she asked, offering me hand. I hesitated briefly, then took it. Not like this can get any worse if we're cooperative?

"Not a chance," I replied, stubbornly. There has to be a more rational explanation for this! "Tattletale could have figured it out and told it to you. You could have just read it off me with your pow-- oh," I stopped, remembering what my power saw and what she said herself. No powers. That meant the Brute aspect came from external influence. But the Undersiders didn't have a Trump or a Biotinker, did they?

"So where--" whatever she was saying got interrupted by the sounds of yelling and maybe a fight? One of the yells sounded like Armsmaster, I noted.

"Quick question," she asked me, snapping me from the vocal analysis, "You healed Skitter, right?"

I found it in myself to look offended. "Of course I did!"

"Did you then do that passive-aggressive snarking thing at her?"

I bowed my head, hugging myself, guessing what she would say next. "Maybe, so what?"

She closed her helmet.

"I'm guessing she tried to escape. C'mon, let's go make sure she's not doing something really stupid."

With that, she dragged me bodily after her down the rows of curtained-off rooms towards the source of the commotion. The situation came to a boil at a nurse's station not far from Skitter's cubicle: Armsmaster towered over her, pressing her head into the desk with his one good arm (I just gave him his fingers back an hour or so ago, a part of me was pleased to see they were working normally), as Battery and Legend stood over them, both looking reproachful. The red-headed trooper I saw visiting Skitter was here as well, her arms crossed, face indignant.

We approached just as Legend was wrapping up a speech of some sort, presumably chiding Skitter for doing something that merited this kind of treatment. Armsmaster was a curt person, but never one quick to anger, as far as I knew, and he looked pretty livid right now.

"...this is a serious issue, and we cannot abide any violations of the truce. Understand?"

When it became clear she wasn't going to respond, he added, "If the tables were turned, if it was you who had your identity uncovered, you would want us taking the same firm hand, giving you that same respect."

"You already know my fucking identity, you assholes!" she found in herself to growl, "Just as you probably know Shadow Stalker shoots to kill whenever she runs into the Undersiders!"

That certainly produced an effect, as Armsmaster released his death grip on her, and she pushed herself off the desk rubbing the back of her neck with one hand, the other an accusing pointer.

"So don't lecture me about fucking respect!" she finished, catching herself as she realized she just cussed out Legend. To his face. Surrounded by other heroes. The trooper took a tentative step forward to put a hand on her shoulder, but Skitter shrugged it away.

"Who said we knew your identity?" Battery asked carefully, still not noticing we were listening in. Skitter wheeled around and pointed straight at us, no, at Emissary. How did she-- insects, shit. Everyone forgets the arthropovoyance!

"She did! And Miss Militia confirmed it during the battle, when I was busy saving her life!" she shrieked, going full steam ahead now, "Not the best of times to lie, is it?"

As she stood there, huffing, trying to recover her breath after exploding like that, Legend turned to us as well.

"Panacea, I'm sorry you had to witness this," he spoke in that smooth voice of his, every word carefully measured, "Could you please leave before any confidential--"

"She stays, Legend. We need her for this," Emissary spoke, and it wasn't a voice that she used before, this one felt like it was cast from the same mold as his own, or Alexandria's, a voice that made you listen, a voice that made me seriously think whether I dismissed her having powers a bit prematurely.

"Hey there, Red," the trooper greeted her, stepping closer, circling the scene to avoid provoking Skitter further. I could just make out the name tag on her uniform: 'Martinez'. Huh, she probably married into it, she looked more like an O'Grady or at least a MacDougal. Emissary waved a greeting to Skitter, earning a dumbstruck look in response, then to the trooper, who grinned back.

"Emissary?" Legend asked warily, "What do you have anything to do with this?"

But while he was saying this, I couldn't help but notice that Armsmaster's bluster was gone, he was staying silent, leaning against the wall and trying not to draw attention to himself. This smelled a bit too fishy.

"Just the thing I was going to ask, Mister Legend, sir!" a cheerful voice called out.

I whirled around to direct the worst glare I could at the turbobitch, who crowded the nurse's station further with her presence. She smiled at me instead with that irritating grin of hers, then faltered under what I saw was Emissary's mirror-visored stare. Alongside Tattletale stood the two other surviving Undersiders, Grue, wreathed in his darkness, seemingly unscathed, arms folded across his chest, and Regent, dirty, bloodied, a long cut running from his neck to his shoulder, neatly stitched up. The turbobitch herself was standing on crutches, one leg bent back to avoid even accidentally standing on it. Skitter looked like she barely suppressed the urge to glomp her, probably because of the crutches, but the intent was clear even to me, and Tattletale grinned at her in response.

"Before we move anywhere, I have to warn you all my helmet cam is recording everything, and Armsmaster already has less political capital than Mount Rushmore," Emissary said, still in that steely voice, "And has been caught falsely accusing Skitter on record previously."

The Tinker in question gritted his teeth but stayed silent as Battery raised a questioning hand.

"I'm sorry, but aren't you a little young to be pushing Protectorate members around, young lady?" she asked the Ward, her voice a little too scathing.

"Raise your hand if you mutilated an Endbringer today." Emissary said in lieu of an answer, then raised her hand. Skitter hesitantly raised her own.

"Claws count, right?" she asked, her voice still carrying an edge.

"Sure, claws count, Skitter," Emissary replied faux-cheerfully. Skitter raised her hand further upward.

Battery's accusing hand dropped. Legend, fighting back a grin, raised his own hand, surveying the surreal scene.

The rest stayed down.

"Oh? Really? Just me, the spider girl and a Triumvirate member? Well, I guess it's natural. We are, after all, all of us high-ranked Brutes, Blasters and Movers…" Emissary listed, before pausing, as if remembering something, "Oh, wait, no, I'm not. My highest skill is Thinker 2," she paused again to chuckle and shake her head, "And I managed to blow up two of the fucker's eyeballs, coordinated a large group of capes, and rescued at least a dozen wounded. Skitter cut off his claws with the Halberd Armsmaster lost, and helped everyone by tracking Leviathan in real-time. Master 5, everybody. What, exactly, did you do to him?" She pretended to tap her chin. "Oh, yeah, you charged right at him and punched him a few times." Her tone got icy. "You want me to respect you? Then a) don't show up trying to intimidate my cousin with numbers and a member of the Triumvirate in tow, and by the way, it's so nice to meet you Legend, I'm Emissary, sorry we're meeting like this and b) Actually do something worthy of respect."

She then nearly jumped at the sound of applause from the lone trooper in the room, followed shortly by the ones that stopped in the hallway to watch the byplay, because she got pretty loud by the end. Once they were done, Martinez shushed them all away as Emissary continued her rant.

"Returning to my original statement: I don't see him arguing. Do you? As I said, recording everything. We will need a secluded space for this, however," Emissary continued, unfazed.

"Why, exactly, if you don't mind me asking?" Legend inquired warily, the Undersiders exchanging what looked like wary glances, as if they knew the response in advance. I wondered why nobody dared bring any attention to the word 'cousin' she seemed to let slip. That would sound like a plausible cover story, what with the different body types between them.

"I was going to do this anyway, but in order to secure the aid of the Undersiders in an ongoing investigation I agreed to unmask to them today," she explained, gesturing at the turbobitch, who paled again, wincing as she did so. I hope you choke on that Thinker headache, I thought cheerfully. "Since Alexandria greenlit it to begin with, I hoped you'd be in on this, Legend. Do you need a moment to find and ask her?" her voice, laced with disdain, was chock full of an emotion I recognized all too well: irritation at lack of agency, "We can wait. Preferably in a secluded location," she repeated.

"All she told me about you besides your name was 'keep an eye on this one'. I now see what she meant," Legend replied, his voice filling with more and more disdain as he spoke.

"People are watching," Skitter said suddenly, pointing at where the PRT troopers Martinez moved were holding the other capes and non-powered personnel from wandering too close to the proceedings. I could make out Laserdream, one of the Travelers recording the farce with his cellphone, others I couldn't recognize.

"All because Armsmaster accosted Skitter when I was escorting her to the bathroom," Martinez stated, intruding on the previously cape-dominated argument. "No reason given."

I gave her a puzzled glance - I only recently healed Skitter, and I had to break down and reclaim all the contents of her bladder to replenish at least part of her lost blood. That was a lie if I ever heard one. She winked at me conspiratorially and turned back to glaring at the one-armed Tinker.

Armsmaster moved to speak, but as he opened his mouth, a raised hand from Legend silenced him.

"Let's not draw it out any more than we have to. Where can we go that's empty now?" Legend acceded.

"Morgue, most likely. Also Operating Room Three, the lights are out in that one so it's out of circulation, but between you all that can be rectified," Skitter listed off as I realized she had a steely edge of her own, but very much unlike Emissary's. More arthropovoyance? How big IS her range, anyway?

"Some time this century, then? I've still got people to heal," I suggested, irritation seeping into my voice. Some break this turned out to be.

"Operating room it is, then," Legend finalized, leading the way towards a nearby hallway. Martinez's questioning glance earned a nod from Emissary, so she ended up walking right behind the two of us (when Emissary gave her a glance of her own, she winked again, said "Carlsson" and that seemed to suffice), as we followed Skitter, who made a show of not talking to anybody. I tiredly wondered when did my day turn wrong that less than an hour ago I was threatening a girl with never being to walk again and now I was trying not to watch the way her leg muscles moved under that skintight outfit of hers. Glad I put her bones back together, look at her go!

We trooped away from the nurse's station, into a hallway, down a short set of stairs (it was hilarious to watch the turbobitch struggle with coming down it), towards the operating block. I belatedly realized I last saw Vicky somewhere around--

"Shit, Glory Girl!" Skitter hissed just in time for my dear grief-stricken sister to fly out from around a corner and land in front of our ridiculous group, glaring at the Undersiders in sequence and sending questioning glances at me.

"Amy, I was just looking for you! Legend? Battery? Where are you taking my sister, and why are the Undersiders involved?!" she asked in her favorite 'who do I punch first?' tone.

"Hello Victoria," Legend said, "We're trying to get these ruffians to cooperate in order to resolve a conflict of interest. Unmasking will be involved. Would you like to help us by making sure nobody passes through this hallway until we are done? We need to use the abandoned operating room for this."

She shook her head, stubborn as ever.

"I lost enough of my family today to leave her unattended with Miss Sneaky Boobs there," she objected, nodding at the turbobitch.

"Glory Hole, I didn't know you cared!" Miss Sneaky Boobs responded in a sweet tone, but was shushed by Emissary.

"Did Dean tell you about the shopping?" she asked Vicky, a complete non-sequitur as far as I was concerned, "I'm unmasking first. You could come with us."

That… somehow convinced her, earning a nod. Legend gave Battery a look, so she stayed outside the room as we proceeded to file into the darkened room, positioning ourselves awkwardly between the stands, the gurneys, the body bags and the… parts bags?! It looked like once the room was rendered useless, it became a spare storage room. Without a word, Legend began glowing a faint bluish light, which gradually increased in intensity until he was lighting up the whole room.

"If any of this leaves this room without Protectorate approval, I am more than certain Alexandria will personally twist your head off, then will go bowling with it," Emissary said, in the same dispassive steely voice. "I am not fucking around, it's that bad."

Tattletale gulped audibly, then turned to her teammates.

"Guys, this concerns Skitter's... Personal problems. Could you please wait outside with Battery?" she said, almost pleadingly. Regent shrugged in response, but Grue seemed to only grow foggier.

"No head-twisting off for me, thank you very much," Regent rattled off, making a beeline back to the door.

"This isn't over," Grue said to no-one in particular before stomping off after his teammate.

"Thank you," I barely heard Skitter whisper to the alleged psychic villainess.

Satisfied with the remaining spectators, Emissary undid the clasps on her helmet, pulling it off, then the goggles, revealing a face I've seen a part of already. It wasn't as pretty as I thought it would be, the mouth was way too wide in proportion to the rest of her face. I idly wondered if Skitter's mouth looked the same.

Victoria and Legend remained calm, they clearly had no idea who she was. Skitter tensed, but kept quiet. Armsmaster simply buried his face in his one hand.

"Fuck me sideways!" Tattletale exclaimed, eye twitching so badly her mask couldn't hide it.

"My name is Taylor Anne Hebert," Emissary said, her name as meaningless to me as her face, "And I am from another Earth. Another Earth Bet."

 

[Noelemahc]

Responder 2.05​

Silence reigned the room for a moment before Taylor broke it with a single word.

"What."

I shrugged helplessly as I stared into her golden goggles. "It's true," I said meekly.

Taylor shook her head, cupped her hands around her face, and took a deep steadying breath.

"I'd like to repeat myself," she stated in an eerily calm voice, "WHAT."

"Are... are you serious?" Glory Girl's voice was hesitant at first but gained in strength as she went on. I could see Tattletale and Martinez starting to wince as the invisible pressure began to claw at their hindbrains. "You try to defend her," she gestured at Taylor, who was now staring at her hands, seemingly in shock, "Drag my sister into this bullshit, and use De-- his name to get me to follow, and your whole reason for this is 'Don't worry, I'm from a parallel fucking reality'? Fuck you, you--" she was sobbing now, but I could barely tell, I was being forced to my knees under the long-forgotten pressure of her aura. Taylor succumbed next to me, on all fours now, gasping for air. Martinez was fumbling for something on her belt as Vicky began to float, curling up, her face a rictus of hatred and grief--

"VICTORIA DALLON," The voice rang with force, with energy, with a… If I didn't know better, I'd have accused him of being a Master, because it cut through her aura easier than one of Chevalier's blades. The aura she was putting out wasn't stopping, but it wasn't increasing anymore either, allaying my fears it would be noticed elsewhere in the hospital. I was loath to imagine the potential disasters it could cause in a hospital full of wounded capes. Legend gently floated over to her, placing a single hand on her shoulder.

"I won't say it's okay," he spoke in that smooth, calm voice of his, "Because I've been where you are. Every time we fight one of those things… we lose so many. It's not okay, and it's never going to be okay. If you're anything like me…" he hesitated for a moment, swallowed the lump in his throat, and continued, "If you're anything like me, you're going to remember what you're feeling right now, and it won't go away. It'll lessen over time, but you will still remember." As he spoke, Vicky slowly reached out her arms, and he gently pulled her into an embrace.

I leaned down over Taylor and started to rub her back, causing her to glare at me. I rolled my eyes as she stiffened, then slowly turned her head back to facing the ground.

"First time exposed to her aura on this intensity, huh?" I asked lightly, "Yeah, I remember that feeling too. Just wait for it to pass and make no sudden moves." She looked like she was going to respond, but stopped herself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amy's eyes twitch in irritation-- she really had quite expressive eyes even before she broke away from Carol, now that I thought about it --and Legend took notice. Vicky began to sob gently into his shoulder, and her aura slowly dropped.

"And it hurts, but you use that hurt to make the good times feel as good as you can make them… appreciate those who would help you. Your friends…" he tilted his head in a gesture, and Amy scurried up next to her sister. Legend let go of Vicky with one of his arms and scooped Amy into their hug with minimal effort. Vicky twisted her arm around and wrapped one around Amy as well. Unlike last time, the squeak was audible even from over here. "… And your family."

He slowly began to rub her back between the shoulders, and just as slowly, the aura began to fade away. Martinez and Tattletale gasped, nearly in unison, before Martinez shot her a glare, confoam canister clenched in a white-knuckled grip.

Even as Vicky's sobs filled the quiet room, Taylor was already struggling to her feet, smacking my hand out of the way as I tried to lend her one.

"God fucking… And I thought what I felt at the bank was bad," she grumbled as she steadied herself against a surgical bed.

"Try it when it's all directed at you, then we'll talk," I snarked at her, only for my smile (Taylor Hebert #8, 'Story of my life', for a change) to slide off my face as she turned to face me. She folded her arms. Is this how Dennis feels when I've caught him screwing up? I gulped.

"No, I don't think we'll talk then, we're talking now," she growled, "Beginning with 'What the fuck' and…" she hesitated, " No, wait, that's pretty much it. WHAT. THE. FUCK!" She yelled, and then everyone was staring at us, the tear-stricken Dallon sisters included.

I scratched my throat awkwardly. "Ah, right, I guess I should explain what I said," I replied sheepishly, gesturing at them, "Sorry, I meant to do that, just got distracted by… you know…" As I spoke, I noticed Tattletale was sidling as innocently as she could to stand right behind Taylor.

"Quite understandable, Miss… Hebert, was it?" Legend asked, eyebrow raised over his domino mask, floating up as he separated from the sisters. Vicky's tears were drying now, though one arm was still locked over Amy's shoulder. "You must understand that your claims are… rather… unique. I'm not saying that I don't believe you, but without--"

Martinez snorted. "And how long have you been around, again? This cannot be the weirdest thing you've heard in your career," she leaned back against the wall. "Or in the last few months." She twisted her face in thought, "Or today, for that matter." She shrugged, seeing the faces of the others turning to her, "What? Get enough capes in one place and the laws of the universe start weeping for mercy. Weird stuff's gonna happen."

Legend shot a dark look at her, and my mental image of the Triumvirate dropped another notch. I was really hoping Eidolon lived up to his reputation, or that my versions of them were nicer. I wasn't holding out much hope, though, after all I've seen here.

"As I was saying," he continued, "Your claims are rather… dubious. While you might believe that you're from a parallel Earth, this isn't the first time I've heard such a claim, and most of them were--"

It was at this moment that Tata decided to intervene.

"Please note," she said, gesturing at her skintight outfit, "There is absolutely nothing up my sleeve," she chimed as her hand swiped upwards, taking Skitter's mask away with it, "And voila! Abracadabra!"

"Tattletale!" Taylor yelped, covering her face with her hands quickly, "You can't--"

"They were trying to get you to do that anyway, Skitter," the purple-clad villainess stated calmly, "Remember? The whole 'violating the rules' thing? And she--" she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Martinez, "Already knows what you look like and she's buried up to the gills in NDA's because of the other you."

"Still could have asked her permission, Tata," I grimaced at her. Taylor's hands dropped as she rounded on me, and I got my first good look at the face of the Taylor Hebert of this world.

It wasn't a perfect mirror of my own, thanks to my Amy, but it was similar enough to be eerie, reminding me of the face that looked at me out of the mirror the day I got out of the hospital after the tussle with Shadow Stalker. After I died, and was revived, and the look in my eyes, in her eyes, was nothing like that of the Taylor Hebert before the Locker happened, one way or the other. Her nose was a hint straighter, hers hadn't been broken, because of course she probably never fought Glory Girl hand to hand. A huge part of me hoped she would never have to. A touch of acne around her temples, traces of nicks and scratches all over (Wait, did Amy half-ass healing her? We're having words after this!), and what looked like a fading black eye. Uneven skin, a hint of discoloration around the right cheekbone from the time Sophia pushed me into a doorjamb a little too enthusiastically - all of them things I no longer had because my best friend once lost control of her powers. From Taylor's point of view my face must have looked like a mockery, an airbrushed version of her. That should have accounted for about half the intensity of the glare I was staring back at.

But the eyes themselves were the same as mine, as was the overall shape of the face, the nose and the jaw, and all the way down to the too-wide thin-lipped mouth pulled back in anger.

"Yeah…" she started, clenching her fists, "Yeah, you could have asked my permission. But I guess you're not really one to do that, are you?" she pointed a finger at me, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Vicky and Legend's jaws dropping slightly. Amy looked… contemplative? I'll have to ask her about that later, she probably noticed we weren't identical. Wait, this Amy won't talk to me openly yet. Damn. And Taylor is still mad at me.

"It's not like I could ask permission to give away your identity, I didn't know what was going on!" I blurted, "I had-"

"Don't give me that, you've been a Ward for less than a week and Militia already knew what my face looked like, she knew my name!" she took an aggressive step closer, I took one back. "I thought that the unwritten rules were supposed to be important, does it not work in that way in your freaky world?" She stopped, pointing a finger at me, but a little rage had bled out of her, leaving confusion and loss. "And why me? Why… What did I ever do to you?"

Legend clapped his hands, drawing us out of the little confrontation. "Alright, I suppose… that's fairly convincing…" he hedged, looking more than a little hesitant. "How did you… how did you even get here?"

"That alone doesn't prove anything," Glory Girl persevered, "Maybe you were in collusion the whole time, or you're a clone," she paused, pointed at me, then reconsidered, pointing at Taylor.

"Ask your sister," Tattletale offered. "It looks like she wasn't surprised by this revelation at all."

All eyes turned to Panacea. Except Armsmaster's. Was he really about to throw Taylor under the bus to cover for the fact that each of the two of us did more damage to the Endbringer than he did? The way his eyes bored into mine made me wonder whether my Colin was as much of a bastard as this one.

"They're identical," Amy supplied, "Not perfectly, mind you, muscle mass, accumulated wounds and all, but the power-granted differences are the only ones. Speaking of which, how the hell are you even alive, going into an Endbringer battle without--"

I looked at her quizzically as she cut herself off. She could see I had no powers, so why did she-- right. She thinks the regen and the bones are a biotinker's work, and is wondering whether my Amy did that. So she's covering her own ass too. Good one, Amy girl.

"Miss Dallon, please, don't--" Legend began, but I cut him off again. It was becoming an entertaining habit. I wonder if I'll get to cut Eidolon off next Sunday?

"No, no, Amy's right, I don't have powers," I explained, a little too chipper. "And please don't ask me to go through testing to prove that, I've been through at least three tests to make sure of that."

This left everyone staring at me, with Martinez smirking and Tattletale wincing again. Thinker headache, right. Shouldn't try to get ahead of the class like that, dear.

"So how did you get here?" Amy piped up, "You said something about Über and L33t being 'vast, gaping anuses'?"

I swiveled my head, looking at everyone.

"Tell me that's inaccurate. Someone, please," I implored, but there were no objections. "The long and short of it is: they built some sort of thing from some sort of old videogame, that acted exactly like the thing in the game did: a dimensional doorway. Unfortunately for me, it was one-way. So when I got kicked into it..." I raised a finger. "How about I just tell my side of the story before we get into the other issues?" I asked cautiously.

"That… would probably be for the best, Miss… Hebert?" Legend hazarded, his gaze switching between the two of us.

"If it feels better, I'm calling myself 'Rose Ellison' here, not my world, so I don't get to be Taylor Hebert, she does" I interjected, nodding at Skitter and earning another glare in repayment. I directed a question at her, "Oh, and is it okay if I spill a little more stuff? I don't know exactly if something else changed or not, so some of my story might not be the same as yours…"

Taylor sighed. "If it lets me know what the hell is going on faster, fine. Just do it already." She crossed her arms. I nodded.

"Okay. So remember back in October, when Winslow has its annual Career Fair?" I asked her, mentally shutting out everyone else from the conversation.

"Yeah," she grumbled, "But I didn't attend because the Trio dumped pudding in my backpack. I spent the whole time trying to save my homework…" she scowled at the memory, "It didn't take. I had to redo all of those assignments and get a new backpack since the old one smelled like tapioca."

"The Trio," I announced to the rest of the room, "Are a group of bullies who made my-- our-- lives a nightmare… Emma, the former best friend, Sophia, the school track star, and Madison, the hanger-on. But back to the topic at hand. Unlike Taylor, I was able to attend." I held up a hand. "No, I don't know how I avoided getting my stuff soaked in tapioca…"

Armsmaster twitched, looking about to speak, but settled back into his 'If I press against the wall hard enough they won't suspect I'm here' routine. Ah, I thought, realized it's about Shadow Stalker? I hope he won't spill the beans before she's ready.

"But what I do know is that I signed up for an internship with the PRT." I shrugged. "I started the next month. They started with me getting coffee for Director Piggot, but things kind of… escalated. I was put through a few departments in the right order, and from bits and pieces of intel that I picked up while working there, I got a theory that the Empire was using the Boat Graveyard to smuggle in weapons. I convinced someone to send a drone over, and it turned out to be correct." I gave a hesitant smile. "I think it was then that I caught the eye of Director Piggot. I don't know, she seemed to… take a liking to me, so to say. I knew I was really good with image analysis and bureaucracy, plus I began taking the training I was doing with the troopers seriously. But I think what really changed things was the November Gang War between the ABB and the Empire, where--"

Tattletale and Martinez' heads snapped up.

"Gang war in November?" the blonde asked.

I nodded, "Yeah, the ABB were using mortar strikes in the city, don't you remember?"

Martinez shook her head. "That never happened here, Red."

"Shit…" I bowed my head, "Well, I mean, it's good, no gang war is good, all those people lived, but still--"

"Breathe, Red," Martinez was standing upright now, taking a few steps towards me. "You've got all the time in the world."

I followed her advice. In, out. In, out. Just like Martinez said. Just like Yamada said. All the time in the world.

"Not all of the time though," I heard Amy grumble from her corner. Right. They'd be looking for her and Vicky soon.

"Well, I was at the PRT building that day, and I noticed that PRT emplacements were getting hit even though no gang members were spotting for the mortars. Somehow, I was the one to notice they were using toy helicopters as camera drones for aiming." I mimed holding a rifle, "I passed on the message to the Director, and that turned out to be right as well."

Legend raised an eyebrow at me. "You got two major intelligence coups to your name, Rose. Have you considered that you?.."

"NO," I cut him off again. Then I laughed at the look on his face. "Sorry, sorry, but Director Piggot was starting to ask the same question: 'Does she have powers?' She put me through an MRI machine and then made me run a practical test with no win state to try and force me to use my 'Thinker powers'," I made air quotes with my fingers, "And out myself as an unknown parahuman."

"I'm guessing it didn't work," he replied. Amy snorted.

"Of course not. Not only has she not Triggered, she can't Trigger," Amy blurted. At the looks she was given, she rolled her eyes. "I'm a healer. Trust me on this one, she lacks the equipment to Trigger."

"Amy's right," I replied, "I can't Trigger. But Piggot was happy about that, since it meant I wasn't hiding a secret or anything," I cocked a finger like a pistol and smirked, "I'm just that good." The eye-rolling of Skitter and Tattletale was glorious to behold. Then Taylor raised a hand. "Yes?"

"Can I put my mask back on?" she asked, "I know you needed to see my face, but the lenses are corrective, and I'd… well, I'd like to see again." she explained, fiddling with her fingers as if she were a student asking for a hall pass to go to the bathroom. I glanced at Legend, who gave me a nod.

"Sure thing, I doubt anyone will mind that."

She reached out and snatched the mask from her teammate's hands, tugging it over her head as I resumed.

"So, because I had turned in my bullying notes to the Director, and because I was apparently really, really good at my job, the Director offered me a scholarship and to transfer me to Arcadia after the New Year was out." Taylor took a step back, "Yes, that is why I wanted the bullying journal from you-- I was going to turn it in to the authorities that would give a damn."

"That'd be a first," she grumbled, "Do you have any idea how many people I've tried to tell? They just said I was 'Making up stories' about 'model students.'"

I winced. I wasn't going to tell her the real reason that they had ignored Sophia's antics… at least, not all of it. Part of it would suffice.

"It probably didn't help that Winslow Staff are really, really terrible at their jobs," I stated. It was fact, after all, even if it wasn't the whole truth, "Like, seriously. They're awful… just like I found out after the break."

I shifted uncomfortably. I knew that being reminded of their Trigger was one of the worst things you can do to a parahuman, but I needed to tell them this. I needed to get her on my side, and being dishonest after being screwed with by authority figures for years would have sabotaged everything.

"The first day at Arcadia, I met my universe's version of Glory Girl and her friends-- hang on, yes?" I held up a hand before turning to Vicky, who was visibly shocked.

"Bullshit," she growled, "There is no way that--"

"How's Mandy doing? Does she still have all those motorcycle pictures on the inside of her locker?" I grinned. Her jaw dropped open.

"How did you--"

"I accidentally set her up with her boyfriend." I squirmed awkwardly in place. "She convinced him to get a motorcycle of his own."

Amy let out an undignified snort, followed by Tattletale giving one of her own. Martinez and Legend just looked confused.

"Don't ask," I said to them, before continuing, "Vicky and her group became the first friends I'd had in years, but in particular was Amy." I breathed in, "Back home, Amy is my best friend… and I'm hers."

"Bullshit."

The matter-of-fact statement from Taylor was so without emotion that it caught me by surprise.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're telling me that that person," she pointed accusingly at Amy, who scowled in response, "Who clubbed me over the head with a fire extinguisher and threatened to give me fucking cancer is my best friend? No. This is… fuck you. Fuck you, and the interdimensional horse you rode in on."

"Yes," snapped back Amy, arms folded across her chest, "Because the one who put poisonous spiders on people and filled the orifices of heroes with biting, stinging insects is clearly someone we should be able to trust regarding proportionate response."

"I was trying to prevent people from getting hurt!"

"What part of that involved putting a knife to my throat!"

"Okay, okay!" I stepped in as the two began to circle one another like cats looking for a fight. "I think we can all agree that you two probably did not meet under the best circumstances. Would it be fair to say that if you had met under other conditions, things might have been different?"

"No."

"Bite me."

Ohhhhhkay. Not surprising, but there was a LOT of vitriol there. I rolled my eyes, and started counting out fingers.

"Truly knowing what it is like to have no real friends, awesome hair, classic literature, being overshadowed by a beautiful best friend-slash-sister… and the snarking, of course."

The glares didn't cease, but Vicky's stern expression told me my aside was not well-received.

"Alright, can you two at least not kill each other until we're done?" I offered as a compromise.

Amy grunted, a response mirrored by Taylor.

"I'll take that as a yes for now… where were we…" I slumped. "Uh… Taylor… I'm really sorry about this next bit, but I kind of have to talk about it if we're going to…" I wrung my hands. "You know. Context."

"What are you talking about, it's-- wait, I thought you said--" her body language changed. Suddenly she looked very scared. I could hear a faint thrumming in the walls as the bugs inside began to agitatedly thrash around in response to her mood.

"I said I didn't Trigger, and I can't Trigger," I said with a sad smile, a Yamada #4 ('I'm going to MAKE it better'), "I didn't say that things didn't go wrong elsewhere."

"What are you talking about?" interrupted Legend, floating a little closer.

Taylor looked at me. I stared back at her. Slowly, we exchanged nods.

"My Trigger event, Sir," she admitted.

Each of the parahumans in the room flinched back. I swallowed heavily.

"About the only good news about the whole thing was that I wasn't directly involved. About a week after Arcadia started, I got pulled out of class along with Amy and was deputized by the PRT." I snorted. "It may be a PHO meme at home, but that's where it started, as a serious operation. But the reason that happened was because I was the PRT's best source of intel on a massive Parahuman attack… on Winslow."

My gaze turned down to my hands as I turned my helmet over and over again in them.

"It seemed that some unknown master had covered the entire school in a swarm of bugs. We're talking something like one of the plagues of Egypt straight out of the Bible. Armsmaster had sent in a probe to find out what was going on… and he found a girl trapped in a locker." Taylor had, while listening, begun to hyperventilate, clutching at her arms. I moved and held one of her arms, steadying her, to my great surprise, Tattletale was on the other side. I cleared my throat.

"The locker was number--"

"Three hundred and twenty-three," she whispered. I nodded, before turning to face the rest of the audience.

"Before the break, before I was transferred, my bullies filled my locker with used feminine pads and tampons." I gritted my teeth together. "They then left it there over the break, and since Winslow is lazy and starts a week after Arcadia does..." I looked each of them in the eye. "Because they couldn't do their original plan with me, they used another girl in her place." My gaze grew steely. "They shoved that poor girl in the locker, locked the door, and left her there. For over an hour."

Amy was looking decidedly green, although that didn't happen until I mentioned the time. Did she learn something when she was healing Taylor? Worth following up on. Vicky looked like she did not know what to do with her hands so she set them down on a gurney… which would have to be thrown out, if the warped metal was any indication. Legend and Martinez were horrified. I looked at Taylor. Even with her mask back on, her reaction… God, Taylor, I swear I'll make it up to you. I'm so sorry.

"Except here, it wasn't some other girl. It was her. She was put into the locker for an hour… only she didn't go crazy in there, as the official reports stated when the school tried to sweep this incident under the rug."

Taylor was shaking, and I grabbed her hand more firmly. We stayed like that for a short while.

Then Legend cleared his throat again.

"I'm… I'm sorry to hear what you've gone through, Miss Hebert," he said slowly, as if picking each word carefully, "But…"

I wiped the tears from my eyes. When had I--? Doesn't matter.

"Sorry sir. Continuing on… It turned out that the bullies had turned in on themselves." I looked down at Taylor's sharp look of surprise. "The girl in the locker was Madison. She got your powers, while Sophia and Emma were arrested after trying to leave town. With Madison corroborating my journal, I finally got justice." I grimaced. "Over the next month, I was really busy. My next intel coup uncovered an E88 smuggling ring, which we had to share with several alphabet soup agencies due to jurisdictional issues. The CIA actually brought along a cape of their own." I smiled at the thought of her. "Her name is Synod." Legend looked interested, but I waved him off. "Long story short, when it was discovered the CIA was all but abusing her for her powers, we managed to wrest her away from them. Along the way we learned she Triggered because her mother put untenable pressure on her, and that's how the CIA got control: her mother was institutionalized. The Youth Guard tried to get involved, resulting in broken ribs for me, a tazed and hogtied YG intern for them, and a very irate Director Piggot kicking them out on their ass. And thus, Brockton Bay gained a new Ward and I got a new sister."

I beamed at them before two near-simultaneous reactions broke my feeling of warm fuzzies at the memory of Anne Marie who must be worrying herself sick over my disappearance.

"I have a sister?" Taylor asked incredulously.

"This is pertinent how?" Amy asked irritably.

"Right, sorry. I've been trying to do about fifty different things since I got here, most of which are related to you," I nodded at Taylor in a conciliatory tone, "So I haven't been able to find out anything about her counterpart here, so if you feel like helping me get a tween Thinker out of the clutches of a megalomaniacal asshole, let me know!" I replied bashfully, storing away the confusion as the way Tattletale and Taylor simultaneously choked in response to my stupid joke. What the fuck was that? Do they already know something?

"Then Aegis died at Hookwolf's hands, trying to defend Parian after she explained why she didn't want to accept his invitation into the E88," I continued, eyes downcast, but the frightened gasps told me all I needed to hear - killing a Ward was a terrible line to cross, "The Empire executed him rather publicly to cover their asses. A month later, Cricket went on a rampage, trying to avenge him, attacking other Empire capes, but I arrested Rune by that point, and her attack on Purity resulted in a pile of ashes."

"Wait, wait," Amy interjected, venom clear in her words, "If you're so awesome, where were you when Aegis was being killed?"

"At home," I replied bitterly, "Preparing for my third date with him. I was very pretty when I opened the door to receive the news."

The silence that fell onto the room gave me enough time to recompose myself, deep breaths and all.

"Aegis's death was followed by Shadow Stalker going rogue due to my uncovering her violating her probation terms. She went after me on a promotional visit to the newly opened PRT office in Providence. The meme Clockblocker started--" at least this snort was unanimous, "--made me a good PR symbol. I took her down, but not before sustaining life-threatening injuries. Panacea saved me, but refused treating her -- they had to harangue Othala into doing it."

"Wait, isn't Shadow Stalker black?" Tattletale asked, a playful smile on her face. "That must have been a hilarious proposition."

"Yep. She's also in the Birdcage now, because the violations included several counts of attempted murder, including Grue of the Undersiders and several civilians," this got an extra hard wince out of Tattletale, I saw, "Since she was already suspected of at least one murder as a vigilante, adding a clear case of assault with parahuman ability on an officer of the PRT - that's me - got her all the strikes she needed. I'm currently gathering evidence against this version of her, preferably without letting her escape this time."

"Huh. But Dean told me--" Vicky began, before I quickly shushed her, knowing the next words out of her mouth. That Shadow Stalker was bullying my cousin, who was just revealed as Skitter. Do you really want to drown in bugs today, Vicky?

"Whatever he told you, will likely out Shadow Stalker, who may be lying out cold in the hospital above us, but is still deserving to keep her identity safe, don't you think?" I replied, trying to sound as neutral as I could.

The way Tattletale was looking back and forth between the two of us sent warning bells ringing in the back of my mind.

"And this helps you two how exactly?" Legend asked next. "Us knowing the identities, or identity, of a Ward and a villain don't seem to work towards the good of either of you, unless I'm missing something."

"I'm lawyered up," I replied, Thomas Calvert's milk-curdling #2 ('This is not a joke') on my lips, "The PRT is bound by Directive 507. I'm a PRT asset back home, so my identity is their responsibility, and so is the identity of my counterpart," I gestured at Taylor. "The Protectorate is bound by Alexandria's word, and also the same Directive, as I lead my version of the Wards as punishment for what I let happen with Shadow Stalker. The Undersiders won't betray their friend, to the point that one of them sacrificed herself to save us from Leviathan--"

"Rachel's dead?!" Taylor squeaked out, her eyes filling with rage, "And you're only telling me this now?!"

I sighed, rubbing my forehead, then looked back at her.

"What time did I have?" I asked, exasperation filling my words, "I carried you into the hospital, you were well out of it, and after that all this," I gestured around the room, "Was to keep you safe." My expression softened as she visibly began to crumble. "I'm sorry," I reached out a hand, only to hesitate and withdraw it. Not now, still too suspicious, she wouldn't appreciate it. "I should have told you sooner. That was a mistake, and I'm sorry. Believe me, I..." I paused before changing my mind and placing a hand on her shoulder. "She saved our lives. She gave her life for us... I'm sorry..." I trailed off.

"Alright, but what's to stop me from revealing who you are?" Victoria asked stubbornly, "I'm with neither of those teams."

"Aside from the whole head-twisting-off?" I shrugged, "Panacea's reputation - she did heal us both - and the Endbringer Truce. These wonderful heroes--" I gestured at the two Protectorate capes, "--were so cavalier about setting Skitter up about breaking it, they forgot the knife cuts both ways."

"I hate to break it to you, Rose," Taylor piped up, "But they're kinda still masked up? And we aren't?"

"In the interest of full disclosure, I know at least the first names and faces of everyone here or outside that door except for Legend and Grue."

That got everyone's attention. Noticing Tattletale was about to open her yap again, I stared her down.

"Sally," I said reproachfully, "Freckles."

"Did you just out her?!" Amy gaped at me.

"Not her actual name, from what I know of her," Taylor supplied, a small trace of laughter in her voice, "But the guppy fish impression she's doing right now tells me her power just told her the other me knows the real one, and it's not the one she gave us."

My triumphant nod was broken when both Sarah and Taylor turned to glare at me.

"But you knowing this, and how her power works--"

"Of course I tussled with the Undersiders, Taylor," I replied reproachfully, "They're thieves and Tata is kind of a bitch that gets her rocks off on fucking around with people. I almost tore their team apart when I got Rachel Lindt acquitted -- was going to do the same here, but then she went and saved you and me from a freaking Endbringer at the cost of her own life before I could do so. I held her in my arms as she died."

This got another round of shocked looks, and Taylor even let loose a few quiet sobs. Martinez, wonderful, reliable Martinez, saved my bacon again.

"Acquitted, Red?"

"The initial manslaughter was involuntary. Trigger event, nobody has real control or understanding of their powers, and Triggers don't leave newly-minted parahumans in the best of headspaces to begin with," I explained, my voice tired again. I was this close, I would have saved her too… but I failed, "There's laws for that, of course, but just as the foster system failed Rachel, so did the judicial. End result: declared a villain without a chance to defend herself. Just like Canary."

"I take it Canary's case went different in your world as well?" Legend asked softly.

"Yeah," I replied, dejected, "She killed herself early in the trial proceedings. When the world needed a new scapegoat to set a false precedent on Master powers, they went after Swarmbringer, the cape that menaced Winslow High School. My bully, Madison Clements."

"Um. Red?" Martinez spoke up,"Aren't you a bit cavalier about revealing her name?"

"She's a Ward now, Lieutenant. One of mine," I set my mouth in a grim line for this statement, hoping it got the point across, "I don't care for the local one even a bit. I fought tooth and nail to keep my Madison out of the Birdcage. The PRT exists for a reason that has largely been forgotten in this fucked up warzone of a town, and if I'm the only one who cares to fix that, then so be it."

"It's still so damn creepy to see my face say all these thoughts that aren't mine, but could have been," Taylor said, her voice a bit sleepy… or contemplative? Curse that mask and her nullified body language!

"For what it's worth, I never expected me to become a villain either, though I know that wasn't your fault," I replied, nodding my head to the side, where Armsmaster brooded in silence.

"Alright, this has been bothering me a bunch too: as far as my power's concerned, you're different people, kind of like estranged cousins more than anything else," Tattletale interjected again, "It took me a while to figure who you were to begin with, and even then you're like two or three people jumbled in one body together, constantly being swapped out for other people. Who designed your body language, Hieronymus Bosch?"

"What is even your power, Sneaky Boobs?" Vicky piped up, ignoring Amy's tug on her dress.

"Being awesome of course, Glory Hole," the villainess replied without hesitation.

"Favorite movie?" Taylor asked me suddenly.

"Blazing Saddles," I shot back, and when she nodded, replied with "Favorite serious movie?"

"Forrest Gump. Either version, although I only cry on the Aleph one. Favorite food?"

"Lasagna! Favorite Fugly Bob's dish?"

"Trick question, I love the distinct taste of the Challenger, but I could never finish it, so I order the Royally Fugly most often," I could swear I heard a grin in her voice, and Martinez flat-out laughed at that admission, "Favorite Triumvirate hero?"

"Alexandria as a kid, but meeting her in person has been very sobering, I'm afraid."

"Alright, I believe you you're me," Taylor acceded, finally, "I still have the better hair though. What's your end goal once you get the journal from me?"

"For starters, the Trio gets jailed as they did back home. I don't know if your Madison can Trigger or not, but she's also not a victim here, making things way simpler. After that, I made a deal with Alexandria to maybe get the both of you into the Wards."

"Can't," Sarah protested. "Already spoken for."

"I'm aware of your prior engagement with Coil, and I'm sitting on more intel for that case as well. Just… try not to tip him off, alright?"

I ignored the looks of confusion on the Dallon sisters' faces, or Legend's look of concern at the mention of Coil. It was then that Armsmaster chose to remind us of his presence.

"Should I remind you all that Skitter is a wanted felon with a rap sheet quite impressive for the month she had been active?" he spoke, a collected simmering anger behind his words.

"Were you not looking to talk her into giving herself up for a probationary Wardship, however?" Legend asked with incredulity in his voice, "That was what you told Battery and me when you sought us out."

"And then we found her wandering the halls, probably looking to use her powers to uncover someone's secret identity. Shadow Stalker, perhaps, given their shared history--" he began, glaring daggers at me as I realized what the bastard was trying to do.

"--of almost being killed by her? Great story, sir," I interjected loudly, trying to stifle his next words. He would not ruin this for me, "Besides, as I said before, this would not be the first time you're trying to screw her over. First you talk her into letting you claim the Lung capture that was mostly all her," that got a shocked look out of Vicky and appreciative nods out of Amy, Martinez and Legend, "Then fail to inform the PRT of that fact, or the offer she made to infiltrate the Undersiders for you."

Taylor's face, hidden by the mask still, snapped to look at me, boiling my blood with the indirect contact alone. Sarah looked at her with an odd pitying expression, however. She already knew? Of course she did, she's fucking 'psychic'!

"Don't look at me like that, Taylor, she already knew. And the heroes would accept you faster knowing that you never wanted to be a villain, and only got stuck in the role when Armsmaster made sure nobody would find out and believe you if you came to them for help."

Taylor turned a look that was almost pleading towards her teammate, only to be met by the same foxlike grin Sarah always used in her cape persona.

"All true, T. Sorry I didn't tell you, but I couldn't be sure you'd be able to keep up appearances where Coil could see," she explained, offering Taylor a hand to hold to reassure her, "And your sudden yet inevitable betrayal of the team would have worked wonderfully towards my own goals of seeing that bastard chained up. I was recruited at gunpoint, after all. You're still, and always will be, my friend though."

Armsmaster's hollow laugh resounded through the room, making me worry for the man's grasp on reality, the way it carried a hysterical note. He pointed his sole hand at me.

"None of this matters though. We have her on camera, your camera, handling my Halberd that has been used to kill two capes in the Docks area around the time I was… incapacitated. Add to that whatever Master or possibly Thinker bullshit she has for her insects that allows her to fake out my lie detector… who knows whose identities she knows by now, besides Miss Militia's."

"Is this true, then, Miss Hebert? Miss Ellison?" Legend asked warily, "Skitter has learned--"

"In the battlefield," I quickly inserted, "Her bandanna came loose when we were pulling her out of a wrecked bus where Leviathan threw her, she reciprocated by revealing she already knew Taylor's identity from me," I explained, shifting uneasily under one more of Taylor's glares. Were my glares as inflammatory or was it something that came bundled for free with her powers?

"And the rest of it?"

"Bullshit, sir," Martinez reported, stepping into his glare again. Is Legend naturally powerist or is it something he does unconsciously? I wondered, "As I tried to tell you several times, I was escorting the girl to the bathroom when we were accosted by Armsmaster and his accusations. The rest most of you saw - he faceplanted her into a table, started accusing her of looking for ways to break the Truce."

Legend rubbed his forehead, it was clear the circular arguments were tiring him out. That and it was rather stuffy in this room. I wondered if our escorts outside were getting along well enough while we were busy bickering in here.

"Aren't we going to discuss that I got the Halberd from Browbeat who got it from Emissary who got it from Armsmaster's severed hand?" Taylor wondered aloud, her golden gaze scanning the assembled crowd. "I mean, Glory Girl saw half of that thing, how his arm flew through the air, blade still active. For all we know that's what killed those capes."

It was at that point that Armsmaster threw his punch.

I had to give my 'cousin' credit - she was ready for it, taking half a step back, swiveling on the ball of her stationary foot, just enough that the Protectorate hero's fist would have flown wide had it not ended up cupped in the open palm of a familiar long-haired grey-clad heroine. Alexandria is here. This will probably end in tears and suffering, some of them mine.

"Actually," she said, her steely voice seemingly filling every corner of the room as I scrambled to helmet up, hoping none of the three we left to stand guard outside saw me as they filed in after the Triumvirate heroine, "I was wondering about that myself. The matter with the EMP blast that burned out the armbands and comms of every cape in that area -- except you -- is also of high interest. Or are you going to shift that one on Skitter too?"

"That was an accident," Armsmaster replied, his voice surprisingly calm for someone whose sole remaining fist was caught in a vise-like grip of The Benchmark for Flying Brick types. "Damage sustained by my armor earlier in the fight caused a short circuit."

"Great," she scoffed, still not letting go, "Is a long-range EMP emitter part of your standard kit then, in a city where only one Tinker not aligned with the Protectorate resides permanently?"

"No, ma'am. I had no time to swap it out when preparing for battle this morning."

"And yet you had the time to take the anti-Endbringer Halberd, which, apparently, has not passed the Tinkertech review board. I find it intriguing that it lacked a simple shutoff mechanism for when it was dropped."

"If I may, Miss Alexandria, ma'am?"

It took me a moment to comprehend that the careful polite voice belonged to Sarah Livsey, aka Tattletale, who somehow became a different person under Miss Library's wilting glare.

"Yes, Tattletale?" the regal woman admitted the line of questioning.

"The mechanism expected to shut off when the Halberd was let go," the masked blonde offered, "With the detached arm still holding it, it considered the weapon as still being held."

"Emissary?" she asked next.

"Ma'am?"

"I presume your helmet camera recorded everything?"

"Yes ma'am, including having to extricate the Halberd from Fulgurite's chest cavity," I reported, "I was going to bring it up the moment Armsmaster was done presenting his argument. I was not expecting him to physically assault anyone in front of Legend, ma'am. I'm sorry, Skitter."

"Eh, I could take him. Wouldn't be the first time," she deflected, her tone a confusing combination of hero worship for Alexandria, indignance at being physically assaulted and genuine disbelief in Armsmaster's ability to beat her. It was in that moment, I felt the most kinship for her since the beginning of this crazy fucked up day.

"My condolences on the death of your teammate, Undersiders. Emissary, I believe you were the one who witnessed her death?" Alexandria said suddenly, making all five of us stand stock-still at her address.

"I held her as she died, ma'am," I replied, earning even further skeevy looks from Grue and Regent and an affirming nod from the idolized heroine.

"Good," she said unexpectedly, "None of us should die alone, and for naught. You and Skitter yet live thanks to her. Do not waste her sacrifice."

With that wisdom dispensed, she finally turned back to the Protectorate hero whose hand she was still holding perfectly still. She did not seem at all inconvenienced by this. He, on the other hand, looked like he was sufficiently marinated in sweaty panic. My peripheral vision showed me Taylor finally decided to hug Sarah, and the blonde girl reciprocated awkwardly, crutches and all.

"Armsmaster, you are being arrested for violation of the Endbringer Truce, abuse of the ceasefire offered by the Truce for your own personal gain, the framing of another for breaking the Truce…" Alexandria recited as she manhandled Armsmaster out into the hallway and away from us all.

As Taylor's sobs told me she wasn't going anywhere for the time being, awkwardly hanging around Sarah's neck (who was having trouble balancing them both upright until Grue decided to help them despite the earlier cold shoulder), I stepped up to the Dallon sisters.

"You," Vicky said, "Are one duplicitous and severely fucked-up individual," she enumerated, enunciating each word as if it had twice the syllables than usual, "And crazy as fuck to boot, given--" she paused, casting a side glance at Battery, who was talking something over with Legend, who was still graciously illuminating the room for us, "--given your powerset. Was my uncle--"

"I'm sorry, Vicky," I nodded, "He was already dead when we sent you away. After what Shielder did when your mom got shot down, we needed to keep you in the fight. Had he been alive, we would have carried him out, I swear."

She nodded, silently sniffing, then was startled when I gave her a quick awkward hug. I may have put her counterpart in jail, but here and now, I didn't see an accidental killer waiting to happen, I saw a traumatized teenager who had just lost family, and this meant I had to be supportive. When I let go and turned to Amy, she was eyeing me warily.

"Best friends, you said," she repeated, "I still have trouble believing it."

I hugged her again, enjoying the squeak despite her stiffening again, and repeated my earlier faceplate-opening cheek-to-cheek contact.

"Whose handwriting is this, do you know? You have my permission to tell me," I whispered, letting her look into my biology again.

"You are just as manipulative as your counterpart. You're a terrible person deep down, and I'm going to find out what your scheme is in the end."

I started to back away, looking at her in confusion, feeling a little betrayed. What does it take for this girl to trust me? What the hell happened to her in these four months? As I stepped back, her lips twisted into a grimace.

"Bitch, did I tell you to stop hugging? Put your back into it."

 

[Noelemahc]

Responder 2.06​

[Rose]​

The alarm clock that woke me might as well have been the hounds of hell braying for my soul. Cursing the creator of the damnable thing, I rolled out of bed, collapsing on the floor, and only then found it in myself to find and shut off the alarm. Yesterday me was a Grade-A bitch, because she tossed the thing inside my spidermesh undersuit.

The reflection in the mirror and the feeling of ugh all over my back told me I shouldn't've been so cavalier about refusing Amy's aid at the hospital. It was Monday morning, but I still felt like I crawled out of that car's hood barely an hour ago. In fact, riding my enhanced adrenaline high as I did yesterday, I probably didn't feel as bad then as I did now.

Less than 24 hours ago I blew out two eyes of an Endbringer. I'm allowed to feel like hammered shit, I think.

We arrived in portions yesterday, with me among the first, as we were dismissed by the higher-ups once Amy was done dealing with our accumulated damages. While she was sorting that out, I managed to score both Taylor's and Sarah's burner phone numbers into my PRT brick. Networking! Sarah left with her team, while Taylor said she'll try to check on Dad, get the Journal if she could (I had the distinct feeling that implied a 'without alerting him to her presence'), and probably get to a shelter (the feeling intensified at that addendum), because she expected the PRT would lock her up the moment she walked through the remains of the glass lobby of the PRT HQ, and she still had stuff to do 'on the outside'. The general impression, however, seemed to be 'I still hate you, but I'm also considering your offer', which was more than I bargained for. I would still need to tell her about Sophia before she talked to Piggot, however. Suffice to say, I kinda dreaded that discussion.

Part of that was because Sophia was sleeping (or at least went to sleep) in the next room over. I idly wondered whether Emma felt anything like this at any point of her highly frustratingly psychologically damaged in a way I couldn't blame her 100% of the way life: 'this is a person who thinks I'm their friend, but I'm really, absurdly, exorbitantly am not'. It left an odd feeling in my chest, vaguely reminiscent of the smell of cat pee in a way I couldn't explain.

Self-flagellation achieved, I checked that my shorts and tee covered my underwear and stepped out into the Commons. It was a bit of a mess, with pieces of gear scattered about as yesterday's Zombie Wards rushed to their sleep and likely only resurfaced in the night to grab snacks and visit the restrooms. It appeared only James and I were not slovenly, as neither of our costume pieces were anywhere in sight, I noticed, picking up one of Missy's uniform boots. The traces of dried blood on the inside told me that I was being fucking rude to the heroes that helped save (at least some of) the city and which lost a friend and teammate yester--

Shit.

Gallant.

Gallant was dead.

I saved Aegis and possibly others from certain death but Dean was still dead.

A movement on the couches snapped me out of it. James was sitting on the one facing the TV directly, a small flower in his hand. Where'd he get a dandelion? Did he go outside?

"Greetings, Emissary. Was your night restful?" he asked. When I replied with a noncommittal meh, he nodded appreciatively, apparently having been in the vicinity of the same boat. Maybe. Once.

"I have read that when mourning the loss of someone, flowers are to be presented," he began, as if restarting a video from pause. "But I could not find a place to purchase them that was open or undestroyed, so I went and found a flower."

He held it up for me to see. "Does it not strike you as strange, Rose, that to say how sorry we are that a death has happened, we go and we kill another living thing?"

I was at a loss for words. I never considered that angle, only having received flowers once in my life and being too overwhelmed with the surprise at the time to complain about the damage to nature. And Mom's funeral… was not conducive to such thoughts. Neither, come to think of it, was Carlos's.

"It hurts," he finally stated, looking back at me, "In here..." a tap on his chest, turning back to the flower, "While I... I talked to Dean shortly after I joined the Wards, and proposed an experiment to see if his emotional manipulation ability could affect me," he glanced at me. "For a long time I had felt myself cut off from my emotions, as if there had been a fortified wall in my mind that I could not pass. I could feel them, but they were muted... weak. I tried attending gatherings at the Dallon Household. I had attempted consumption of Alcohol. I had even tried to put myself in harm's way..." he toyed with the flower some more, looking contemplative, "I got my powers by seeing if I could feel things in a life-or-death situation," when our eyes met next, my brain nearly seized up, so he Triggered while… trying to feel the thrill of life? Did Mandy fill that void for him back home? "I felt nothing out of the ordinary." He looked away again, staring at the mess of costume parts on the floor now, while I finally found it in myself to at least stand next to him, "I explained to Dean that I was interested in seeing what his powers would do to me, so he shot me with them." he paused again, turning the flower over in his hands, "I began to cry, for he had shot me with a blast of pure sadness. It was the most amazing thing I had felt in a long, long time."

I was startled when he took my hand into his, looking into my eyes again, but there was no malice there. Not much of anything, much like mine, I was certain.

"Dean was very interesting. I will remember him for a long time to come."

"As will I," I agreed, watching the strangest of my teammates go back to fiddling with the small flower in his hands.

I collapsed onto the cleanest of the couches (item tally: Sophia's cloak, Dennis's glove, someone's smelly socks, an empty water bottle), feeling the shakes coming on. Great, I told myself, thank heavens that didn't happen in the middle of yesterday's argument with Vicky and Amy. Oh, right, I'm going to be whitelisted to message them as soon as they get around to it. Networ-- shit, both of the Pelham adults are dead. Carol is essentially all the management the team has left. New Wave is fucked. And I awkwarded them out through that.

My mounting panic attack only got worse as I pulled my legs up onto the couch, hugging my knees closer to me, my loose hair spreading like a blanket across my back. I needed a hug. Maybe a hot drink. Definitely an aspirin. I threw a glance at James, lost in his world again. Does he need a hug? Would he offer me one if I asked? I shook my head, discarding the thought. I was certain he would, but would it make things better for him? I had no way of knowing.

My Wards probably fought their own Endbringer yesterday. The timetable for the attacks was pretty solid, but the locations were hard to predict. Was it in Brockton as well? Boston? Not even in the States?

I was vaguely aware of a door opening, someone else wakening from their recuperative slumber, something Amy's power couldn't truly replace. It's not just about the muscle fatigue, but also downtime for the brain, a chance to process the day's events, ups and downs alike. And what happened yesterday… was mostly downs.

"Hey," Sophia said, leaning over the back of the couch I was sitting on, addressing me and obviously ignoring James, "How's tricks?"

"Hey yourself," I replied, trying to keep my knees from shaking, whatever reason they may have chosen for it. "I feel like I fucked up," I admitted, I needed to vent, and it might as well be to the person I'll soon be putting in a crate (air holes optional) and shipping down the river. "Like there was more I could do, save more people, stop--" I choked, "--Dean's dead."

"What would you have done against that wave?" she asked bluntly, her face a mask of calmness, "From what they told me, you did as much as most of our fucking Protectorate put together, on both offense and defense," she paused to hop over the couch, landing next to me on her own cloak. I noted she was wearing a generic PRT tank top and tennis shorts not dissimilar to mine, although hers sat more snugly on her lithe frame. Likely didn't come from the random-size discount section, I thought before dismissing the issue.

She looked okay, unhurt, undamaged, a far cry from the road rash that took off half her face from when Leviathan collapsed the building she was on as Taylor and I scrambled to evacuate Hannah. Her shoulder was in its rightful place, and the only visible change to her was a slight haggardness, to be expected from loss of body fat expended when Amy healed people. Grievous bodily harm was a surprisingly effective proxy for weight loss, it turned out.

"How the fuck did you end up shooting its eye out?" she asked, her face lit up with… I wouldn't call it excitement, not really. Exultation? Hero worship? But by that logic, she should have spent the night cuddling with Flechette, and I didn't see any of her distinctly purple stuff anywhere… at least in the open.

"Borrowed Miss Militia's power," I said, shrugging a little "It lets you use her guns if you're close enough to her, and she kept supplying me. Too bad the bastard started bringing buildings down before I could hurt it more."

"Still, you did awesome, you badass!" she said, clapping me on the shoulder. I felt an odd mix of pride and revulsion. If this was literally anyone else, even Tattletale, this would not have been half as bad. "You showed that fucker he shouldn't mess with you!"

Her voice must have carried, because we got another visitor, likely one roused by her yell.

"Keep it down, will yo--" was all Carlos could get out before I lunged at him using the couch as a springboard, ignoring Sophia's warm hand brushing against my thigh as I got up, leaving a burn as if acid was poured onto my panic-cooled skin, my bear hug squeezing the air from the tall boy's lungs. Mine. Alive and mine.

"You pendejo loco, you realize that if I hadn't foamed you, you'd be a Carlos sandwich now?" I ground out as I let go, mussing his hair and gathering mine into a singular frontal waterfall over my right shoulder, "You do not go where an Endbringer can tread on you!" I punched him lightly in the chest, before hugging him again, traitorous sobs shaking my body.

"What's with all the yelling?" came a certain red-head's voice, likely poking his head out as well, "What did I miss?"

"Apparently, we're having a glad-to-be-alive cuddlepile?" Carlos ventured, as I felt Sophia marshmallowing against my back, her hands thankfully only wrapped around my torso, her head pressed against the base of my neck. The gesture felt so… human, so un-Sophia-like, especially with her staying oddly quiet, that I didn't even feel like protesting. I felt other people joining the odd two-on-one hug we had going as Carlos pulled me closer, hands on my waist so as not to dislodge Sophia, as I felt what must have been Dennis resting his forehead against Carlos's shoulder, his hair brushing my forehead, his hand coming to rest atop the deathgrip I had on the man that wasn't my dead boyfriend, his other arm presumably encircling Sophia as I felt her shudder in protest, then settle down as he must have moved his hand northwards. To my other side came the thick feeling of warmth that was James, his arms went on Carlos's and Sophia's shoulders as far as I could tell.

I didn't know when I stopped shaking, but I hoped nobody could see what felt to me like a light kiss Carlos pressed into my hair, nor the one that left another spot of burning acid on my skin at the edge of my hair on my neck. I wiggled under the press of bodies until I was let go, noting that I mostly guessed the positioning right, except for Chris who latched onto Carlos and Dennis, which made sense: Dean was with the three of them the longest. Them and...

"Where's Missy?" I asked, carefully peeling Sophia's now-sweaty hands away from my abs - an unfortunate side-effect of Browbeat's bulk, so most of the sweat was likely mine - and absorbing all of Dennis's dejected nod at the missing girl's shut door.

I was glad to see Kid Win intact again, his nose back in place, as the rest of his damages were internal, and while I was unaware of the limits James's self-biokinesis imposed on his healing processes, he was theorized to be able to emulate a minor regeneration effect akin to Carlos's with it. I was not as glad to feel how Sophia's kiss lingered on my skin or that we were not including Missy in this. Or that I had a stray thought that had Dean seen me right now, the jig would have been up at once, which made me feel like shit again because that sounded as if I was glad he was dead, which I utterly wasn't. I hope to all fuck that my Dean is alive. And my sister. And Rachel. And Amy. And Madison. And all of them, friends and family. Even Sarah, so I can tell her to go fuck a duck again.

As Carlos and James guided the sleepwalker - apparently Dennis more or less dragged Chris into the hug - onto the couch Sophia and I warmed up, she excused herself for the showers ("Was going there anyway, then I saw you sulking," she said) while I went to knock on the door marked with the letter 'V'.

"Missy? Are you alive in there?" I asked, feeling like an asshole at potentially waking her to a morning that confirmed the grisly death of her crush was not just a fucked-up nightmare she had. Vague grunts and angry sniffling were my proof of life, although they also made somewhat clear that I could lay to rest any hopes of rousing her at this hour.

"Damn, I'm hungry," Dennis announced, busy gathering pieces of his outfit from where they fell in his yesterday's funk, all in the name of not thinking about the friend that was not coming back, "Anyone up for glad-to-be-alive breakfast?"

"I need to shower first, but I agree," James protested. "We also should not leave Sophia behind. We cannot rely on Rose to be around to hug her every time she is irate." He gently placed the dandelion on an end table as I mentally dry-heaved.

And so it was decided, as the boys ferried a still-groggy Chris into the shower room while I tried my level best not to gape too badly at being declared Sophia's nuclear coolant rod. When my brain finally rebooted, I found myself alone with Carlos, a contemplative look on his face.

"You saved my life," he said listlessly, "Was it because you couldn't do anything about--"

"Don't you dare fucking say it," I objected, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes, beating them back, gritting my teeth, feeling my voice waver, "I know you're not him, that I made you promise a date you don't want to go on because deep down I'm still that same bullied girl that can't believe someone may be genuinely interested in her. Don't make me feel more like shit than I already am."

"From where I'm standing it would appear Sophia's interested?" he ventured, at the same time as I said "I release you from your obliga-- bwuuuh?~"

I shook my head, sputtering. "You realize how creepy that is? How-- how dirty I feel with all these lies and her attraction--"

"Yeah," he nodded, scratching the back of his head, "Low blow, I'm sorry, but it was kinda worth that look on your face."

I punched him again, seriously this time. He's a big boy, he could take it.

As we, too, turned to the showers, to prepare to have that breakfast, I couldn't help but wonder if Taylor was even getting one today.

------
[This is where Q.02 occurs]
------​

[Taylor]​

The porridge was lukewarm but filling, the dime-a-thousand teabag gave the scalding hot water in my paper cup a brownish tinge I more readily associated with rusty tap water than anything drinkable, but I was alive.

I cut up a motherfucking Endbringer and I lived to tell the tale, only had my lower body turned to mashed potatoes for it. I am alive.

The Amazon Lesbian Goddess is me from another world, where Panacea is my best friend and probably girlfriend, where Aegis was my boyfriend before he died - it figured that dating Taylor Hebert was a plausible way to kill The Boy That Could Adapt To Anything - and Lisa knew I was a traitor all along and wanted to use that, and at least Dad was okay, even if I couldn't get the Journal out of the house without him noticing. The other me has a sister! She got her Rachel acquitted! My Rachel died in her arms…

The whirlwind of WHAT THE FUCK that was yesterday seemed to have no real end to it, but I needed to set it aside for now. To move. To do things. Get my stuff from the loft, as the sirens caught Lisa and me right as I was packing. Figure out where the remaining two Undersiders stood vis-a-vis my visit to pick up my stuff, whether they would ask me back now that the team was down two members instead of one. Decide whether I wanted to take up the other me -- Rose, she said, after m-- after our mother -- up on the offer of joining the Wards.

Probationary, she said, with restrictions mostly on paper because some of the things I did were too public and unequivocally villainous to just sweep under the rug, but the Protectorate would be informed - undercover asset burned by Armsmaster, which would also neatly explain away our vendetta-esque confrontation at the gallery. I said I'd think about it while thinking "fuck you" at her and her high horse, but now, with a godly four hours of sleep in me I realized that with my face and name known to the Protectorate and Coil likely wanting me extremely dead, this was probably my only option short of running away to Timbuktu, and I wasn't sure I had enough money for that. Then again, there's a place no Endbringer would likely touch with a ten-foot pole, perfect for running--

FUCK NO. Running away was good when facing an Endbringer at melee range. I was done running away from my other problems.

With that decided, after handing in the cutlery to the shelter relief workers I stepped out into the gloomy morning of the First Day After. The overcast sky welcomed me with a steely greyness one would normally expect from October or worse, but at least it wasn't raining. I felt like I've had enough being wet for a lifetime. Thank God Panacea's healing also meant not catching a cold from all the near-drowning yesterday.

I was wearing a spare set of clothes, one of three I had stashed around the city -- like many other capes, I expected, having found several similar stashes when trying to find a place for my own in the past months. I really did not need to know that Shadow Stalker apparently had the same taste in clothing as Sophia fucking Hess, or that someone's stash was either a couple's set or Circus was really indecisive about what they wanted to wear in an emergency. It was a half-decent distraction from the first one because extra reasons to think of the bitch fueled my anger-driven theory from yesterday regarding Emma-ssary's friend Shadow Stalker covering for her.

Except that Emissary being other me didn't change the fact that Stalker came to Emma's rescue a little too readily. Shit.

I traversed the waterlogged city at a measured pace - even with a slowly-building swarm, I did not feel completely safe. My costume was under my hoodie and jeans, so I would likely survive an unpowered assault, but a bullet to the head from some twitchy Merchant looking to loot my bag would still be an unwelcome outcome. The irony of the city's state did not escape me: due to the way the fight migrated across the city, the less well-off areas were actually better off in terms of tidal wave damage due to the efforts of the shield capes, even though individual buildings here and there were torn up, one way or another, by the fights that raged past them. The better-off areas beyond The Towers, however, got more sea-on-building action, even as they largely escaped having craters, laser burns and dead capes scattered among them.

I shuddered again. I hadn't seen Rachel die, but it happened right next to me. She saved me. She threw her life away for a traitor unknowingly, unflinchingly, because even after my declaration of leaving, she thought me a friend, an ally.

A packmate? Maybe.

A little voice wormed up from my hindbrain, would she have done the same if she knew what you were planning? Do you deserve that loyalty?

I shook my head roughly, but that slimy voice continued. She died for nothing. You betrayed her.

'No I didn't,' I thought back as I gasped and ducked into an alleyway, 'I didn't do anything!'

But you planned on it, didn't you? You were going to turn them all in once you were sure of who their boss is.

'N-no! I mean, yes but-'

So in addition to lying, robbery, and assault, you have treachery on your list. Do you even have the capacity to understand what is good anymore?

I snarled and shoved my emotions into my swarm.

'I want to be a hero. I want to be a hero.'

I repeated my mantra as I walked down the street, very conscious of the fact that even I barely believed myself.

I made a few detours - some streets were still flooded, the water held in by dams made of collapsed buildings or power effects - surprisingly, there were still ice walls and Kaiser's distinctive blade fountains left over from the various failed attempts at holding Leviathan back. The time bubble on Dirk Street was likely still there too, with the chunk of Leviathan and the out-of-town capes buried in it.

With the way the friendly fire from the Leviathan-flung Halberd counted against Armsmaster, I wondered whether the effective deaths of Morningstar and Jotun would count as strikes on Miss Militia's record as well. It would be pretty shitty if the Brockton Bay Protectorate would lose its acting leader the same week (and the same way) as the man she replaced.

The first sign my day was about to get worse was, of course the rather sizeable gash in the building where the Undersiders' loft used to be - probably still was, just not all of it. Not anymore. It looked as if one of the Blasters, maybe Legend or Purity -- no, wait, Purity skipped town once she got her children back, didn't she? -- missed a shot and it sheared off a chunk of the building, except there was no debris in the flotsam-filled street below. So whatever it was in that part of the loft was gone forever.

I used the opening to spread a portion of my less noticeable bugs into the building, to check whether trouble was waiting, potentially in the form of looters willing to utilize the newly-opened means of entry into what clearly was a space better-decorated than the building it was attached to. Instead of looters, I found the Undersiders - all three of them. It felt and sounded as if Brian and Lisa were having a shouting match which Alec spectated with a certain degree of apathy.

Dreading what I would hear once I came inside, I made my way through the entrance, taking note of an unexpected fourth presence - Angelica, one of Rachel's three main dogs, the one she didn't have with her when we ran into her yesterday, probably because of her earlier injuries. Which were still there today. The poor dog seemed more concerned with the prolonged absence of its mistress than the two bickering parahumans (my bugs made out less than I did as I ascended --but the words 'leader', 'traitor' and 'shitshow' seemed prominent), but perked its head up when it saw (heard? smelled?) me entering the loft proper.

The shouting stopped as I surveyed the scene, all eyes on me. Brian, aggressive stance slightly leaning forward, pointer finger within Lisa's personal space already as if he was a few Tattletale-isms away from punching her. Alec, his default expression of detached amusement at human nature sprawled across his face as its owner half-sat, half-rested on a crate of some kind, no trace of yesterday's scar thanks to that conceited bitch Panacea who was as appalled as I was that Rose was apparently other her's BFF.

Were the guys moving base? Duh, of course they were, there's a hole the size of half of Lisa's room-- fuck, half of Lisa's room is gone! --in the loft! Of course they have to move!

Lisa herself, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that a chunk of her stuff was gone -- presumably, because her laptop survived -- stood hands akimbo in a very Glory Girl pose, defiant in the face of whatever Brian had just been shouting at her. Angelica, wondering if I'll tell her where Rachel is and why is nobody feeding her.

"You gotta be kidding me," Alec breathed out and his unsmile became a little more smilelike. It was an unnerving sight, confirmation that he viewed this whole thing as entertainment.

"Why are you here?" Brian snapped, turning his finger on me. "It's bad enough that I have to learn about the shit you talked about behind closed doors third-hand, but having Coil ring me up and tell me you were in on the fact that Taylor was a mole--"

"I was not!" I protested, "I was--"

"--infiltrating us to find out who the boss was," Alec finished for me smoothly while I fumbled for the exact words, "So congratulations, mission complete, Rachel died to save the traitor in our midst. Drama!"

He suddenly gave a few short claps, which startled the shit out of both me and the one-eyed dog.

"Did she actually betray anyone?" Lisa countered, certain as always, "All the information that was exchanged in there was about the thing Emissary was harassing Taylor online for, and I didn't want you two to get involved in whatever scheme she was playing," she shrugged, "She wanted to entrap us knowing her identity with the Truce."

"Yes," Brian threw up his hands, sarcasm and disgust dripping from every word, "She just planned to betray us. She just planned to stick knives in our backs." I winced as he walked right into Lisa's personal space, his every action thrumming with violence. "And you knew. You knew the entire time that SHE--" he gestured towards me in a sudden and violent spasm of his arm, "--wanted to take us down." His voice got low and silky. "Would you care to explain to me, Lisa, what in the name of Scion you were thinking?"

Lisa squared her jaw before opening her mouth. "I-"

Alec interrupted. "No, wait, let me guess, boss:" his voice went up to an absurdly high pitch in what might possibly have been the worst impression of Lisa I had ever heard in my entire life. "I know everything that's going on because I'm a THINKER and I have to know everything and be smarter than anyone else in the room."

"NO!" she snapped, "And I don't sound like that."

"Then please, Lisa," growled Brian. I had never heard him sound like that before. "Please tell me why I had to hear this from Coil. Please tell me why you even bother calling me the leader when it's clear that you don't consider 'My teammate might be a traitor' might POSSIBLY be something that I'd like to hear about. Please tell me why you didn't think telling your friends" and he stressed this word, making me feel all of three inches tall, "that someone could have been trying to hurt them."

"Rachel was my friend!" I spat back, fighting the tears down, my voice cracking on the final word, "And so are you! What the hell did Coil tell you?"

"That you were doing this gig to snag some juicy info to bring to the Protectorate in exchange for a cushy position as a Ward, right next to our ever-favorite Shadow Stalker!" Alec outlined, miming firing a gun, or maybe a crossbow, two-handed.

"That this Emissary was your contact, and the meeting we were kicked out of by Lisa was about you reporting to them because Armsmaster threatened your cover," Brian continued, "How else would you explain freaking Alexandria swooping in and taking him away just as he was about to assault you?"

Coil is playing them. Does he know about Rose? Or is he only aware of this 'cousin' ruse she constructed? It's fucked up all on its own that there's a version of me out there who's any good at this false identity bullshit! But… we can use this!

"She's my cousin, you idiots. A Thinker, kind of like Lisa-lite, but a grabbag, with regeneration on top, and Alexandria was her recruiter or something," I began, recalling the details I heard in the press conference and read on PHO, "She supposedly looked at the PRT files on us, identified me and went kicking down doors to fast-track me into the Wards, because her background checks accidentally unmasked me to the fucking Protectorate," I stopped, wondering at what point did I begin yelling, then continued in a normal voice, "I'm not a snitch, I'm outed. I'm tainted goods for this team one way or another, but please don't try to make it out as if Rachel's sacrifice was for naught."

"The creeper messages online were Emissary's dumb idea of spy-speak to convince Taylor she was a friend without putting traceable information online," Lisa caught on, "Except she screwed that up, overdid the cloak and dagger stuff, leaving us convinced she was one of the girls from Taylor's school!"

"Like that asshole that harassed you in the bookstore last week?" Brian asked, the temperature a little less hot. Shouldn't've opened with the Wards offer, shit.

"Her friend, but yeah. Made me think Sophia -- the asshole -- was actually Shadow Stalker," I admitted, "And then lo and fucking behold, it's my cousin Rose instead, who decided that becoming Thinker 2 Brute 1 meant she could fight an Endbringer from up close."

"Very me-lite," Lisa stage-whispered, stressing the last word, "I'm now considered a Thinker 7, apparently."

"Anyway, she Thinkered that I split from you guys because of how we stood at the briefing, and decided to give me the pitch," I went on, mixing some truth in with the lies. "The paper she gave me then, remember that? Here," I produced the note in question, handing it to Brian, "She offered me and Lisa spots on the Wards, citing their knowing who I am as a reason."

"I told her to stick it up her butt," Lisa said proudly, "But Taylor can't risk her father."

"And Coil deciding you're a turncoat reverting to your true colors is going to make him so much safer?" Brian asked, looking up from Rose's slightly smudged note - it was amazing it survived as well as it did, considering how much swimming I had to do yesterday with it in my storage compartment. His words, however, made me shiver. Coil was not above enslaving a twelve-year old girl and addicting her to drugs to control her. Killing an adult man would be child's play to him and certainly even less of a burden on his shriveled inhuman conscience.

"That would be breaking the Rules," Lisa said suddenly. "An attack on a Ward's family member would merit an escalating response Coil can ill afford with the way Leviathan flooded part of his old base yesterday," she elaborated, "Remember where he tried sinking into the street, but then was stopped by Eidolon and Myrrdin?"

"Right next to where we went on Saturday, right?" Alec ventured, looking a little bit less worried. Or maybe more, I was still having trouble making some of his expressions out.

"Ayup," Lisa nodded, looking glad that she finally had the reins of this conversation firmly in hand, "I didn't share tidbit with Alexandria when we were brainstorming yesterday, but it made me wonder if Leviathan was after Coil or maybe Dinah? Endbringers always have a specific target in mind, don't they?"

"Back to the start of this conversation, however," Brian cut her off, "If you really will join the Wards--"

"I'm not a snitch, Brian," I repeated.

"And there's rules, actual written rules, that allow her to go white hat without giving stuff up. Bigger ball and chain than Shadow Stalker though--" Lisa began before catching herself.

"I was wondering how long it would take until you realized," Brian said, rubbing his eyes with his palms, "You'd have to work with the girl that almost killed me, tried to kill all of us."

"Under investigation, they said," Lisa ricocheted at once, "Taylor had a mini-meltdown when Armsmaster tried to shake her down for info in front of Legend, yelled about that," she grinned in a manner that reminded me more of Sophia, "You saw how that ended for him. Imagine what Alexandria will do to her if she decides to follow up."

"Will she?" Alec asked, smirking in a way that semaphored 'fat chance' to anyone who bothered looking.

"Fucked if I know," I said, spreading my arms now, "I'm dead on my feet despite Panacea's healing, I need to get my stuff, find a place to stay that's better than the shelter I slept in, talk to my Dad about the fact that PRT or paid assassins may be kicking his door down in the coming days… getting to be in a position where Shadow Stalker can't do shit to me is small peas on top of all that."

"Get your stuff?" Alec asked with a quirked eyebrow.

I snapped back. "I was already leaving you guys before Leviathan hit... and I think I'm even less welcome now." I shot a glare at all of them. "None of you are the people I thought you were... and I guess I'm not either. Wanna make bets about Shadow Stalker?"

"Did she even survive?" Alec asked, making us all exchange questioning glances as if I was still part of the team. Shrugging, I trudged towards Rachel's room.

"Angelica, come."

------

[Rose]

The cafeteria was full of morose people trying to make it through the morose morning of what was certainly shaping up to be a very morose week. Troopers on duty and between shifts sat in batches of two or three, rarely more, unlike the usual bunching up of squads or friend groups, which felt odd to me until comprehension dawned. They were still sitting as squads. At least those that were there to sit.

As we made our way towards the serving line, most of them just ignored us, albeit I saw a couple waving to me weakly - likely witnesses of my dressing-down of Battery. I was, however, looking for two very specific troopers, and I saw them sharing a table not far from the one James chose for us to sit down at as was the right of the first one to make it through the line. Dropping my tray on the table (optioned: semolina, orange juice, vending machine tea, because it was still leaps and bounds better than this particular vending machine coffee), I made my way over to Martinez and Carlsson, who were halfway through some sort of tactical argument when they noticed me coming over.

"I'm telling you, we can't just drop an Endbringer onto Ellisburg, there's no transport large or reinforced enough for any of them! Tinkertech or otherwise!"

"But ma'am, what about teleporters? Especially range-based ones rather than targeted," Carlsson spoke animatedly - the eye I last saw as bandaged and bloodied mess was back now, surrounded by an impressive scar that he probably had to beg Amy to leave in place so he could show it off. "Someone like Strider or Fallback?"

"Strider's dead, Sergeant," I interrupted, "And from what I know of Fallback, it will be a while until he volunteers doing anything other than ferry duty on Endbringer battles again."

"Hey Red," Martinez grinned, her #2, which I loved using when I was screwing around with people. It just sang 'you just got played and don't even know how' at people. "I need a second opinion in something."

"Ma'aaaam," Carlsson stretched out, sounding like a petulant kid, which was certainly the last thing I ever expected someone who I shared a foxhole with in an Endbringer battle to sound like. Truly, Martinez was a master that still had a lot to teach me about bringing people to the edge of their emotions.

"With the heroics displayed by Trooper Carlsson here, do you think he should maybe go into the cape business like you did," Martinez explained, punctuating the you with a conspiratorial wink, "And if so, would he be served well by a costume involving denim overalls with a propeller on his back?"

What.

"Lieutenant Martinez," I said, once my brain was once again capable of cognition, "I don't know what should surprise me more: the fact that you can make an Astrid Lindgren reference so casually, or that you were expecting me to get it."

"Come ooon, nobody reads that oldie Euro stuff!" Carlsson protested, then hastily added, "Except weir-- er-- widely educated ladies like you two?"

"Alright, alright, Phil, take it easy, what's a light spot of teasing and book jokes between friends?" Martinez grinned wider at his botched attempt at recovery from what was a very mild insult at best, then laughed outright once he departed, still looking crushed that she made light of his participation in a fight that killed so many of their comrades.

"Martinez, would it be rude of me to ask you whether I should ask your counterpart from back home to marry my father, offering you the same option should she turn it down?" I outlined with a serious tone, "Because he married my mother for a list of reasons, and so far you seem hell-bent on ticking all these boxes for me. Except you'll have to apologize to Carlsson later on, because he actually performed admirably for an unpowered person."

"I know," she nodded, "There's a commendation waiting for him once normal paperwork resumes moving, because with your help he actually made the top three surviving PRT Troopers by contribution importance, saving three capes and all."

"Three?" I asked, confusion on my face, didn't I only rescue two with him?

"Yeah, the third happened after he lost the eye to a windshield he got swept into. Guy's tougher than coffin nails, I have to give him that," she smiled in a kinder way now, "Kinda like you."

"Well, he still owes me coffee for that, I believe," I smiled back, glad I opted for the generic mask instead of my helmet - admittedly, the most intact piece of my ceramic armor components, "And with that I must take my leave and rejoin my team before they eat my stuff."

"See ya 'round, Red. Keep'em on their toes, will ya?" she waved at my back.

I arrived back at the table in the middle of an argument. It seemed to be something of a running theme for the day, apparently.

"What's the fuss, guys?" were the first words out of my mouth after I got the first spoon of the gunky white stuff into my mouth. More carbs for the carb furnace that fuels my regeneration, I don't want to end up covered in scars like Cricket!

"Clockblocker says we should bring some food back for Vista," James outlined, "Shadow Stalker does not agree. Aegis is attempting to mediate. I am attempting to eat. Kid Win is attempting to sleep." He cocked an eyebrow. "I am of the opinion that he should eat as well and then sleep later. It would not do well to let this tasteless porridge go to waste."

I glanced at him. "If you want the porridge so much, then why not take his?"

Chris shifted his head slightly, and I caught sight of a few grains stuck to his forehead.

"That was my initial desire, yes. But then he fell asleep in his." He spooned another mouthful, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. "I do not want his porridge anymore."

I blinked at that, then reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "You do you, Browbeat."

"That I shall, Emissary. That I shall."

James now focused on his food, I turned back to the non-James and non-asleep portion of the table. "So looks like I'll be the tiebreaker, then?" I exclaimed, relishing the mix of emotions on Sophia's face - she went for the fuller mask option, the one that covered the hair up as well, for some reason. Not that I knew her habits regarding the subject back home, I only ever saw her in her costume's mask during my internship, and then she was gone, and then she was in the Cage where she belonged. Here, my case still didn't have a legal leg to stand on.

"I guess so, Emissary. So, emissate, would you?" Aegis acknowledged with a small hopeful smile.

"I'll carry the food and make sure Vista eats. Case closed," I announced, polishing up my plate, "Don't be a dick, Stalker, I bet you'd be in the same funk if one of your friends died."

"That's exactly my point, Ems," she replied without losing a beat and making my heart skip one, because she apparently shared one more odd trait with Skitter: she also apparently thought Emissary would work as Emma-ssary, "If one of my friends died, I'd be picking myself up, no problem."

She pointedly ignored the barbed looks Carlos and Dennis gave her (by virtue of Chris literally being asleep at the table and James apparently beyond caring), eating her omelette with nary a care. This made me wonder if the Wards that were mine now were as blind as these to the sociopath in their midst, or as powerless to stop her.

"Even the one whose nickname you just gave me?" I asked, my voice as quiet and soft as I could manage. I knew where my version of Sophia stood in regard to Emma. What I needed to know was whether this one was as unrepentant. The look I got back told me that no, she had never really considered what would happen to her if her (from what I knew) one single true friend would just up and die. She hadn't - the shelter where Dad and the Barnses would have most likely taken shelter was unharmed because Scion intervened before Leviathan could reach it - but if she had… I felt an ugly pull on my heart, a stray thought, wondering. Wondering how that self-assured haughty young woman would look, breaking down, crying in the ugliest of ways, knowing that the one she loved (liked? groomed as an accomplice? maybe just plain groomed?) had died, feeling like Missy was, right now.

Nobody spoke for the rest of the now-dispirited breakfast, and we left as clumps where we had arrived as a group trying to hold on to the scraps of cheer from the cuddle. Is it my imagination or I actually managed to bring Sophia down a bit?

Before leaving the cafeteria, I picked up two takeout containers of pancakes, letting everyone else get ahead of me. One went into my room for future use, the other I brought with me to the door marked 'V' on my second attempt at establishing communication.

"Missy," I told the door, "I come bearing food and hugs, could you please let me in?"

The door replied with grumbles and a muffled thud and then melted away to reveal a crumpled-up bed converted into a dragon's cave of blankets and hoarded pillows (did she… raid Dean's room sometime in the night? Those didn't look like they came with this room…), with a pair of bloodshot eyes looking at me from within. The door snapped back into shape - apparently, Missy just Vista'd it out of my way - and I proceeded to crouch in front of her cave-entrance. The dragon's breath smelled more like morning breath than brimstone, with a light zest of salt and possibly a hint of men's deodorant? Definitely raided Dean's room. This is not healthy.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Pancakes? I didn't know what you'd want on top, so you have the option of strawberry sauce or maple syrup."

I shimmied the surprisingly bare desk closer to the bed, laying out my spoils on it, unpacking the takeaway container. The plastic fork went into the dragon's cave, handle-forward.

"Strawberry?"

The strawberry sauce container was emptied into the takeaway one, covering the pancakes in the red goo contained within. Not like blood. Not at all like blood. Blood doesn't have those yellow… whatever they are, seeds? In it. Normally. Great, what a time to think about Bonesaw!

"D'you want tea or coffee or maybe juice? I'll be right back."

"Apple, please."

The dragon's voice was slightly muddled by the half-eaten pancake, but still easy to understand. The beast was receding, letting the girl take control.

I merited a please. Progress!

I was whoomphed out the door in the same manner as I was let in, coming out face to face with Carlos.

"I… thank you for doing this," he said, nodding at her door, "Who knows how we would have handled this otherwise."

"Dennis," I replied without hesitation, "Maybe with a little bit of James for the grounding. Walk with me to the kitchenette?"

"Yeah, that may be harder to pull off in the future," he said, rubbing his forehead, "James just got off the phone. His parents are leaving town, likely indefinitely. We're going to be down one more man in a few days."

"Hmm," I hmm'ed, surveying the monstrous state of the fridge -- apparently, someone tried to make sandwiches in the night and failed miserably at cleaning up after themselves. Probably Dennis, I'd trained mine to clean up after himself, but given the state that all of us were in, I'd let it slide. I grabbed the juice bottle and a (hopefully) clean glass from the cupboard, turning on my heels to return my quest items to the dragon before it was too late.

"Any progress on Skitter?" he asked next, "Or your… other targets?"

"Skitter is teetering, but with her team in the state it is now, I think it's down to days if not hours. No dice on the other fronts yet," I admitted, knocking on the V-door again. "If I don't come out in an hour… wait longer."

The dragon cave collapsed, the monster having released the princess. The princess had puffy eyes and generally looked like she would rather have been eaten by the dragon whole, but settled for eating the pancakes I provided. The entire pint of juice disappeared into the pint-sized Shaker in zero time flat as well.

Once she was done, I suddenly found her brushing her fingers against my tattoo.

"Does… does it stop hurting?" she asked quietly, her eyes boring into mine as if I, jaded old woman that I was, held the secrets of the universe in my head. "How did you--"

"I didn't," I admitted, "It took me days to leave the house. Unfortunately, I was just an intern then, not a Ward."

"You're gonna make me leave the room at any cost?" she mock-glared me.

"Oh, that would be easy," I grinned, a Greg Veder #1 ('It's totally funny in context, I swear') this time to show her I'm not that much of an asshole, "I just nip down to the third floor and sign out a tear gas grenade from the quartermaster."

"You wouldn't!"

"No, I wouldn't," I agreed, "Not to you, at least."

"Is this because I'm a kid?" she leaned back away from me, dejected.

"No, silly girl," I replied, sweeping her into a bear hug, "It's because you're my friend." A few beats later, I realized, "Also because you'd probably use your powers to create a pressure differential and just blow the tear gas right back at me, or trap me in a bubble of space with the grenade. Seriously, don't think 'they're treating me like a kid' as a bad thing. You're being underestimated. It's tactical advantage."

The buzz of my PRT brick phone broke the mood we had going. The caller ID gave me another opening though.

"I could, however, replace you with Skitter?"

------​

[Taylor]​

Lisa helped me pack, even loaned me a fresh button-up shirt because most of the stuff I had stowed here was a bad fit for the weather or didn't cover my costume well enough.

Angelica, fed from Rachel's stash of supplies, was sitting guard by the door, clearly accepting her new role as my guardian until her mistress arrived to relieve her. I already packed up some of their things as well - the boys didn't want any of Rachel's things and I would need at least some of the meat and jerky or whatever that stuff was called to take care of Angelica. Somehow, all five of us reached an unspoken agreement that I was taking the dog and Rachel's fur-collared jacket, and along the way that ballooned to encompass all vaguely dog-related things left at the loft.

I sat on the bed I barely slept in, and surveyed the stuff I'd be carrying out today: the bag with my costume, stuffed my other clothes now. A smaller messenger bag with meat and a few chew toys and spare leashes and collars. The jacket that was part of Rachel's distinctive 'Hellhound' look. Angelica.

I had little expectations I'd find the other dogs still waiting for Rachel at her shelter, but it was my best bet to secure a place to sleep without having to tell Dad I may have played a part in getting Armsmaster Birdcaged. Provided that was what was going to happen to him - how valuable were his Tinkertech contributions to the Protectorate anyway? At least I got to see Alexandria up close and personal, she even offered me condolences on Rachel's death, which was so wildly outside the scope of things I ever expected my favorite heroine to say to anyone, it wasn't even funny.

We said no goodbyes when I left, instead exchanging hugs with Lisa, blank stares with Brian, and an awkward handshake with Alec. And then I was out on the street again, Angelica hobbling by my side through the debris, her leash in my free hand, as I threw my last glance at the building that held my only friends in the past two years.

It wasn't a clean break, and if the team collapsed as Lisa expected I was merely the first to leave, but it still felt like I was tearing out a part of my heart to awkwardly tape the hole over with PRT-branded tape. Thanks a fucking lot, other me, and your weird moral stance on what counts as villainy. I hope your solution to Winslow -- academic now that Winslow itself was a crater -- doesn't end with me shot. If Sophia does turn out to be Shadow Stalker, I'm kicking you in the balls.

I paused, rebalancing my bags, looking back at Angelica's questioning eye.

"I hope they know how to feed dogs properly," I told her, fishing my phone out, scrolling down to the number my dopplegänger gave me.

"Come into my parlor," my smug voice told me through the phone. She really doesn't realize she's so much like Lisa, does she?

"By any other name, would you still be such a bitch?" I retorted. "Captain's Hill, tomorrow noon."

 

[Noelemahc]

Responder 2.07​

[Taylor]
{Tuesday}​

Captain's Hill was an anthill of activity. There were people moving construction materials to and fro, some working on filling in the gash left in one of the lawns by what looked like a meteor impact but probably was the result of someone punted by Leviathan during the fight, others setting up the monument. Oh yes, there would be a monument to the battle that took place in the city, placed in a relatively remote location, simply because it was one of the few locations that got off with more or less minimal damage.

It was Brockton Bay's answer to the deaths suffered against the Endbringer, one that would preclude pithy speeches and feuds breaking out in the middle of a funeral service - not as problematic considering the city had more than one cemetery, but still a plausible issue when only one of them was Jewish. In the de facto super-powered Nazi capital of the United States, it was expectable for it to be a regular fixture of the crime reports. As a result, the solution was an impersonal acknowledgement, the perfect bureaucratic blend of not doing anything and empty gestures: an obelisk that would bear the names of the dead. Real names and cape names both. I had no idea how they would be getting those, except for capes with no secret identity like Rachel or the Pelhams.

But Captain's Hill was, first and foremost, a park. There were people already here, two days since the attack, walking their kids, dogs, ferrets (wait, isn't that Louise from my class? How many people in Brockton Bay own ferrets?). The people reacted almost as if it was merely a storm and not the worst disaster known to modern man that struck here. Then again, it would probably make coping easier in a way? Most of them spent Sunday inside a shelter and didn't see or experience what I did. Although I could just as easily imagine people thinking more of themselves in the aftermath instead -- 'I survived an Endbringer, maybe that was for a reason?'

My reason buzzed in the trees and the bushes, crawled on the ground and beneath it. My reason trudged next to me along the path, limping slightly. My reason was home, fussing and worrying whether his only daughter would be coming home. My reason was being drugged out of her mind in a madman's secret lair. My reason was trying to survive being that madman's lapdog long enough to kill him My reason was sitting on a park bench I passed twice before recognizing her, a beanie covering her short hair, a look of odd contentment on her face as she stared at what looked suspiciously like a genuine dumpster fire.

"Hey," I said, plopping down next to her, Angelica sitting down into a guarding position at my feet, seemingly giving Rose no mind at all. Do we smell the same or what? Was it the lack of hostility between us?

"Hey myself," she replied, the contentment on her face moving effortlessly from the fire to me.

"What the hell did you do to your hair?" I asked, indicating the off-blue beanie which didn't clash too badly with her dark blue PRT gift shop hoodie (I used to want one myself, a long time ago) or the Miss Militia t-shirt underneath, but was clearly much more worn-in than the rest of the things she was wearing. Short bangs of black were the only hint she still had any hair underneath, and gave me no idea about what it looked like now.

"I have no need for it now that you know I'm you," she said, her voice much more serious than the relaxed expression on her face, as if they belonged to two different people, "And too many people saw us fighting side by side during the battle and could draw conclusions. I'm heading that off at the pass."

"You do realize there were simpler ways to convince me, without involving the Protectorate, Panacea or writing creepy stalkerish messages online?" I asked, very unsure if expecting a response in the positive from the crazy idiot version of me made any sense at all.

"Very few of those excluded Dad, and Panacea is much better than any DNA or Master/Stranger test, believe me," she bent forward to look at Angelica. The terrier's eye slid across my 'cousin''s exterior, but the dog gave no appreciable reaction otherwise. Apparently satisfied with the result, Rose sat back to rest against the bench.

"This is still pretty damn weird, talking to myself," I reiterated, making sure the swarm was meticulously sweeping the surroundings, because I still felt like they wouldn't let me leave in peace if I turned her down. Somehow I seemed to have gone from 'social pariah of Winslow High' to 'one of the most sought-after capes of Brockton Bay' practically overnight.

"It is, isn't it?" she nodded, relaxing her face into an expression that somehow reminded me of Greg. It looked weirdly out of place on this idealized version of my face -- and in the proper light of day I could see that it was exactly that - idealized. No blemishes, spots, uneven skin, even the lighter patch of skin from where Sophia hit me against a doorjamb too hard was gone. But the uncanny valley was only partly driven by the facelift - up close it looked like she didn't actually have proper facial expressions, she reproduced them robotically, as if she had to remember she was supposed to have any to begin with. Or maybe she thought having a wider range of emotional cues than 'Taylor Hebert' was worth the price of looking like a videogame character. Wait, she already looks like a videogame character. Please don't tell me there's a videogame about her on her Earth.

"Yeah," I nodded, finally noticing the lull in the conversation. "So…"

"You must be bursting with questions," she stated the obvious, "As long as it doesn't out anybody else, ask away."

"What's happening with Rachel?" was the first thing out of my mouth, "With her body, I mean. No real funeral?"

She shook her head. "The same as with all other villainous capes with no next of kin or known will - she gets a grave at St Peter's, on the eastern end, I checked. At least her grave will have a real name on top of the cape one. Not everyone who died gets that."

"You… checked?" I repeated, trying not to sound too shocked and failing.

"Hard as it may be to believe, I consider my version of her a friend," she huffed, crossing her arms, her face trying its hardest to convey a non-severe affront, though had it not been mine, it would have looked passably human, "I helped her get acquitted, she left the Undersiders, found gainful employment. Last I checked, she was happy, inasmuch as the word can apply to her."

"So, Amy and Vicky Dallon, Rachel... is there anyone you aren't friends with?"

"Okay, let's be brutally honest with each other here. You and I are basically the same, so you know I use 'friend' as broadly as possible."

"So you're not her friend?" I asked, grinning wryly.

"I'm saying that we're friendly with each other, and she seems to appreciate me, but a) it's Bitch, that's about as nice as she gets and b) we're both so desperate for actual human companionship that we'd probably take it if E88 goons offered it."

"So, is she going to be on the memorial?" I asked next, although I already suspected what the answer would be.

"Yeah," she nodded, "Like everyone else who died in the battle," she paused, then spoke in a much more subdued tone, "Except for the PRT troopers of course, because they aren't capes," she sighed, apparently remembering where she was before the tangent, "I didn't even need to fight them too hard to have both of her cape names listed."

"What about her dogs?"

She looked as surprised by my question as I was. So she does have facial expressions she doesn't have direct control over? What the hell is wrong with her?

"I… I actually hadn't considered that," she spoke slowly, her voice... apologetic, maybe? "You'd have to help me out with the names, however, because I could only recognize Brutus and Judas. She had a much larger pack when she defected, and none of the dogs I knew were with her then," she looked down to my feet again. "At least Angelica survived."

While she reached an open palm out for the dog to sniff, I worked my jaw back into place. She knows the names of Rachel's dogs? Was she speaking the truth then?

"Of course," I replied boldly. "I'll need to… identify the bodies, I guess? I didn't get a good look at her pack when we… ran into her, before she buffed them up."

"They're at the PRT building right now," she explained, petting Angelica gingerly, "The power-studying guys asked to take a look at how the power-granted muscle differed from the dogs' own. I was vetoed on the issue of doing anything to their bodies, but if you help me raise a stink, I think we can get them interred together with Rachel as a condition of your joining the Wards."

"So I'm getting a choice in the matter after all?" I asked, a little more indignantly than I wanted to, "Because it sure felt like you enjoyed cutting off all my other options."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she shot back, "I thought with Grue and Regent out of the room when I unmasked, you could still go back if you really wanted to. Sure, I didn't expect they would be the first friends you'd be making after… you know… but I wasn't going to just rip you away from them."

"Well, unlike you, I didn't have the Dallon sisters as an option, you know," I retorted, "Or the Wards, or whoever else you hooked up with at Arcadia. And now I don't even have that, since Coil told them all about my undercover mission."

She choked for a moment, my words having struck a chord somewhere in that musclebound parody of my body that sat next to me on the bench in the middle of the aftermath of the worst thing to have happened to this city since the Boat Graveyard happened.

"Okay. Look. We went into this the wrong way altogether--" she said, gesturing between us, "So here's some disillusionment for you. Yes, I dated Aegis. Then Hookwolf killed him. I hadn't dated anyone since, and I'm still getting therapy over it. Seeing him alive again here did no good to my mental wellbeing whatsoever. Imagine if one day Emma came up to you and hugged you and how exactly would you react then?"

"Alright, I'll grant you that one. Panacea?"

"Best friends, I'd say, like you and-- say, what name did Tata give you as her own? I'd feel like a tool if I shared her real one without her permission, however much I may hate her."

"Lisa," I supplied. "Certainly suits her better than Sally."

She gave a short bark of a laugh that really didn't sound like something I'd ever do. "Sure does. Anyway. Amy's a Ward. Torn up ties to her family halfway because of that, and only made worse after I put Glory Girl in jail for involuntary manslaughter. 'Assault with a parahuman power' makes everything worse, you know?"

I gaped at her. "You-- she-- what?"

"And yes, she may have had feelings for me at some point, but that went on hold when she realized I wasn't about to reciprocate. This--" she gestured at her face, "--happened when she got carried away with saving my life after Shadow Stalker killed me."

"Like, kill killed you?" I asked dumbly.

"My heart stopped, so technically I did die. Then it was started up again. The correct term is 'clinical death', I believe. Then Amy healed me, except she did it a little too well, sort of a power surge or something, like you said you get a wider range in times of crisis? Speaking of which, we'll need to get her, or the local her, to take a good look at your heart some time soon."

I gawked at the last statement before realizing it had something to do with what her Amy discovered when healing her. My version of Panacea certainly wasn't interested in any kind of decent bedside manner or patient aftercare. Or maybe it was the knife to her throat?

"Alright. So how does Shadow Stalker fit into this? You mentioned uncovering her probation violation?"

"Yeah, that was a technical lie for the audience, to avoid outing her and airing PRT dirty laundry where Tattletale could reach it..." she trailed off, looking to her sides warily.

"Explain." I hissed, and so did the small swarm I kept building under the bench since I sat down. Rose flinched at that, but, to her credit, Angelica didn't. "Nobody is within earshot, unless there are Strangers my power can't detect."

"The attempted murder was of Madison Clements. The Locker. Shadow Stalker is Sophia Hess," she replied tersely, visibly collecting herself, as if expecting me to sic the swarm on her. So I punched her in the face instead, as hard as I humanly could. I considered adding a kick to the ribs for good measure once she landed on the ground, but thought better of it looking at the stares we were drawing.

"Start. Talking." I ground out, offering her a hand.

------​

[Barry Rennick]
{Monday}​

"...I see. Very well, please keep me apprised of any developments," I said, placing the phone receiver back into its cradle. This setback was unfortunate, but not insurmountable.

The pounding at the door caught me unawares, as nobody was scheduled with me until the afternoon. Yesterday's attack uprooted a lot of common procedures, but that didn't mean just anyone could burst into my office willy-nilly.

"Yes? Enter!" I called out, lamenting the fact that we had no men to spare to stand guard over my door-- ah, Emissary, what an unexpected development.

"I need whatever information is available on the Shadow Stalker inquest," she panted out. Did she run here?

"Yes, Emissary? How are you today?" I asked, trying to inject at least some politeness into the process. "Is there anything I can help you with, perchance?"

That seemed to do the trick as she visibly calmed down, sat herself down in one of the visitor's chairs I gestured at, and began anew.

"Deputy Director, as you are aware, I've been working on getting Skitter to agree to join the Wards," to which I nodded, I didn't expect her to start that far back, "And that Shadow Stalker was the one that caused her Trigger. I was trying to reach Director Piggot, but she is unavailable on short notice due to coordinating the relief work," she explained, which at least told me why she was in the state she was in, "I would greatly appreciate it if I could be attached to the team working on getting her locked up so I could expedite the process. Having these two meet in any way out of costume would likely lead to this building being condemned."

"And we wouldn't want that," I offered her a wan smile, trying to ease her obviously troubled mind. "Don't worry, Emissary, it's done," I said, mentally omitting the except for the phonecall I just received, because it wasn't a crucial detail.

"Okay, good, so who do I talk to?" she breathed out, anticipation in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Miss Ellison, I seem to not have made myself sufficiently clear. We finished our investigation on Saturday. As of 11:25 AM today, we have all the evidence needed to convict Miss Hess."

"...What."

I shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, but we--"

She waved her hands in front of her, clenching her eyes shut for a moment, as if trying to dispel a mist or illusion of some sort. The thought made the corners of my mouth curl upward.

"Wait. Stop, no, wait," she sputtered, clearly trying to get her words to co-operate, "You're telling me that you've been sitting on the evidence that Shadow Stalker--"

"No…" I trailed off, giving her a stern look, about 70% strictness rating, "We have not been 'sitting on this', as you said. The only reason she wasn't taken care of on Saturday is... well... the forms to get her removed from the program and remanded to police custody require the Director's signature, and she'd already gone home for the day when we got the paperwork ready. Then on Sunday…"

I spread my arms wide, indicating the view outside my office window. She nodded, remembering what she herself was doing yesterday.

------​

[Ty Michaelson]
{Saturday}​

Director Piggot threw her worst possible look across the desk at the two ladies from the Youth Guard which probably weighed less put together than she did. Or he did, he mused. Michaelson was vaguely aware he was mostly here to play up the intimidation angle -- the YG hovered in the vicinity of the top of the Director's shitlist a lot, so there was no way to know the specific reason for her ire of the day. The fact that they were willing to come in on a Saturday to expose themselves to it already spoke volumes of the extent of the problem at hand.

"Shadow Stalker," she paused for emphasis, letting Ty realize the time for the asshole Ward to get shitcanned had finally come, "Has been discovered to have caused a Trigger in a girl she was bullying in her civilian identity. While investigating the matter, we have unearthed a series of other probation violations, at least two of which were the direct consequence of insufficient oversight, the blame for which I am fully willing to lay at your feet."

"Emily--" the taller one of the two tried to object, but was cut off by the Director's gesture.

"Amanda, I've known you for years, and I know what you will say," Piggot said evenly, before raising her voice a fraction, changing gears, "The teachers of Winslow High implicated in the cover-up, which at this point is almost a full third of them, will be facing inquests and possibly will lose their jobs with various entertaining additional restrictions for future employment. All because you argued the girl should be left there instead of being moved to Arcadia per existing procedure."

"The transition would have upended her willingness to co-operate with the program, Emily!" the shorter grey-haired woman protested.

"Tell me then, have you looked at what the rehabilitation program report looks like for her?"

There was silence, and Ty knew: Piggot has won. Nobody was going to acknowledge it this soon, but she has won already.

"And this Trigger, may we ask--"

"Skitter. Our fuckup, yours and mine, created Skitter. I'm sure you've heard of her," another pause for emphasis, the crapfest at the Forsberg gallery having been plastered all over the news by now, "We have a Ward attempting to establish contact with her, maybe get the same deal Shadow Stalker was supposed to get," her eyes narrowed further, "Except that we wouldn't have needed to make a deal if we'd kept her under control," she snarled. "Instead, not only are we down two members of the Protectorate and a Ward-"

"Who shouldn't have been out there in the first place!" Amanda jumped in. "What were you thinking?"

Piggot's anger somehow grew even hotter.

"I suspect, Amanda, that he was thinking about stopping the Endbringer in his city. You know, the one that was attempting to kill everyone he's ever known and loved? And don't change the subject, her crimes mean that the city is down another parahuman." She grimaced slightly. "And what's worse, her actions may have soured a known villain towards us to the point where, unlike most of the criminals in this town, she will have a very legitimate reason to rebel against any form of law and authority." She was standing up now. Ty knew it was effective, as he could see the two Youth Guard idiots slumping in their seats, but he could see her legs shaking behind the desk. Piggot sat down and fixed the two with her cold stare.

"So if my Ward manages to cut a deal with Skitter, you can be damned sure that she will be watched properly, unlike the killer you only let me monitor with one agent."

"Your mysterious new Ward? The one who moved into the PRT building because she has no place of residence, was fast-tracked onto the team and is completely unreachable to us?" Amanda protested, visibly glad she had something to latch on to.

"Alexandria put her in my lap, if you must know, with all the pertinent paperwork in tow," the Director huffed, "I've been told she was involved in an incident where she had to tase a Youth Guard rep who tried to manipulate another potential recruit. I'm sure you'll agree that paints a clear picture regarding her opinion of your organisation."

Nobody seemed to want to object after that.

------​

[Phil Carlsson]
{Friday}​

"Wait, what are we doing here again? You're seriously considering someone got Jimmy Hoffa'd in this building?"

Phil scowled at the trainee. Jimmy was a bright guy, but his combat scores were way higher than his aptitude tests. He'd never make it above a common Trooper. Now Phil, he had aspirations. He looked at Ingrid, all dressed up to the nines in her black pantsuit, and all he could think was 'I want to be her one day.' No, that came out wrong. 'I want to have the same position one day.' Well, not the exact position of crouching over a section of a parking garage floor, waving a Tinkertech magic wand to see if there was a dead body inside the floor of this level.

Nominally, Phil and Jimmy were her escorts, guards in the case of any trouble. Unofficially, with the Empire 88 mess still boiling in the news and the new Ward being publicly announced today, the higher-ups expected shit to happen, and so nobody PRT was leaving the base alone. Phil liked Ingrid, he had valid reasons to believe Ingrid liked him back, and Jimmy kinda tagged along, citing the two-man rule to follow Carlsson to the garage, where Ingrid utterly failed to try to dissuade him from going with them.

At this rate, I'm never going to ask her out. I wonder if she'll turn me down on the principle that if she eventually agrees to marry me, her new name will look like an E88 propaganda piece. Or maybe not that, she's not white, after all.

"Here's a tip for you, Sanders: when parahumans are involved, nothing's impossible," Phil said sagely, glaring menacingly at a pigeon that was looking at Ingrid oddly.

"But this degree of ridiculous precision, off a tip?"

"Newsflash, Sanders: there's at least one confirmed high-grade Thinker living in this town, and who knows how many more live in secret, not to mention whatever power plays out-of-town groups may be running," the female Agent explained from her position, "Throwing dirty laundry at one another expecting the PRT to take their opponent away is a pastime many parahumans enjoy. Just look at Blasto and Accord."

"So, kinda like Mouse Protector and Ravager, I guess?" Jimmy offered, "It feels like they're showboating more often than actually fighting."

"Bad example, James," Phil said reproachfully, "The Slaughterhouse Nine got the both of them recently. Rumor mill says Bonesaw sewed them together," he added, making Jimmy recoil in disgust.

"Guys! Get the tools over here, we've got a hit!" Ingrid called out, "And it looks like the dead guy still has some sort of arrow stuck in his gut."

"How did we get this tip anyway?" Jimmy asked as he helped Phil pull out the cutting tools out of the company car.

"An envelope was delivered by hand to an auxiliary office in Providence," Phil replied, shutting the door and joined the younger man in carrying the box towards the waiting agent, "We know zilch about the courier except that it was a woman whose face was obscured from all camera feeds by a hat."

------​

[Lakshmi Ramayan]
{Thursday}​

"Doctor Morrison, please. We are simply trying to make sure we've accounted for all the victims," she repeated for the fifth time today. It was the last hospital on her list, and all the interviews with the head doctors went along the same scenario. It's almost as if the Hippocratic Oath included a clause about being allowed to be obtuse in the face of law enforcement agencies. She wasn't even asking for any identities, just confirmation on specific wounds.

"You keep saying that as if it magically makes peeking through people's privacy rights okay," the rotund bearded man replied. His temples, flecked with gray, were slick with sweat already, and this was in an air-conditioned building on a not that warm a day. "I'm telling you, you can't just--"

"I'm not asking for private details yet, Doctor. Just a tally: how many people, if at all, came in with wounds matching the one in this file?" Lakshmi repeated, cursing both her callsign ("Lucky", because her CO was an ignorant asshole that couldn't be arsed to learn how to pronounce her name) and her parents (who named after the goddess of fortune and prosperity, no pressure!) for never helping her with things like this. "Do you want to let a serial killer get away from justice?"

Morrison let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm not doing this to spite you, Agent. But these wounds--"

"Are fairly unique and would allow us to hammer out a timeline of activity, letting us refine the working theory," Lakshmi continued, "The number of victims may make the difference between one year in jail for the suspect and five, possibly more. We may want to talk to specific victims after that, we may not, if we do, our first question would naturally be 'why didn't you report being shot by a crossbow to the police', which will carry a lot of consequences both for them and for your staff. Do you really want me to keep throwing legalese at you until we're both blue in the face?"

"Shit. Okay, let me look up a few things. Can you return in an hour or two?"

"Do you have a lounge or cafeteria I can wait in?"

------​

[Barry Rennick]
{Monday}​

"...And then this morning we received notice from the Chief Director's office that they're releasing information pertinent to our investigation from a sealed file," I finished, handing her one of the printouts.

"That… bi--" she caught herself, amending the sound as soon as she let it out, "--iieeelligerent idiot outed me to Emma?!"

I nodded, because that was the polite thing to do, then resumed speaking.

"Unfortunately, the Barnes family has already left the city due to the damage their house sustained in the flooding," I laid out, tapping another report lying on my table, "Moved to Portland for the time being, neighbors said."

"Great. Just great," Emissary breathed out, "One door closed, another opens. Then again, Rose Ellison doesn't actually exist, and Emma has no reason to out me there. All she has is my connection to Taylor Hebert, who she knows fuck-all about, in terms of things that matter."

"Are you satisfied with this outcome then?" I asked next, hoping for a positive response, "The only person out of reach for you is the agent in charge of monitoring Shadow Stalker in her civilian life, as she died during the Endbringer attack. Her building collapsed after the first wave struck."

"My condolences," she said, her voice somewhat wooden, "Too sad, though, there was a lot I would have liked to ask her." I couldn't help but notice that one of her hands twitched towards the holster she normally kept her taser in. I frowned minutely, but said nothing. "As for your question…" she set down the papers and ran her fingers through her hair, "I can't... I can't honestly say that I am satisfied with the outcome." she slumped down into the chair. "I'm... Why?" She looked up at me. "Why did it take so long? Why did she hurt so many people?" her gaze dropped into her lap. "It took five months for my PRT to figure out she was a bad egg, and that's only because she tried to get me and screwed up. Here... they didn't even do that." Her hands were shaking and angry tears began rolling down her cheeks. "You people waited almost a year before you figured out that she was a Fuuh...reaking sociopath, and again, only because of me raising the alarm." She looked up, eyes glistening, "What would have happened if I hadn't come along? How long would she have been…" She trailed off as I pushed a box of tissues towards her.

"I can't answer that," I finally admitted. "I like to think that we do the best we can... but in the end, we're all just human." I looked down, my hand balling into a fist. "And we make mistakes. Large ones, sometimes." I turned my gaze back to her, folding my hands across my desk. "All we can do is move forward and try not to repeat our mistakes." I made sure to look her square in the eyes. "I promise you, what happened with Miss Hess will NOT happen again."

We stared at each other for a moment, before she broke it and coughed once.

"So, uh... am I correct in assuming that since Winslow is gone, Skitter would be routed to Arcadia anyway?" When I nodded, she added, "Emma too, if she returns?"

"Of course. Therefore, it would be welcome if you could induce Skitter to provide us with further evidence in order to prosecute her as well as Shadow Stalker's other unpowered... accomplices."

"Huh. Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants for her, coming back to the happy news that she has to go to Arcadia now, then learning she's facing a school blacklist because of her actions," she said, more to herself than to me, an oddly genuine smile spreading on her face, "My only remaining issue is how am I supposed to explain all this to Skitter?"

"At this point, Emissary, I think full disclosure is your best friend."

A ping told me I had new mail. From Director Piggot?

------​

[Rose]
{Tuesday}​

I expected a reaction of this kind. I didn't expect her to be strong enough to physically punch me off the bench, considering our not-insignificant weight difference.

And so I told her. Told her about my talk with Renick, about the fact that the combined idiocy of the Youth Guard (a fact I never learned at home but would have to look up once I got back) and the PRT fucked our life up, and how much it would be worth it to see Clockblocker's face when he learns the dreaded Bug Girl of Brockton Bay is my cousin. I am totally not setting them up together, that would be weird. Of course, I told her how easy her Sophia got off compared to mine.

As I spoke, answering the occasional clarifying question, we ate the pancakes I've hoarded over two days' worth of cafeteria visits, drank my thermos of tea and went on a tangent discussing possible negotiation options to get Panacea's help with Angelica.

"Ow," I winced as I bit into soft, delicious pancake, "Let me... yep, that tooth is loose. Nice hook, by the way."

"I'd say sorry, but... well, I'm not," she mumbled around her own mouthful of goodness. I nodded after a moment.

"Yeah... I kinda had that one coming," I said just after swallowing strawberry-flavored breakfast food. She nodded and for a few minutes, there was little else but the sound of chewing and occasionally slipping bits of pancake to Angelica.

"You know what the most aggravating thing about this whole situation is?" she asked after I was finally done talking, "That I may yet have to thank you for so thoroughly fucking my life up."

"Matter of perspective, T," I replied glibly, "I tore down the shantytown of despair you tried to build from what you had at hand, and am giving you shiny new building blocks." She scowled at the analogy, but I pressed onwards. "Sure, the pay is worse, the PR stuff is a chore, and the team has no eye candy like Lisa--" she choked, so I hastily added, "--sorry, I never met Grue out of costume and Regent's kinda meh."

"Grue's… hmmm." She paused, hesitating, then seemed to have a lightbulb moment. "Remember the crush we've probably shared over Corey Wilkins a few years back? He's like that, except eighteen and not an asshole," another hesitant pause, "Not as much of an asshole, okay. Taking care of his little sister sometimes takes precedence even over common decency for him."

"Okay, then you are going to love Aegis then. However, now that Sophia's gone, no girl eye candy though."

"Huh, so I didn't imagine it?" she wondered aloud.

"Imagine what?"

"You're into girls. I'm not. Also, Sophia, really?" she mimed retching, worrying Angelica with the sounds that produced.

"I'm not into girls per se, if anything, I'm more into physiques. And as for Sophia? She is good-looking, neither of us can deny it, right? But... What's the words I'm looking for..." I pretended to think as I tapped my chin. "Oh yes, not just no, but HELL no. Sophia is... just... look, even if I didn't have a history with her, just knowing what she's like and what she's done..." I shivered. "So imagine my reaction when she came onto me yesterday," I admitted hesitantly. This time, she did almost retch for real.

"Whyyy?" she squeezed out, "If you say she admitted she confused you for me at first? Then learning about the cousin thing? Why would she possibly do it?"

"Dominance, I guess. Maybe making me a trophy girlfriend to rub that in your face? Who knows with that psycho."

------​

[Sophia Hess]
{Monday}​

So the morning plan kinda fizzled out when the group hug interrupted my come-on, but the general idea seemed workable: she wasn't exactly averse to my chosen approach.

After Emma's texts detailing her parents' decision to move to Portland until Brockton Bay ceased being a disaster area, I realized I would be left here alone, with no school, no track, even no Hebert (even though she finally quit coming back a couple of weeks ago) to distract me. All I had were the Wards patrols… and Hebert's surprisingly worthwhile cousin.

Seeing her come back from her talk with Renick, all flustered and out of breath, gave me two contrasting trains of thought: 'did she beat him up or something?' and 'I bet it would be interesting to spar with her'.

"What's cooking, Rose?" Alderman asked, looking up from whatever book he was reading. "Someone chased you down the hall or something?"

"Skitter agreed to meet me," she replied, her panting starting to wind down, "Talked to Renick just now, we may be getting her as a new Ward soon, depending on how it goes with her tomorrow."

"I do not know how I feel about that," Browbeat wasted air, "She has shown a capacity for damage that may not fit in well with our group. On the other hand," he scratched his big hand in his stubble, "It would be preferable to have those same dangerous powers on our side instead of having to go against them."

"She'll adapt," Rose defended her stance, "She's a survivor," she added knowingly, and that explained everything, at least to me.

I couldn't help but grin at her. I knew Skitter was only a recent addition to the Undersiders, probably joined the first team she could. Perhaps, with the proper motivation, she could be turned around to my worldview, she certainly was another predator. The Wards would finally stop being a fucking kiddie pool.

"That said, there was another issue I was talking to Renick about," she went on, turning to me. "Sophia… I talked to my cousin. There can be two ways out of this for you. "

My heart skipped a beat. I think I paled more than I ever did in that moment. This development was not one I seriously considered, I expected to have already worked her over with Emma's help, but the fucking Endbringer…

"I-- I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied, "Whatever she told you is probably more of her attention-seeking--"

"Is that what you told the school staff?" she asked, taking a step forward. The mask-up alarm sounded. Did she get troopers here to subdue me? How dumb do they think I am, I can walk through walls! "Unfortunately, the PRT does not work that way. Your probation does not work that way," she paused to crack her knuckles, and I was seriously torn between going shadow right then and there, "And since your probation officer is too dead to aid in the investigation, you'll have to do it yourself."

"Rose, what are you--" Alderman began before being cut off.

The doors swung open, admitting a pair of PRT troopers with some sort of Tinkertech rifles in hand. Time to--

PAIN

--I collapsed in a heap on the floor, looking up helplessly at her, that thing of hers in her hand, wires trailing to my chest. She just zorched me with her thing, like Leviathan! No hesitation, no--

"You really could have made things easier for yourself by talking," she shook her head, then turned to the troopers, ignoring my jellied unresponsive body on the floor. I could vaguely see Alderman peering over the sofa's edge, but not his expression, not when I couldn't move my head. "M/S containment room two, electric field up, but let me put her mask on first. This is enough of a shitshow as it is."

"Whatever you say, Red," the male trooper said, eliciting a groan from Rose.

"For fuck's sake, it's catching on now?"

"What the hell did just happen?" was the last thing I heard Alderman say before blackness overcame me.

------​

[Taylor]
{Tuesday}​

"Ha! I wish I could have seen her face then!"

"You still can, she'll likely stick around in that cell for a while now as the case is hammered out," Rose replied, putting away the container she brought the pancakes in, "Bring the Journal in for more things to investigate, I'd love it if we could build a bigger case against Emma."

"Why her?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow, "Didn't you already--?"

"I felt… cheated… of a proper denouement, I guess?" she said quietly, "With Sophia Birdcaged, Madison as my subordinate and Emma in the psych ward, none of them felt truly… fulfilling."

"One last question," I said, trying not to sound nervous in case it was merely a test or a precaution on the PRT's part.

"Shoot," she grinned at me, finally looking like me when she did so.

"Funny you should say that. The snipers… are they yours?"

The swarm I had patrolling the area for traps and ambushes had finally brought me results: two men with complicated-feeling rifles, aiming at us but content with just watching for now.

"The one on the building on the corner of Wendt - you count him too?" she asked, pointing out the glint of a reflection in a sniper scope.

"No. Three snipers then," I amended, still feeling unsure.

"They're not with me," she replied, lowering her voice. Angelica perked up at the change in the tone of our conversation.

"Coil trying to take me out before I snitch on his operations?" I ventured, piling more bugs onto the backs of the snipers, where they wouldn't be able to spot them. It was stupid of them to come after me without any kind of bug spray or what-have-you, if they were really sent by Coil. I suspected he had a very good handle on how my powers worked.

"Protective detail on Dad's house says nothing out of the ordinary," she reported, putting her phone away. "I asked them to politely move him to the PRT building."

"Are we going there then?"

"As soon as you decide how to deal with these three."

"I'm thinking nothing lethal, just some hornet stings."

"Define 'some'?"

"Enough."

 

[Noelemahc]

Interlude 02.T​

"She's lying," Tattletale's voice made Taylor look up from the screen with the press conference video, "She's lived in Brockton most of her life if not all of it. The 'relatives' she's speaking of are her birth family. I'm not sure what else she may be hiding."

Is not surprised to learn Emissary is Brockton native.
Had suspicions after watching the video.
Has drawn conclusions, armor design is in reference to something only a short list of people know, including Taylor.​

"Taylor? Is she--" Lisa tried to ask, seeing her friend's face working its way through several degrees of surprise, then turning to shock, to furious anger.

At least one of them is dead, her mother? Useless, Emissary is Wards age.
Has reached the same conclusion, only one person meets that criteria.
Emissary is one of her bullies, likely the former friend.​

"Taylor, even you know how my power works with too little data, you can't be sure you've considered all the suspects--"

"It's her!" Taylor replied vehemently, eyes glistening with tears of rage, "Too much fits! Why Shadow Stalker is her friend! Why the school turned a blind eye!"

Is convinced the evidence is unshakeable.
The coincidences appear to fit well enough.
The location of the alleged Journal? Thinker inference? Thinker interference?
No other option.
​

What is up with her body? It's like a puppet.

------​

No words were exchanged as they walked into the building together, still hand-in-hand as Lisa dragged Taylor after her. When they saw Emissary spot them, or when Lisa excused herself to stand at the Undersiders' side. If nothing else, this was what made it final: Taylor was not part of the team, she would be entering the battle solo. And facing whoever her alleged helper/stalked actually was, as well.

Receives attention from Parian, is surprised, but not by the revelation of Parian's preference.
Had not considered herself within Parian's sphere of interest?
No, thinks less of Parian for showing interest in someone underage?
No, simply doesn't want entanglements right now.

Body language generates false results in my power's conclusions.

Approaches Taylor with trepidation, is confused over reasons for hostility.
Confusion is genuine, stems from misinterpretation, expected armor design to breed familiarity, not contempt.​

"Damn it, Taylor!" she swore quietly, but not quietly enough.

"Huh?" Regent turned his white mask towards her. "The dork got in trouble already? Relaaax, they won't break the Truce so openly."

"It's not that. The new Ward has been writing her creepy love letters all week, since before her debut," Lisa deflected, "And now she's got her pinned."

"Ooh. A lady caller! Scandalous," Alec's response was a drab monotone, clearly indicating his opinion in the subject. Ignoring him, Lisa tried to focus on Taylor's reactions instead.

Taylor is going on the offensive, still convinced Emissary is actually Emma.
Emissary realizes that NOW… outright states she is not Emma.
Knows Emma personally, possibly the other bullies as well.
Taylor skeptical, sees no reason for anyone on the side of the law to help her.
Has heard some sort of trumping argument, a private secret?​

Emissary turning to me, expects to use me as winning argument? What?!

Taylor's face, no, not exactly Taylor's face. The goggles cover too much to say for sure.​

Distant relative? Long-lost sibling?

Familiarity with intimate details of Taylor's life means either direct access to her memories… but there are no known memory-affecting powers?
​

Secretly a postcog?

Thinker 5, possibly 6 depending on nature of gleaned knowledge, 2 rating the same kind of sandbagging that markets Gallant as a Tinker?​

"Not in public," Lisa whispered along with the unspoken message from the Ward who was now busy shocking Taylor with the same facial revelation.

"Tattletale, you okay?" Grue asked.

Talkative today, isn't he? Lisa fumed to herself, before answering.

"Yeah. Thinker tangent, too much powers in the room."

"Funny, could'a sworn you got too engrossed in the little lover's spat over yonder."

"Fuck you, Regent," she said emphatically.

"Ha! You wish!" he snorted back.

When Lisa turned back to the two girls, she saw that Emissary was doing something to her helmet, her back turned to Taylor.

Opened her helmet. Show of trust?
Yes, allowed spiders to be deposited inside.
Trusts Skitter implicitly, wants to secure reciprocation.
Is aware how Skitter's powers work in detail.​

She screwed her eyes shut, well aware the Thinker headache she felt fast approaching would not win her any favors during the battle. Swearing inwardly, she beat her power back down before opening her eyes again, to see Emissary returning to the other Wards, Taylor left where she was, holding something.

Taylor confused over contents of note.
Still skeptical.​

It looks like… Emissary revealed her identity, or part of it, but Taylor is confused over the exact nature of the revelation.

She sighed and shut her eyes again as she sat down for Legend's briefing speech. None of this is going to end well.

------​

"Emissary?" Legend asked warily, "What do you have to do with this?"

She saw an opening, and she took it. Her power was still reeling from the after-action review with Alexandria which she hoped to convert into favors for her team, and if she had to spent a couple on bailing Taylor out, maybe, just maybe that would be enough to get her back on the team. After losing Rachel, Taylor's departure definitely meant a death knell for the Undersiders, unless Coil would pull out a new member right out of his thin bony ass.

"Just the thing I was going to ask, Mister Legend, sir!" she announced as cheerfully as she could, hobbling over to the source of the commotion that slowly had the entire hospital converging around the scene of the two Brockton Protectorate capes needing a Triumvirate member to confront a fifteen-year old girl, that, admittedly, has already schooled two said capes along with the rest of their team on several occasions.

She easily weathered a baleful glare from Panacea, who seemed to be held in a death grip by Emissary - dragged here bodily, Emissary suspected what was happening, needed her for some reason, to heal Skitter? - but then slammed into a wall against the Ward.

Is aware how my powers work.
Bears a grudge.
Could wrestle a bear.​

HAS wrestled a bear?

Has, or thinks she has, some sort of trump card over me.
Likely aware of issues my power has with her.
Is here for Skitter, won't let me get in the way.

Taylor is happy to see me.
Is glad to know I'm alive.
Wants to ask about Rachel but is wary of the crowd.
Doesn't know yet.​

Lisa gave Taylor the best reassuring grin she could muster under the circumstances, before returning to the byplay before her.

"Before we move anywhere, I have to warn you all my helmet cam is recording everything, and Armsmaster already has less political capital than Mount Rushmore," Emissary said, her voice a carefully measured commanding tone vaguely similar to the one Lisa just listened to for almost an hour, "And has been caught falsely accusing Skitter on record previously."

I guess we know who she wanted to be when she grows up, she chuckled internally, Except bending Armsmaster over a barrel seems counter-intuitive for a career with the Protectorate unless Taylor is just that valuable to her. One more point for the familial relation tally.

"I'm sorry, but aren't you a little young to be pushing Protectorate members around, young lady?" Battery asked, sounding properly peeved and obviously on the same train of thought. Except the reaction she received…

Is certain her exploits give her leeway.
Has some sort of backdoor deal with the Protectorate? Possibly Alexandria herself, Legend seems taken aback.​

Takes the time to elevate Taylor by association-- the power's train of thought halted to make way for Lisa's own, yet again, wait, Taylor melee'd Leviathan? How is she upright-- oh, Panacea.

She chuckled at the teardown, and then again at the applause.

The PHO puppet post, the familiarity with the red-head, the speech she made at her debut, she ticked off internally, All carefully constructed, with no earmarks of the PRT PR division, to secure a firm reputation with the PRT rank and file, the actual field troopers.

Building a power base.​

That realization came unbidden, but it was the best explanation she could see, power or no, and just in time to hear--

"I was going to do this anyway, but in order to secure the aid of the Undersiders in an ongoing investigation I agreed to unmask to them today," Emissary explained, gesturing at Lisa and the boys.

Is dismissive of unmasking.
Knows she can do it under Truce and hold it over us.​

Has Taylor's face, of course she's unafraid, she risks noth--

Knows our identities, the unmasking is for our benefit.​

Lisa paled at the realization, swallowing nervously. That was not something she was prepared for, the PHO exchanges implied that Emissary wanted to build a rapport to steal Taylor away from them, then Coil's grandstanding and their teamwork during the Endbringer fight made that unnecessary. This gesture was pure politicking.

"All she told me about you besides your name was 'keep an eye on this one'. I now see what she meant," Legend said in response to something Lisa was too floored to hear. The headache gnawed at the edge of her mind now, but the desperate urge to know overwhelmed her.

Legend is pissed Alexandria didn't warn him, she is obviously in on this.​

"People are watching," Taylor said, drawing their attention to the crowd of capes and non-powered personnel held back by the PRT guards. She thought she saw Trickster recording video, probably to put it online for shits and giggles later. The man was an unrepentant asshole. The recording would have to be dealt with regardless of the outcome of this negotiation.

"All because Armsmaster accosted Skitter when I was escorting her to the bathroom," the red-headed trooper said, "No reason given."

Is friends with Emissary.
Trusts her.​

Knows her identity?

Is aware Skitter is valuable to Emissary, moved to assist, attempt was to move her out of Protectorate reach.
Skitter was being unlawfully detained, the trooper freed her, but was stopped by Armsmaster.​

And then the whole group moved to the operating room, obtaining Glory Girl in place of Battery along the way. Lisa hated having to move at a fast pace on these stupid crutches, but risking her dignity by asking Panacea for a handout was beneath her.

"I lost enough of my family today to leave her unattended with Miss Sneaky Boobs there," Victoria Dallon, smug even in grief over her dead boyfriend, snarked at her.

Sneaky boobs, really? Lisa protested internally, They're as overt as I can get without freezing them off! Or were you comparing them to your own?!

"Glory Hole, I didn't know you cared!" she said out loud instead, settling for a minor recurring insult rather than risking an open confrontation. The need to know overwhelmed everything. And, of course, Emissary tried to shut her up again, clearly of the same opinion.

"If any of this leaves this room without Protectorate approval, I am more than certain Alexandria will personally twist your head off, then will go bowling with it," Emissary said, in the same Alexandria Junior voice. "I am not fucking around, it's that bad."

Is underselling the threat deliberately?
Wants more people in on this to hold Taylor's identity secret by threat of Alexandria.
Revealing her face inevitably reveals Taylor's, Armsmaster seemed already aware of that fact, but neither of his companions did.
​

Was that why he tried to do her in?

I have to get Grue and Regent out of here.​

She gulped nervously, her throat suddenly dry. Sure, Brian and Alec knew Taylor's face already, but they didn't know Emissary's, or that the two were one and the same.

"Guys, this concerns Skitter's... Personal problems. Could you please wait outside with Battery?" she said, almost pleadingly. Regent shrugged in response, but Grue seemed to only grow foggier.

"No head-twisting off for me, thank you very much," Regent rattled off, making a beeline back to the door.

Suspected the threat was undersold.
Is glad to be spared of the responsibility.​

"This isn't over," Grue said to no-one in particular before stomping off after his teammate.

This was a breach of established team public face.
Brian will remember this.​

"Thank you," Taylor whispered to her, obviously misreading the intent. Lisa could not find it in herself to correct her friend.

And the Emissary was taking her helmet off, and then the goggles, and then…

Is not simply wearing Taylor's face.
Is Taylor.
Different body type, body language, facial expressions partially different.
Is not Taylor.
Views Taylor fondly, is concerned for Taylor.

Is an alternate reality version of Taylor.​

"Fuck me sideways!" Tattletale exclaimed, eye twitching so badly her mask couldn't hide it.

"My name is Taylor Anne Hebert," Emissary said, a perfectly retouched replica of her friend, "And I am from another Earth. Another Earth Bet."

Coil is going to be very unhappy with me for failing to catch this in time.

We are not getting Skitter back on the team.​

------​

As Glory Girl's little tantrum left her sobbing on her sister's shoulder and the feeling of her aura subsided, one thing became eminently clear.

Nobody believes the alternate Earth statement, except for Panacea.​

Likely reason for her presence, sort of impassive observer who openly hates Skitter? Makes her input more valuable.

Has already used her power on both of them.​

Tattletale carefully moved as the others spoke, admiring the ballsiness of the PRT Trooper, Emissary's friend, in trying to tear Legend down a notch or two like Emissary did earlier to Battery. But then…

"Your claims are rather… dubious. While you might believe that you're from a parallel Earth, this isn't the first time I've heard such a claim, and most of them were--"

Knows more than he lets on about parallel Earths.
Is certain his knowledge is complete.
The only person in the room who brushed his teeth today.​

Shaking her head to snap out of the weird tangent her tired powers were taking her down, Lisa prepared to flip over the playing board. "Please note," she said, gesturing at her favorite outfit, "There is absolutely nothing up my sleeve," she chimed as her hand swiped upwards, taking Skitter's mask away with it, "And voila! Abracadabra!"

"Tattletale!" her friend yelped, trying to cover her face with her hands, "You can't--"

"They were trying to get you to do that anyway, Skitter," the purple-clad villainess stated calmly, "Remember? The whole 'violating the rules' thing? And she--" she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the red-headed Trooper, "Already knows what you look like and she's buried up to the gills in NDA's because of the other you."

"Still could have asked her permission, Tata," Emissary grimaced at her.

Is intent on mocking me with this childish nickname.
Is aware she will succeed.
Amusement/indignation/hatred/fondness/anger.
Power fraying, raw input from whatever Emissary's body is doing leaking through.​

As the two Taylors studied each other, or rather, Skitter stared blearily at Emissary, half-blind without her glasses while the taller girl studied her villainous version, Tattletale's brain worked overtime, the pain crackling through every thought now.

How is she taller? Her face is subtly different as well.
Modified by some sort of Shaper power?
Alternate Panacea's work or..?

"That alone doesn't prove anything," Glory Hole stubbornly continued, "Maybe you were in collusion the whole time, or you're a clone," she paused, pointed at Emissary, then reconsidered, pointing at Taylor. It would have been funny if it hadn't been spiraling out of control.

"Ask your sister," Lisa offered. "It looks like she wasn't surprised by this revelation at all."

Armsmaster is the only one ignoring Panacea.
Knew already, was still willing to throw Taylor under the bus.​

Is this mere jealousy over his ruined career or did something larger happen?

"They're identical," Panacea replied readily, "Not perfectly, mind you, muscle mass, accumulated wounds and all, but the power-granted differences are the only ones. Speaking of which, how the hell are you even alive, going into an Endbringer battle without--"

Even as she was interrupted, Tattletale felt her brain sputtering with the load.

Emissary has no powers.
Thinker rating a combination of natural intelligence and cheating with out-of-context knowledge from her universe.
Brute rating a result of the same powered tampering that enhanced her looks.​

Yet Alexandria vouched for her. Is she that good or is the Triumvirate playing the long game?

"No, no, Amy's right, I don't have powers," the other Taylor explained, her voice oddly chipper. "And please don't ask me to go through testing to prove that, I've been through at least three tests to make sure of that."

Is actually that good.

Pride/resentment/indifference/boredom/nostalgia.
Does not preclude ulterior motives from Alexandria.​

Establishing goodwill for when contact is set up with Emissary's Earth?

"How about I just tell my side of the story before we get into the other issues?" Tattletale barely heard over the growing din in her ears, the migraine picking up steam.

"That… would probably be for the best, Miss… Hebert?" Legend agreed, looking somewhat nervously between the two Taylors.

"If it feels better, I'm calling myself 'Rose Ellison' here, not my world, so I don't get to be Taylor Hebert, she does," Emissary, or, well, Rose, said, as she launched into the story of how she became a PRT intern, then a deputy, then The Deputy, and then a Ward.

Is willing to let Taylor play first fiddle, feels she has nothing to prove.​

Shared history seems identical until the Career Fair? All differences accumulated over a span of six months?

Physical difference exacerbated by powered tampering on top of difference in lifestyle.​

Lisa's head snapped up at the same time as the trooper woman's.

"Gang war in November?" the blonde asked, repeating after the not-Taylor. Rose, her name is Rose.

Rose nodded, "Yeah, the ABB were using mortar strikes in the city, don't you remember?"

The trooper shook her head. "That never happened here, Red."

Deviations between worlds are not restricted to Taylor's personal life?

No examples of events prior to her personal one.​

Is she the reason for the divergence?

Nickname unrelated to her chosen cover name, actually related to the color.​

"Not only has she not Triggered, she can't Trigger," Amy Dallon stated. She rolled her eyes at Tattletale's stare, "I'm a healer. Trust me on this one, she lacks the equipment to Trigger."

Incapable of Triggering?
Is that the key divergence?

That would imply Taylor Hebert as the most important-- nah, that can't possibly be true.​

"How's Mandy doing? Does she still have all those motorcycle pictures on the inside of her locker?" Rose grinned as Victoria's mouth dropped open comically.

"How did you--"

"I accidentally set her up with her boyfriend. She convinced him to get a motorcycle of his own."

Tattletale couldn't help but snort at the list of factoids that provided.

Boyfriend was unexpected to everyone involved.
Has met his counterpart already, likely among the Wards.
Was not happy to learn he Triggered.
Was sad to learn he's not the girl's boyfriend here.
Is seriously considering whether she should replicate the feat.
Either doesn't care or doesn't notice not everything in this world maps to hers, herself included.
​

------​

As she held her friend's hand through what may have been the weirdest second-person-view retelling of a Trigger event, ever, Tattletale held her power back, trying to at least keep the headache from growing worse.

"I have a sister?" Taylor asked incredulously.

"This is pertinent how?" Panacea interjected.

"Right, sorry. I've been trying to do about fifty different things since I got here, most of which are related to you," Rose nodded, her tone almost apologetic, "So I haven't been able to find out anything about her counterpart here, so if you feel like helping me get a tween Thinker out of the clutches of a megalomaniacal asshole, let me know!"

Lisa nearly had a heart attack then and there.

Knows about Dinah Alcott?

Taylor just made the same assumption.

Context suggests reference is to Synod, whoever she is, the name does not match Dinah Alcott's known powerset, unless her power is different on Emissary's world.​

"...I took her down, but not before sustaining life-threatening injuries. Panacea saved me, but refused treating her -- they had to harangue Othala into doing it."

Confirming body modification likely caused by Panacea.​

Wait, Othala?

"Wait, isn't Shadow Stalker black?" Lisa couldn't resist asking, a playful smile on her face. "That must have been a hilarious proposition."

Resentment/schadenfreude/glee/contentment/arousal/bloodlust/satiation​

What the fuck was that?

"Yep. She's also in the Birdcage now, because the violations included several counts of attempted murder, including Grue of the Undersiders and several civilians," Rose continued, the feedback from her power making Tattletale wince and almost black out from the pain as the omitted information slotted itself in the gaps, "I'm currently gathering evidence against this version of her, preferably without letting her escape this time."

"Huh. But Dean told me--" Glory Girl began before Emissary shushed her.

Had information from Gallant regarding Emissary, enough to connect the dots.

Shadow Stalker is one of Taylor's bullies.

Emissary wanted to deal with that before finalizing Taylor's recruitment, but Leviathan got in the way.
Will interfere if I attempt to reveal this.​

"Whatever he told you, will likely out Shadow Stalker, who may be lying out cold in the hospital above us, but is still deserving to keep her identity safe, don't you think?" Rose shot back, silencing Glory Hole for good.

"And this helps you two how exactly?" Legend asked next. "Us knowing the identities, or identity, of a Ward and a villain don't seem to work towards the good of either of you, unless I'm missing something."

"I'm lawyered up," Emissary replied with an inhuman smirk on her lips, "The PRT is bound by Directive 507. I'm a PRT asset back home, so my identity is their responsibility, and so is the identity of my counterpart," she waved vaguely at Taylor. "The Protectorate is bound by Alexandria's word, and also the same Directive, as I lead my version of the Wards as punishment for what I let happen with Shadow Stalker. The Undersiders won't betray their friend, to the point that one of them sacrificed herself to save us from Leviathan--"

Was there when Rachel died.
Takes her death personally.​

Has connection with the Rachel of her world?

Grief/hunger/yearning/sadness/sympathy
​

Rachel is/was her type?

"Alright, but what's to stop me from revealing who you are?" Victoria Dallon asked stubbornly, "I'm with neither of those teams."

"Aside from the whole head-twisting-off?" Rose shrugged, "Panacea's reputation - she did heal us both - and the Endbringer Truce. These wonderful heroes--" she gestured at the two Protectorate capes, "--were so cavalier about setting Skitter up about breaking it, they forgot the knife cuts both ways."

"I hate to break it to you, Rose," Taylor intervened, "But they're kinda still masked up? And we aren't?"

"In the interest of full disclosure, I know at least the first names and faces of everyone here or outside that door except for Legend and Grue."

Is telling the truth.
Is not willing to part with identities easily.​

Detective work or unmasking of captured capes?

Not all discoveries made via standard PRT procedure.​

Lisa was about to speak up with a clarifying question when Rose silenced her. "Sally," she said reproachfully, "Freckles."

Knows about Sarah Livsey.
Does not have full information on Lisa Wilbourne.

Knows about Rex.

Sympathy/grief/loss/pain/kinship​

Is at odds for sympathizing with other me for Triggering at the loss of a family member?

"Did you just out her?!" someone called out, but Lisa could barely hear through the noise in her ears. She strained to breathe.

"Not her actual name, from what I know of her," Taylor supplied, a small trace of laughter in her voice, "But the guppy fish impression she's doing right now tells me her power just told her the other me knows the real one, and it's not the one she gave us."

Taylor understands, but has lost some trust in me regardless.
However, this knowledge means she has met the Tattletale of her world often enough to research into her.​

"But you knowing this, and how her power works--"

"Of course I tussled with the Undersiders, Taylor," Rose chided her 'cousin', "They're thieves and Tata is kind of a bitch that gets her rocks off on fucking around with people. I almost tore their team apart when I got Rachel Lindt acquitted -- was going to do the same here, but then she went and saved you and me from a freaking Endbringer at the cost of her own life before I could do so. I held her in my arms as she died."

The power wrested itself from Lisa's grasp in full, threatening to tear her brain apart.

Helped Rachel leave the Undersiders.
Coil mishandling a new member was the likely cause.​

Similar to our Spitfire incident?

Rachel given government employment away from the cape game, park ranger or gamekeeper or broadly similar.

Emissary intended to repeat the effort here.​

"It's still so damn creepy to see my face say all these thoughts that aren't mine, but could have been," Taylor admitted thoughtfully.

"For what it's worth, I never expected me to become a villain either, though I know that wasn't your fault," Rose replied, nodding at Armsmaster. The hero pretended to ignore her.

"Alright, this has been bothering me a bunch too: as far as my power's concerned, you're different people, kind of like estranged cousins more than anything else," Tattletale interjected, trying not to sound too irritated from the pain, "It took me a while to figure who you were to begin with, and even then you're like two or three people jumbled in one body together, constantly being swapped out for other people. Who designed your body language, Hieronymus Bosch?"

Amusement/concern/worry/placidity/wilful ignorance.

Body language broken as a side-effect of her modifications, probably unknowingly to both participants.

Does not cause discomfort, most humans don't read body language so deeply.

Was only aware it throws off my power.​

"What is even your power, Sneaky Boobs?" Glory Hole opened up again, despite her sister's attempts to stop her.

"Being awesome of course, Glory Hole," Lisa replied without hesitation, thankful the two Taylors decided to have a Taylor-off.

She tuned most of it out, having already reached her own conclusions, trying to get some respite for her aching brain and her powers. She almost missed the end of the exchange as a result.

"After that, I made a deal with Alexandria to maybe get the both of you into the Wards," Rose said, nodding at the two Undersiders.

"Can't," Lisa protested. "Already spoken for."

"I'm aware of your prior engagement with Coil, and I'm sitting on more intel for that case as well. Just… try not to tip him off, alright?"

Knows I'm working for Coil directly.
Suspects the arrangement involved persuasion with firearms.
Still willing to offer help.​

"Should I remind you all that Skitter is a wanted felon with a rap sheet quite impressive for the month she had been active?" Armsmaster spoke, his tone acerbic.

Is desperate, needs to cover up something.​

"Were you not looking to talk her into giving herself up for a probationary Wardship, however?"

Approached Legend already knowing his endgame, that is, getting Skitter jailed.​

How would he stop Emissary from interfering?

"And then we found her wandering the halls, probably looking to use her powers to uncover someone's secret identity. Shadow Stalker, perhaps, given their shared history--"

Intends to reveal Shadow Stalker's identity, expects it to drive a wedge between the Taylors.​

Bastard.

"--of almost being killed by her? Great story, sir," Emissary interjected, making Lisa's power react again.

Has reached the same conclusions.
Part of mutual animosity due to Armsmaster burying Skitter's involvement in Lung's apprehension, then blaming her for his near-death in custody.​

Additional sources of frustration?

"Then fail to inform the PRT of that fact, or the offer she made to infiltrate the Undersiders for you."

Is aware of Taylor's infiltration?

Is trying to play it off in a beneficial way for Taylor, with Armsmaster as the culprit that nearly pushed her away.​

"Don't look at me like that, Taylor, she already knew," Rose told her counterpart, her voice soft, "And the heroes would accept you faster knowing that you never wanted to be a villain, and only got stuck in the role when Armsmaster made sure nobody would find out and believe you if you came to them for help."

Wants the best outcome for Taylor.
Assumes said outcome is inevitably tied to a heroic career.
Is willing to do almost anything to secure it.​

Taylor expects me to disprove Rose.

Wording has to be careful.​

"All true, T. Sorry I didn't tell you, but I couldn't be sure you'd be able to keep up appearances where Coil could see," Lisa said, holding out a hand to Taylor, who grasped it warily, "And your sudden yet inevitable betrayal of the team would have worked wonderfully towards my own goals of seeing that bastard chained up. I was recruited at gunpoint, after all. You're still, and always will be, my friend though."

Armsmaster's rant had a note of… urgency to it, almost like an addict's. Almost…

Similar to Tinker withdrawal symptoms.
But Armsmaster is not known for being that Tinkering-addicted.
Something changed that.
A report was made of mass cape blackout similar to Trigger fainting during the battle.
Armsmaster has Second Triggered, is lacking post-Trigger Tinkering outlet, likely doesn't realize it himself.​

Tattletale raised a hand to draw attention to herself, but only then noticed the new arrivals, plural. Her teammates sidled into the room after Alexandria, who was holding a very irate Armsmaster's fist where he presumably tried to punch Skitter's lights out.

"Is a long-range EMP emitter part of your standard kit then, in a city where only one Tinker not aligned with the Protectorate resides permanently?"

"No, ma'am. I had no time to swap it out when preparing for battle this morning."

Lie. Intended to use EMP to isolate a group of capes so he could fight Leviathan one-on-one.​

"And yet you had the time to take the anti-Endbringer Halberd, which, apparently, has not passed the Tinkertech review board. I find it intriguing that it lacked a simple shutoff mechanism for when it was dropped."

Shutoff mechanism on a device built by a Tinker of his caliber doesn't just up and fail… unless it didn't fail.

"If I may, Miss Alexandria, ma'am?"

"Yes, Tattletale?" the Triumvirate heroine turned to her, making Lisa revert to her slightly less needling self she already spent an hour as earlier today.

"The mechanism expected to shut off when the Halberd was let go," she proposed, "With the detached arm still holding it, it considered the weapon as still being held."

As the heroine's attention shifted away from her, Lisa couldn't help but notice the… familiarity? demonstrated by her and Emissary, confirming her earlier theory.

"...I was not expecting him to physically assault anyone in front of Legend, ma'am. I'm sorry, Skitter," Emissary said, and Lisa only now noticed she masked up at some point after the four extra capes entered the already-crowded operating room.

"Eh, I could take him. Wouldn't be the first time," Taylor said dismissively, although even her reduced body language (such a pleasure to Lisa's tired mind after the nightmare of reading Emissary's) showed relief.

"My condolences on the death of your teammate, Undersiders. Emissary, I believe you were the one who witnessed her death?" Alexandria said suddenly, causing everyone she addressed to freeze up.

"I held her as she died, ma'am," Emissary admitted, ignoring the looks Regent and Grue were giving them, palpable even through their masks.

Regent is wondering whether any of the people present will attack him.
Grue is pissed a gathering of this magnitude did not involve the team leader.
Will give me an earful later about who the team's actual leader is.​

"Good," the heroine said kindly, "None of us should die alone, and for naught. You and Skitter yet live thanks to her. Do not waste her sacrifice."

A sob to her side made Lisa turn towards Taylor, just in time to see the taller girl embrace her around the neck in a not-hug made awkward by Lisa's crutches, her quiet sobbing a pleasant distraction from the sounds of Alexandria escorting Armsmaster out.

------​

"Alright," Lisa said as the gathering in the OR finally broke up and the three of them stood down the hallway from it, watching as the Undersider boys glared daggers at the two Taylors, "Here's my burner's number. Try not to sext me too much, mkay?"

She grinned at the end as she handed a piece of paper to the armored girl, then wilted again as Emissary's messy body language Eldritch'd at her.

Interest/disgust/dismission/appreciation/thoughtful.​

Is not homophobic, just against sexting?

"My PRT number, although PHO works as well," the Ward replied, handing Lisa one of her own. "I assume Coil will not learn of this meeting?"

"Trickster," Taylor said, reminding Lisa the asshole and his mobile phone video were yet to be dealt with.

"Shit," she agreed, "I'll see what can be done. In the meantime, stay safe, will you?"

"You too," her friend said before turning to her double, "And as for you…"

"I know, I'm an asshole for forcing this on you," Rose replied cheerfully.

"No, not that. Although… not only that," Taylor corrected herself before reaching out to hug her dopplegänger. "Thank you. Even if you did a ton of stupid shit, you did it to help me."

"Technically," Rose began, and Lisa could hear her shit-eating grin through the reflective faceplate, "I did it to help me."

------​

"What part of team leader says 'has to stand outside the door'?"

Brian was furious and she couldn't exactly fault him. He didn't get to vent yesterday as she all but shut down as soon as their base was in sight and she saw the gash in the building that speared through her room. The boys had to drag her upstairs and rather callously dropped her onto the bed there.

Sure, she thought, I curry favor with Alexandria for them and that's what I get, carried like a sack of potatoes.

Come morning, after some dreadful instant coffee, a forced necessity due to the lack of any power, she was packing her stuff to Brian's ruminations. Apparently, while she was sleeping off her Thinker headache, the boys procured a van and boxes to move stuff. Coil called Brian and told him a new location was being prepared, so they had to get ready to move at a moment's notice.

"It had no impact on the team now that Skitter already declared she was leaving," she replied, as calmly as she could. The dog's long yawn made her spare a glance for Angelica, who returned it with an amount of indignance one would not expect from the only creature in the room looking worse off than Lisa felt.

Is displeased Rachel isn't in yet but we are.
Is wondering if it can make any of us fetch her.
Something similar happened before and it dreads that outcome.​

She shook her head away from the canine tangent and returned to the packing. She didn't lose anything vital, that was the important bit.

"That shitshow back there? It showed them who the leader of the team is, and it sure as fuck doesn't seem to be me!"

"And yet it was you that Coil called," Lisa parried, "Look. I had to try to save Taylor's bacon, maybe get her to come back. Instead we ended up in a SNAFU which Alexandria had to untangle and now Skitter's indebted to the freaking Triumvirate. Did I fuck up? Maybe. But then again, you walked right out when I asked you to!"

The move wasn't the only thing Coil told him about.
Discussed something with Alexandria before she came in.
Did not tell Coil that.​

"So what now? She becomes a Ward or something?" Alec asked from his position atop a moving box, clearly intent on sitting back to watch the argument.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Lisa replied, gesturing towards the stairs, footsteps clearly audible now.

------​

"Tattletale? Talk to me."

The dry voice on the phone grated on her nerves like never before. She knew what he did and how he did it, but she didn't have the necessary pieces in place. She would have to play along. She would have to betray Taylor. She would likely have to do more things that made her question herself. But she would survive to see the fucker jailed, cuffed and police-brutalitied, if possible, But to do that…

"Sir, we've had a meeting at the hospital after the battle involving myself, Skitter, Legend, Armsmaster, the Dallon sisters and Emissary."

"Grue told me as much, including that you forced him out of it. Explain."

"Emissary wanted to steal Skitter away from us for her team for some time now. Her plan involved unmasking to us. I realized she was attempting to entrap us into the Endbringer Truce condition regarding identities. I had to be there, the boys did not."

"Did they force you to unmask?"

"No, sir. They forced Skitter. She is related to Emissary. Second cousins. My power tells me it was discovered accidentally when Emissary was looking into her family's safety here, when she chanced upon Skitter's Trigger event."

"So they knew Skitter's identity before unmasking her?"

"Not all of them. Armsmaster tried to bury her, hoist the blame for some hero deaths during the battle on her. His own fault. Alexandria took him away, it's likely he will be Birdcaged."

"What else aren't you telling me?"

Is using his power?

No, is using Dinah to confirm my responses.​

"Minor details. Emissary's power has crosstalk with mine, I have trouble reading her. She may be deliberately underselling her Thinker rating. I can't be sure whether the PRT is in on it. She's also gay, or at least attracted to females."

"Tattletale."

Will a held back revelation convince him?
Depending on the wording…

"Alexandria has some sort of personal interest in Emissary. I don't know enough to guess the nature, especially with the crosstalk. It looks like now it will extend to Skitter, if it didn't the moment Emissary set foot in Brockton Bay. I strongly advise against going after either of them for the time being."

"Noted. I am relocating both the Undersiders and my own operations. The former you no doubt already knew, the latter due to it being compromised both by Leviathan's attack and Skitter's betrayal. Do not attempt to find me, if I need you, I will send for you. Grue will operate independently of you now. I will contact you and Regent with information on your new teammates within the next 36 hours."

Still convinced I didn't tell him everything.
Does not consider omissions significant.
​

Is using leverage against Grue. His sister?

Cannot use his powers to verify my report for some reason.​

 

[Noelemahc]

Interlude 02.E​

[Vista]
{Wednesday}

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab if you prefer tabbed music)

Vista couldn't help but growl in frustration as yet another report seemed to fade in and out of view, the words becoming indistinct and fuzzy the harder she tried to focus on them.

The only reason that the last two weeks hadn't been absolute hell was the absence of her triggering a second time, but she felt like it was a close thing. Her parents' fighting, which had been lulling until recently, had suddenly reached a crescendo. Leviathan had decided to pay Boston a visit, so they were down a few capes. And worst of all... Taylor had fallen off the face of the Earth.

Literally, as it turned out. When I get my hands on those two...

Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called through her hands.

With a slight creaking-- need to oil the hinges again, she thought, just throw another thing onto the endless to-do list --Gallant slowly pushed the door open with his hip.

Vista peeked through her fingers, and nearly gasped at the religious experience made manifest that entered her room.

Hot, she whispered mentally, a gloriously hot balm to my battered soul, This vision of perfection doth grace mine eyes.

It moved towards her, too slowly for her liking, before Dean set it down on her desk.

"Thought you might want some coffee," Dean may or may not have said, but Vista was already bending space so that the cup was right in her hands. And like that, the world fell away.

Tendrils of warmth penetrated her fingers, the aromatic smell banished the clouds in her mind, and with the reverence of one receiving the sacraments, she sipped. The bittersweet taste invigorated her, gave her the strength she needed to hold on for just a little bit longer. Her eyes, now much more alert, looked at Dean Stansfeld with awe and reverence. The young man was dressed in civilian attire, smart, casual, handsome, the usual. The inaccessible.

"If your girlfriend breaks up with you, you're mine," she hissed. He chuckled a little, a dusting of pink appearing on his cheeks.

"I'll let her know that," he replied as he pulled up a seat.

She stared at him over the rim of her mug. "You think I'm kidding." His eyes widened slightly as she took a long sip, "That's funny."

"Okay, I'm gonna just.... power through that," he said hesitantly, before recomposing himself. "I guess you really needed a pick me up, huh?"

She shot a glare at him over her mug.

"Do not blaspheme against the dark nectar of the gods," she intoned gravely before taking another long sip. "Thou knowest not what vengeance they shall wreck on you."

"I suppose it'd be pointless to try to tell you that stuff will stunt your growth?"

Her fingers tightened on the mug. "Take it and I take your arm."

He laughed and held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it. Don't touch Missy's coffee."

"Damn straight."

The two lapsed into a companionable silence, before he spoke again.

"You know that's not the real reason I came here, right?"

Vista sighed as she regretfully put down the mug of tar. "Of course not, that'd be too easy, wouldn't it."

He shrugged, then tapped his temple. "Empath."

"Yeah, yeah."

He leaned forward. "Look," he started, "No one will think less of you if you take a break. It's..." he looked at the clock, "Ten thirty at night, and if you've been anything like what you have been the last few days, you've been up since four in the morning. You need to rest."

Vista scowled at him.

"We're down Velocity, Armsmaster's still on forced medical leave for a missing leg, however much he protests that he is functional, Dennis broke all of his limbs, Chris is still working on the Portal device with Dragon at last check, Anne-Marie isn't an ideal patroller at the best of times, Amy's in a coma, Rory's in the Bahamas with his family, his plane back is in two days, and Madison…" she trailed off at the look on Dean's face, "How is she, anyway?"

He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, she's… she's definitely doing better now that she's heard about what really happened to Taylor. She's getting back into her old routines, and I don't have to remind her to eat anymore, so that's a plus."

Missy waved him off. "So she's still not up for patrolling yet, I'm guessing."

Dean sank into his seat slightly. "Not yet."

She slumped further. "So all we have right now are Miss Militia, Dauntless, and Assault and Battery, while for the Wards… it's just us. I can't lie down and rest, we're all the city has right now."

"I can't help but think that Taylor would be telling you to take a break right about now," Dean intoned, raising an eyebrow, but he was clearly surprised when Missy burst out laughing.

"What Taylor are you talking about?" she asked, forcing out words between peals of laughter, "The one who worked herself into unconsciousness last month and only agreed to take a break when Amy threatened to turn off her limbs, or is there some other Taylor that I don't know about?"

"Fair point," he shrugged, "But working yourself into the hospital won't help anyone."

Her laughter stopped and her gaze turned icy. "Please tell that to the black girl who was walking on the wrong side of the street that I saved yesterday. Or the bald man whose only crime was to be bald while shopping in ABB territory that you saved the day before. Or the mugger I stopped the day before that--"

Dean leaned over and placed both hands on her shoulders. She flushed slightly. I hope he didn't detect that, she thought to herself. Wait, he's an empath. He can't have not sensed that. Crap.

"Missy," he stated in a clear voice, looking right into her eyes, "I am not denying the good that we have done so far. And you've done an excellent job as acting leader." He hesitated, "But right now, we need you. I need you. And if you go another night without sleep--" Missy stiffened as his gaze shifted to a glare. "Don't pretend you haven't been doing it, Missy. Your room is next to mine. I know the difference between emotions of people awake and asleep, and you haven't slept in days."

"I--" she looked down. "I don't know what to do, okay? I thought I could do it--"

"You can do it," he affirmed, shaking her shoulders slightly, "I'm not saying you can't. Just don't kill yourself doing it."

She stared at her feet for nearly a minute before she looked up at him once again. And for the first time in a while, he could clearly see the bags under her eyes. With a slight lurching motion, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled herself into his chest.

He ignored the various emotions he picked up from her and gently rubbed her back as she clung tightly to him.

"I'm sorry," she muttered into his sweater.

"I know," he whispered back.

"I think it's just getting to me."

"The last month kinda sucked."

"Yeah."

They held each other tightly until a loud noise interrupted them. The two sprang apart and Vista grabbed the landline off the receiver, then put the phone on speaker.

"Speakerphone," she announced, "Hello there, Sergeant Martinez!"

"Sergeant, Gallant here," Dean spoke up to keep Taylor's trooper friend up to speed.

"Vista, I need you to-- oh, good," the voice on the phone cut herself off, "Gallant's here too. I need the two of you to get down to the medical wing."

The two Wards shot a look at each other.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nuh-uh," Martinez replied, "Something good. Amy's waking up."

They both shared a look. Amy up meant Dennis and Armsmaster back in action, not to mention Amy herself, as soon as her… damage… was dealt with.

Things were looking up.

------

[Panacea]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab if you prefer tabbed music)

It was like being switched on, like I was some sort of robot. One moment, not there, the next, I'm tearing my eyes open from whatever gunk was on my lashes. I felt my power coursing out through my body as I struggled to focus my eyes on something, anything, the self-check sending alarm signals at me as it told me all about the empty stomach, the itchy catheter, the barely-healed cracks in two of the metatarsals in my left foot and of course--

"'Owy hukk!" I rasped through the tubes snaking down my throat as panic gripped my heart. I was missing a tiny bit of an earlobe, the rest of the ear hurt like fuck, all on the left, my entire left side was a fuckhuge bruise and there was also the tiny detail of my fucking missing left arm which terminated in an awkwardly-stitched stump right below the shoulder. The pressure damages and the shatter pattern on what bone was left of it filled the gap in my memory. It was crushed beneath the collapsing ceiling, along with the girl with the broken hip I was trying to stop from squirming at the time.

My right hand groped for the nurse call button, where I always saw it on the beds of the people I'd healed. Physician, heal thy fucking self, I tried to chuckle, instead getting the same icky constricting feeling in my throat from the tubes. Lying in a hospital bed is something other people do. Getting sick is something other people do! I'm Panacea, damn it!

As tears of frustration and pain and inadequacy streamed out of my eyes, I saw the door open, admitting a fidgety-looking nurse, or at least a humanoid white blob I supposed was a nurse.

A few minutes of inelegant things done to the stuff they put into me or stuck to me and I was free to drink, and force the fucking atrocious bacteria that colonized my mouth due to inaction to become minty fresh and allow me to breathe deeper. Then more pattering of feet followed, admitting Missy and Dean into my room, both in generic masks combined with civilian attire, accompanied by that trooper Taylor usually trained with. Martens? Martinez? Marques? One of these, I am certain.

"Oh thank God you're awake!" Missy cried as she reached out to hug me around the neck, ignoring my awful bed-head and the fact that I was now aware that she hasn't brushed her teeth at least for the past 28 hours and very nearly instinctively reached away from her yesterday-morning breath. I fixed that for my benefit, not for hers, along with what I could of her exhaustion. "We were seriously worried that with the mess they pulled you out of--"

"The, uh, the girl I was working on, Miss-something--" I began to ask, but received a shake of Dean's head before I could finish. "Shit. How'd we do?"

"Scion showed up, beat the bastard up, as usual," Martinez said, my stupid eyes finally managing to read the huge name tag on her uniform. "A hundred or so capes died, at least as many Troopers, and the current civilian casualties are in dozens of thousands at last count," she finished somberly.

"At least… wait, last count? What day is it?" I asked warily. Usually with Leviathan, unless a shelter was breached, the final tally was ready in a day or two. Maybe it was still Sunday? No, the state of my wounds indicated a longer time, unless… "Wait, fuck, the hospital got hit! Healers--"

"Amy, breathe," my formerly least favorite empath said, laying a hand on mine, fuck, I don't even have to specify which one now, huh? "It's Wednesday afternoon. You've been out for something like eighty hours, give or take. The hospital was totaled, Leviathan just plowed through it like it was made of paper," he paused to swear under his breath, "Not out of malice- well, no more than usual, he's still a fucking Endbringer, duh--" I rotated my remaining hand in mid-air, gesturing for him to hurry up, "It was just trying to get to the Capitol building, and it was forced off-track by the Blaster Squad. You're... you're one of three healer capes to survive, you know?"

"Hey, it's not like they could have known any of this would happen," Missy objected half-heartedly, "You can't really stop an Endbringer once it gets going, you know?" Though we all knew that it was likely less of that and more that the Blasters had just not stopped to think about what their ambush could have caused.

"And then Leviathan flooded part of the city, including the sites of several shelters," Martinez supplied, "One was confirmed as flooded, the others haven't been reached yet, so the counter is still ticking."

"But they have supplies in these shelters, right?" I ventured asking, trying to shift in place. I spent three days in this bed. I have no sores. Someone moved me, probably someone sponged me. Oh God.

"They should, yeah," she nodded, "I don't rightly recall it ever being put to a serious test for the type of shelter Boston had, however."

"So where's the rest of the team?" I asked next, my gaze shifting between the three suddenly downcast faces.

"Kid Win slept through most of the thing at Deputy's house, Tinker crash," Dean replied, a mirthless smile on his face, "He's trying to wrap up the portal thing study with Dragon now."

"Why Dragon?" I frowned, my mind immediately jumping to conclusions, "Don't tell me Armsmaster is--"

"Missing a leg and on forced leave," Missy shook her head, "Clockblocker's in the next ward over, in a full body cast. That's one guy who'll be extra happy to see you up and about."

"Wheel me. Might as well get started while you bring me up to speed," I commanded, pointing at a folded-up wheelchair in the corner of the room, "Synod?"

"At home with her Dad," Dean reported, "Almost back in the headspace to get back on duty, he says."

"Either of you two need a fix-up while we're at it? I'll also need pen and paper to list my IVs and supplements," I asked as they fetched more nurses to unhook me after a short argument about second-guessing Panacea on a self-diagnosis. "Oh, leave off it, I'm not dying!" I yelled at them, trying to stand up straighter before realizing one of the arms I was trying to brace myself with wasn't actually there. That'll take a lot of getting used to. Who can fix this for me? Scapegoat is right out, and I have no idea who else survived. Prosthetics? That'd be hilarious.

"We're cool," Dean waved me off as he helped the nurses ease me onto the wheelchair. Fuck having to learn to walk again!

"We're also healthy," Missy smiled weakly. I shot her a glare, and she raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry, it's... it's been really rough lately."

I shot a glance at my not-arm. "I think I understand that, at least." I paused to sigh before continuing, "Alright. How's Weaver taking it?" was my next question. More awkward looks ensued. I took the opportunity to wrap my hospital robe around me in a way that fully concealed my stump and the utter absence of anything attached to it.

"Pissed she couldn't go. Happy she didn't go. Afraid for us. Afraid for Taylor," Dean counted off on his fingers, then took the handles of my wheelchair when the nurses stopped fussing around.

"And too distraught to patrol," Missy added bitterly. I was suddenly aware of the dark bags that used to be under her eyes by sheer contrast, and the other signs of exhaustion which I still saw on my own face every now and again. "I'm guessing we really need Taylor back."

"She trained us, hasn't she?" I retorted, "We'll manage. We have to."

"Half to what? I swear, they're trying to smother me with information suppression!" I heard Dennis call out through the door Missy held open for us.

"Hello, Mister Dynamite," I greeted him, "It is time to fire you out of my space laser cannon!"

"Oh no, it is my arch-nemesis, Doctor Nefario!" he declared in mock horror, playing along, "Caught me in your trap, have you?"

He was a sight to behold, splayed out on the bed like he was. 'Full-body cast' was a misnomer, of course, but it was easier to say than 'all of him is in a cast' or less stupid than 'he's fully cast!'. He did have casts on his arms and legs, dangling in the air, held by suspension wires, a setup I've seen a hundred times. He was masked up on top of that, apparently his head was more or less intact. That said, just as with me, Weaver's spidermesh suits didn't seem to do jack against blunt force trauma on a macro scale… not that we could realistically expect them to.

"So how did you end up like this? You sound awfully calm for someone in your position?" I asked as Dean parked me next to the bed and I reached out to touch Dennis's exposed fingers.

"Saved the USS Constitution and its crew, I think," he chirped, oblivious to my scanning him, "Proud idiots wouldn't abandon ship after failing to leave port in time. Then I got punted into a building."

"Weaver will be glad to hear her costumes kept all of you in one piece, from what I'm--" Missy began, before a horrified look crawled across her face. I stomped down on my anger and was left with the pain instead, feeling the tears well in my eyes. "--shit, Amy, I'm so sorry, I didn't--"

"Technically true, actually," I sniffled, forcing a useless grin, abandoning healing Dennis for a moment to rub my eyes with my one good hand, "They only cut it off after the costume was removed and they saw there was nothing to save." My shoulders shook, but I refused to give in. What would Taylor say if she saw me like this? What would Caryn? "They aren't me. Now I'm not me either," I wiggled the stump under the robe, illustrating my point, "With half the reach, what good am I for patrols?"

"Wait, what happened? Nobody tells me anything and I can't see you from this angle," came Dennis's panicked voice, "Is that why you're in a wheelchair?" I felt his stress levels rise as I went on reconstructing his legs, so I eased him off a bit, generating serotonin to counter that.

"I just woke up after a three-day coma, Clock," I explained, "And my left arm is gone."

"What?!" he gasped, making me wonder how he would have reacted had I not already begun to dull his senses.

"Kid Win was in here a few hours back, said he wanted to do something Tinkery, but the nurses wouldn't let him near you while you slept…" Martinez began to say as my mind raced ahead of her, drawing conclusions.

"Well, things seem to be looking up, finally," Dennis concluded, flexing the fingers I was touching to heal him. "Can you ask someone to get me out of this stuff now?"

------

[Kid Win]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab if you prefer tabbed music)

You woke up, as you usually did after overexerting yourself with Tinkering. Even with Armsmaster taking the lead, the odd framelike devices of L33t's - ones your mentor firmly believed were some sort of teleportal, considering the source material - were still a nonsensical mess of parts beneath a coat of faux rust. But then you made a breakthrough when you risked powering the most intact segment of the thing up, closing the loop as best you could with heavy-duty cabling and pieces of the internal frame.

It snapped and it popped and it produced an odd field of water-like rippling energy like in that TV show you used to watch as a kid about a PRT squad tasked with exploring alien worlds opened up by a portal gate made by Doctor Livewire (no celebrities were harmed, etc, etc). Except instead of being like liquid mercury from the show, it was black and white TV static, a decidedly odd coloration for a liquid to have.

You watched in fascination as Armsmaster lowered a sensor stick (he, of course, had a fancy name for it, but to you and your friends it was always just that, sensor stick) into it. Then lifted it back out, pitted with holes and gouges and trailing scattered wiring through the gaps as the portal field flickered and collapsed, leaving bits of the sensors beyond in the wherever the portal led.

That was how you found yourself delivering the message of hope to Commander Hebert's, Taylor's, father. How the shame burned at you for not telling her sister or her gi-- no, that wasn't what they were, was it? You've always had a spot of trouble figuring out girls and their odd opinions regarding relationships, but it was clear that whatever The Deputy and The Healer had going on wasn't mere friendship, clear even to someone like you. Especially with whatever that girl with the ultra-long hair was to either of them.

And thus you found yourself waking up in your Commander's house, leaving the comfortable bed of the guest room to the sight of her father and her sister holding each other in front of the television set. The news broadcast told you it was Sunday already, which meant that this time Armsmaster decided it was better if you slept your Tinker overload off base. He was right, you were feeling great, aside from the mounting feeling of dread.

Your greeting made them jump up, but then they filled you in: the Endbringer, Leviathan, was attacking Boston, and the heroes were kinda getting their butts kicked. Synod stayed behind, being too young to stare certain death in the face, and the PRT phone you checked next told you only three of your team went: Dennis, Dean and Amy. Likely because Weaver, Madison, was still in no state to fight, all things considered, and you, useless chunk of flesh that you are, were busy getting a good day's sleep. You had no idea then why Missy didn't go, or what it would do to her in the aftermath. Not then. Not yet.

And so you went back to base to join her, recalled on standby once you've confirmed your awakening. And so you were still there, following the sporadic updates with worry, until they returned, seemingly too early despite the unspoken agreement that Panacea would stay as long as needed to provide healing, few Protectorate capes being able to even remotely match her ability for that. Or, rather, Dean returned, wearing a PRT jumpsuit and a generic mask and a surly expression and a split lip and blood-red left eye. Dennis and Amy were shipped to the hospital, because without Panacea, it was back to the old ways of dealing with Endbringer casualties, and a comatose Panacea missing an arm wasn't able to heal anybody, like she normally couldn't heal herself.

Dean told you all of it, how despite being a backline participant Panacea ended up on the forefront of danger. How half the city was flooded, the Downtown areas half-demolished, how Clockblocker ended up inside of a collapsing building and only survived due to an Alabaster-shaped cushion shielding him from the worst of perforating a building butt-first. How his own armor, one of your first collaborations with Armsmaster, was a useless hunk of scrap now.

How cross Commander Hebert will be with you all when she gets back. You failed to even surpress a twinge of crossness yourself at Dean, however unwaranted it would have been to expect him to keep his armor intact, but in fairness, you had worked really hard on that!

Somehow, it all kept coming back to Taylor and her absence. Amy was right, you thought: she was the one keeping the team moving, driven, motivated. Her zealous energy, unending capacity for self-sacrifice and ridiculous hair were the things that made the Brockton Bay Wards into an effective fighting force, whether she was right there on patrol next to you or guiding you over the comms.

Dennis even made it into a recurring quip based on one of the more common DeputyH memes. The Deputy Protects.

And without her protection, the team was on the verge of collapse even before having half the team disabled.

And then it was Wednesday already as you worked on studying the portal device Weaver managed to capture along with the one that vanished Commander Hebert, and Amy awoke, all scorn and anger and self-loathing, and utterly confused about why you were measuring her intact hand. You explained, of course, that the doctors didn't let you do it while she was out, and you couldn't resist saying 'Do I have your permission to use my power on you?' and she smacked you with hers and you will forever deny you kinda enjoyed seeing sounds and tasting sight for the five minutes before she uncrossed your nervous system.

And so there you sat, locked into your workshop, staring at Sirin and Alkonost in their charging stations, chuckling at the hissy fit the Deputy threw when you proposed naming them Huginn and Muninn, after Odin's all-seeing ravens, to keep up the theme that began with Mjölnir, and she explained what a terrible idea it was to go rampant with Nordic myth references in THE powered Nazi capital of the country. And so the two of you dug through history and mythology books and chose names from the folklore of one of the countries that beat the Nazis, and thus the drones became mythological Russian birds of paradise that bring sorrow and happiness with their songs that can drive a mortal man mad. Which fit pretty well with the arsenal of grenades and sensors and rescue functions you built into them as you refined the designs.

Now they stood unused, waiting for their mistress to return, like all of you.

You looked down at the design you've drawn up before snapping out of the Tinker fugue to muse on the mechanical birds. Yes, that would do nicely. It would be interesting to see how it would interact with the Manton limit, you noted before reaching for the phone. Armsmaster may be down a leg, but he could still Tinker, and the neural interface you'd need to call in an external consult on would benefit him too, anyway.

The blinking notification told you you missed a few calls and e-mails and that it was already Thursday. The top one was from Dragon, and the header said 'I figured it out'.

Things were finally looking up.

 

[Noelemahc]

Coda 02

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

He had just hung up the phone when the knock on the door came. Danny rolled his eyes and set down the screwdriver, at this point fully resigned to not being able to finish the minor repairs that Leviathan's attack had necessitated. It hadn't been bad-- his house was too far inland to have been hit by the brunt of the Endbringer's attack --but Endbringer attacks weren't really known for leaving things unbroken.

He snorted as he marched to the door- at least it wasn't as bad as what Kurt was talking about at the docks. It seemed that at some point one of the Nazi Twins lost an arm in the fight, couldn't happen to nicer people, Kurt had said, and said arm was now partially buried in the front of the Dockworkers Association headquarters. While funny, and accompanied by more than a little schadenfreude after all the Dockworkers had suffered at the hands of the Nazis, it was still a giant arm, and had been sitting there for the better part of a week.

Lacey had broken into the call at this point to tell him that the stench was becoming unbearable, before Kurt had wrestled the phone away from her. He had then delivered the bad news: It turned out that the PRT had ignored multiple requests to remove the arm, as 'They were too busy.' And City Sanitation had just redirected them to the PRT, as the arm was the result of Parahuman Combat, and so on and so forth. It ended with Kurt begging Danny to come back to work soon.

Danny grimaced. He'd taken the rest of the week off of work so he could canvas the various shelters in the city for any sign of Taylor. It had been several days, and he hadn't heard anything from her. He'd give--

He was interrupted by an increasingly insistent knock on the door. He shook his head and pulled the front door open.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he yelled in response to the second, more urgent, rapping on the already belabored door. Beyond it stood a pair of people wearing PRT signage - a mixed-race woman with vaguely Asian features and short black hair, her black pantsuit really selling the "men in black" look, and a kindly-faced trooper with an intricate scar crossing one of his eyes, his helmet tucked beneath an arm. The eye itself was oddly intact, perhaps a sign of parahuman healing, Danny concluded.

"Mister Hebert?" the woman asked, holding her PRT Agent badge up. "There has been a development regarding your daughter's school situation. Could you please come with us?"

"Right now? Isn't her school destroyed anyway?" Danny asked, somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of the statement of the Agent - he didn't actually manage to read her last name, S-something, and she didn't introduce herself - and entirely confused why his daughter's 'situation' would be of any concern to the PRT.

"The incident in January, sir?" the woman said carefully, "New evidence has surfaced confirming a parahuman's involvement."

"And I should come with you because..?"

"Your daughter is en route to PRT HQ with one of the Wards as we speak, sir," the man spoke, his voice surprisingly soft for the quietly dangerous look he was sporting. "We're told there's a chance she may still be in danger."

The bottom dropped out of his stomach, before his rage, kept in check for so long, ignited.

"I'm sorry, what was that about her being in danger?" He asked in as level a voice as he could.

To her credit, she locked eyes with him and responded coolly, "There is evidence that she may have gotten caught up in actions involving a known supervillain, and said supervillain is now trying to get rid of loose ends. We are doing the best we can, but it would be preferable if you were to come with us."

He fumed for a second before responding.

"I see. Would you mind if I changed first?"

She nodded once. "I can't see a problem with that, sir, though we should hurry."

And dress he did, but not before leaving a note saying "WENT TO THE PRT, SAID YOU WERE THERE" on the fridge. Who could tell with these people, right?

------

"...and there I was, human torpedo-style, lunging at him through the air, and his power had nothing to grab onto--"

The conference room he was brought to contained more people than he expected.

"Taylor," he breathed, a knot in his chest undoing itself. She spun in her seat, eyes widening as she heard her name.

The two stared at one another for a second, and then they were in each other's arms.

"I was so worried," he whispered to her.

"I know," she sniffed, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything..."

"You're gonna have to tell me about that now, you know that, right?" he gave his own watery chuckle.

Then he was ready to survey the rest of them - there was the girl who was speaking when he came in -- a mirrored visor helmet, some sort of tactical armor in forest camo pattern over a gray bodysuit, an outfit he did not recognize as any of the city's Wards. He almost missed the small dog, an ugly one-eyed thing sitting next to Taylor's chair that followed up a look at him with a questioning glance to her, as if wondering whether he had permission to approach her. Finally, there was Miss Militia sitting at the far end of the table, hair carefully arranged to cover traces of a surgical scar above her forehead surrounded by a shaved-out area.

"Mister Hebert, I'm glad you could join us," she said, standing up to offer him a hand to shake. "Carlsson, the door. Keep guard."

"Yes, Ma'am!" the trooper that accompanied Danny (he had since donned his helmet) replied, shutting the door from the outside and presumably carrying out the rest of the order there.

"So," he said, as sat down next to Taylor, on the other side of her from the dog, ending up across from the girl in the mirrored helmet. She seemed to be staring at him. He tried to pretend he wasn't unnerved by that. "Can someone-- Taylor --" he shot her a look, "Please tell me what's going on here? I understand," he raised a hand as Miss Militia was about to speak, "That you said supervillains were involved, but please... I was just told that my daughter was in danger, and I haven't seen her since before Leviathan attacked. I just want you to understand that my patience right now is basically nonexistent, as is my tolerance for any bullshit." He waved a hand. "Please. Enlighten me."

"It was brought to our attention that one of the girls involved in your daughter's bullying was the Ward Shadow Stalker," Miss Militia said, reaching out a hand, palm outward, when Danny began to stand up, his fists clenching seemingly on his own. "She is behind bars now, make no mistake about that. It is because of this development we're having this conversation here and not… elsewhere."

There was something odd about the way she said that, but he dismissed that in favor of the obvious question.

"That's great," he replied, "Who's going to compensate my daughter for almost two years of ruined school attendance, destroyed property, stolen homework, and whatever the hell you call what was done to her in January?"

He was almost satisfied in the way she seemed to shrink back at the very brief recounting of how the Protectorate was apparently indirectly responsible for Taylor's high school experience being fucked up beyond repair by one of their Wards.

"You can take that up with Director Piggot when you meet her in--" the helmeted girl paused to look at the clock on her phone, an ugly military brick that seemed right at home in one of the pouches on her vest, "--an hour and forty minutes. Be verbose, but don't expect too many concessions, strictly speaking the PRT was only responsible for her since last November. Everything before that is entirely on the head of Alan Barnes."

Taylor glared at her.

"Emissary! Did you have to be so blunt about it?" she spat, and for a moment Danny feared he'd have an angry parahuman to deal with whose powers he had no idea about, but Miss Militia did not intervene and the girl (Emissary, Taylor said?) only scoffed.

"I'm just preventing false expectations here, T," she said lightly, her manner demonstrating ease and familiarity with Taylor, making Danny wonder how they've met, "You can speak up at any moment."

"The key offer, however," Miss Militia resumed, as if she was not just interrupted by the sideshow attraction, "Is a place at Arcadia High School, waiving any fees and conditions that will be applied to other Winslow students transferred there, same as any other Ward."

"Well, that's a good start, but--" he began before cutting himself off. "Did you say other Ward? Does that--"

"Sorry for not telling you before," Taylor said meekly, "I didn't know how you'd react, and then it was always something happening."

A dreadful feeling rose in the back of Danny's mind, but he beat it back as best he could.

"S-since when?"

"Do you know what a Trigger event is, Mister Hebert?" Emissary asked, resting her gloved hands against the table. He could see the muscles bulging through her skintight undersuit, its odd sheen only further enhancing the effect. He was reminded of Lacey for some reason, Kurt's wife, who could drink and swear and lift with the best of the men of the dockworkers. When he shook his head, she continued, "It is the catalyst to a cape's powers, some argue it also shapes them. It is the single worst day of your life, when you feel it is over, and there is nothing except utter despair and dread of death left."

"The locker…" Danny exhaled, feeling the fire in his chest burning again.

"Yeah," Taylor nodded, before hugging him again. "Dad… I've been… I'm… I'm a supervillain, Dad. I'm-- I'm Skitter," she admitted with a certain grim finality like Hollywood always told him girls tell their fathers they're pregnant. Not that the situation was less dire than that.

The world fell away from him at her words. How could-- but that would mean her new friends were--

"But--" he searched for words, before settling on the easiest, the most fitting one here. "Why?"

"In short? Because Armsmaster was a dick to her when she tried to be a hero and the Undersiders were not," Emissary supplied, seeing Taylor struggle to respond, "Because the school was a nightmare to escape from and her powers aren't exactly PR friendly. So she decided to infiltrate the villain gang and present the intelligence about them to the PRT as her in to become a hero."

"Except Armsmaster chose not to inform anybody about his contact with your daughter, so while she thought she was doing undercover hero work, everyone saw it as outright villainy," Miss Militia took over, "And when she realized it… well, the shoe fit, I guess?"

Taylor glared at her for that momentarily, but quickly recovered her previous expression of trepidation and defiance. It looked oddly fitting on her bespectacled face, making her look older than her fifteen (a month till she's sixteen, even) years of age.

"So the mess at the gallery, it was some sort of revenge for that?" Danny asked incredulously, trying not to dwell on the realization that that was when they fought -- when she walked out on him.

"Actually, more for the fact that I was robbed of credit for taking down Lung twice more than anything else," Taylor said, a bit of fire entering her voice, like the one that burned in his own heart right now.

"Lung? This is too absurd to belie-- oh."

He paused as two things happened. Miss Militia handed him a smartphone with an image of a dark-clothed girl standing in front of a collapsed Lung, smoking slightly around the hair he recognized at once -- his heart dropped when he recalled chastising her for burning her hair against the stove a month ago -- and Taylor held out an open hand which quickly filled up with creepy crawlies that came out of her clothes.

"How do you do that so calmly?" he nodded at her hand, wincing. She shrugged.

"I can constantly feel them anyway. They're like an extension of me. By this point, I'm well inured to anything that crawls, skitters or buzzes," she admitted, a weak grin crawling onto her face as the insects scattered.

"So the PRT created their own enemy?" he asked, words coming out slowly.

"See, I told you he'd agree with me!" Emissary exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, but what are you doing here?" he asked, somewhat irritated by her constant interruptions.

"Your turn to sweat, Ems," Taylor said, sounding… triumphant? He clearly had no idea what his daughter was like anymore, but that would not stop him from supporting her, especially as it became apparent they just blindsided him with her joining the Wards.

"I'm the one who brought her in, sir," Emissary replied in the same cheery voice, "Dragged her on my back out of the Leviathan fight, just as she dragged me back into it. Bound in blood and all that."

"You fought Leviathan?!" Danny yelped, "Don't you control insects?"

"From the beginning, I wanted to be a hero," Taylor said defiantly, "I had to do something. My power lets me scan wide areas easily, and so I went on the search and rescue team."

"And so she saved my life," Miss Militia supplied.

"And yes, Dad," Taylor said in a low voice, "I did fight Leviathan. I couldn't just..." she trailed off, slumping a bit in her seat.

"Okay, I can understand that, but... How?" As his daughter opened her mouth, he held up his hand, "No, wait, never mind, I think I can go without hearing that bit. My heart isn't what it used to be," he smirked.

The only way this day could get more awkward would be if this other girl would reveal to be someone else he knew. Although it was obvious it wouldn't be Emma and he admitted that he didn't know any more of his daughter's friends… if she even had any that weren't villains now.

The girl fiddled with the straps of her helmet, visibly reluctant to unmask to him, but apparently still intending to. She hesitated halfway through, hyperventilating.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "I think I remember reading capes valued their privacy... something about unwritten rules?"

"Believe me, this is one secret you're better off knowing," Taylor said, an odd glint in her eyes.

"Though generally, yes, that is true, Mr. Hebert," Miss Militia chimed in, looking concerned for Emissary as she did so. "Revealing one's identity can be very dangerous - just look at New Wave, what happened to Fleur," she said.

"Even so, I think you should know," Emissary announced, the helmet clicking off to reveal her face, leaving Danny at a loss for words. "You can call me Rose," Emissary continued as she put the helmet down on the table in front of her. "But I was born Taylor Anne Hebert."

Her face was at once familiar and not, as if someone tried to draw Taylor as an Alexandria type and took a few artistic liberties along the way.

He gaped at her. She looked almost exactly like his Annette did, all those years ago when he first met her. Except for the broken nose and the fading bruise on her jaw and the short haircut. And the muscles. And the facial expression that looked like it was painted on.

"Wha--?"

"On a different Earth, one identical in many ways to this one, I'm the daughter of Daniel Hebert and Annette Rose Hebert." Her eyes were closed and the look of concentration on her face was intense. "You, well, your counterpart, raised me alone after Mom died in a car crash." Her eyes were now watery when she opened them. "And I miss him very much."

Danny slumped into his seat again. "How--" he stopped himself. "Just how. Why?"

Taylor - his Taylor, he thought, before dismissing it, they were BOTH his Taylor, no matter where they came from - snorted. "What was it you said? 'Uber and L33t are vast, gaping anuses?'"

Other-Taylor, - Rose, he thought - nodded. "In my world, I'm a Ward. I was on patrol when my partner and I bumped into them doing something in a warehouse. They knocked me into this..." she waved her hand airily, "Thing, and then I found myself here."

Danny focused on her. "How long have you been here? Do you have a way back home?"

She sighed. "No, I don't have a way back. Dragon's started to look into it, but..." she trailed off at the stunned look on his face. She had just casually mentioned that Dragon was working to help her. "And I've been here since the Empire was outed."

His eyes sharpened at this. "On your own?"

"No, I've been staying at the PRT HQ... so um... sort of?" she shrugged, then recomposed herself, "I've been working overtime, pulling strings within the PRT first to get myself acknowledged as a hero, then to arrange for things to get better for Taylor," she explained, waving a hand dismissively, "Not a lot of time to brood, although I did cry a lot the first few days." She paused, before adding. "I miss my Dad. And my sister."

He found himself standing next to her, hugging her by the shoulders, feeling her tense bulk relax into his chest, so the last word was almost inaudible.

He shot a confused glance at Taylor.

"Yeah, she said she has a foster sister. A parahuman, too," the longer-haired girl explained, "Another Ward."

He looked down at Rose, her tear-streaked face turning up to him. "I'd very much like to meet her, if you'd let me. And-- the other me, however odd that sounds."

"I'm sure you'll love them," Rose sniffled, "Anne-Marie will be hyper-excited to get a second Dad after having none." She wiped at her eyes, then looked up at him again. "Is there anything else you wanted to know?"

"So... you have powers too?" Danny asked warily after a short awkward pause. Not every day a man learns he's got a double daughter, after all, and one more on top of that.

"Not in the traditional sense, no," she shook her head, and only now he noticed that unlike Taylor, Rose wasn't wearing glasses at all. "I've got some enhancements from my version of Panacea, but nothing major."

"Enhancements like those arms, I hope?" he pondered, making both girls laugh.

"No, I worked for those," she said with conviction, "I've got a slow regeneration factor and super-strong bones. Enough to merit a Brute 1 rating, at least."

"Then what about your face? The nose and the, um. The jaw? Leviathan did that?"

"Nah, everything he did, I walked off. The nose is a reminder of my hubris, nobody is good enough to go hand-to-hand with Glory Girl," she explained, rubbing the site of the break, making Danny wince at the idea of anyone fighting Alexandria Jr at close range, "And the jaw was Taylor finding out about Shadow Stalker. Not bad for an insect controller, wouldn't you say?"

"You deserved it," Taylor muttered darkly.

Rose nodded at her, then turned to Danny again. "Thanks for the hug, but we still have things to do before your meeting with Director Piggot."

He let go of her, returning to his seat. As Rose dried her eyes and Taylor started absent-mindedly stroking the dog's head, he finally turned to face the Protectorate heroine again.

"So let me get this straight. My daughter," he reached an arm around Taylor's shoulders, "Gained powers because of Shadow Stalker. She wanted to be a hero, but Armsmaster made her doubt that, so she decided to spy on villains instead, and what, liked it there?"

"They were my first friends since… since Emma became this utter bitch. Two years, Dad. So when Armsmaster screwed me over, I already had a place to turn to."

"That… doesn't sound very reassuring, you know that, right?" he looked at her over his glasses.

"Yeah, well, we needed the money badly, and my reputation was firmly established by then, it didn't exactly feel sensible to turn back," she shrugged, "Then I learned who signed the checks, and what else he does and decided to quit after all. Leviathan attacked a few hours after that."

"And that's where you come in," Rose continued after her double, "The Undersiders belong to Coil, and he's a very nasty piece of work. If we sign Taylor on as a Ward, there are certain protections - written and unwritten - that will apply to her, and to you by extension."

"But what about you?" Danny asked, his expression worried. Rose made a complicated smile that looked utterly alien on his daughter's face, even though she acted more like his daughter from five years ago than what she was like now.

"I'm already a Ward, we can't legally tie you two to me without letting too many people know about Taylor's alter ego and more importantly, it begins to make up for the crap she had to endure."

"You mean we had to endure, don't you?" Taylor corrected her. It felt odd, listening to the same voice argue back and forth with itself, although Rose sounded a bit more mature, perhaps as a side-effect of whatever bodily differences she had from Taylor.

"Hey, you had four extra months of that shit," Rose replied before turning to Danny, "I was transferred to Arcadia before the locker happened when I joined the PRT as an intern. Other you was pretty conflicted about it."

"How does he feel about it now that you're in the Wards?"

"I think he worries too much, especially whenever my cape career is concerned. But we can talk about it later, we're here for Taylor after all."

"So… am I getting introduced to the dog next, then? Is it somehow involved with your powers too?"

"Angelica belonged to a teammate of mine," Taylor said, "She died saving us both from Leviathan. I'm probably the only person in the city she would obey, so it felt right for me to take her." She paused, mulling something over, "That's okay with you, right? If, if you let me come home again?"

Danny shook his head while smiling. "Sweetie, that is the LEAST confusing thing you have asked me today. Of course you can come home, and yes, you can take the dog in, but you need to be the one to take responsibility for her." He looked a little closer at the dog. "She has had her shots, right? And is housetrained?"

Taylor swatted him in the arm. "Rachel would have made sure of it."

"Then I don't have a problem." He scoffed. "It'll be nice to have something somewhat normal. R-Rose? What about you? Did you intend to live here indefinitely?"

"I, uh, I didn't want to impose before we sorted everything out," the shorter-haired girl replied, "May I?"

"I'm not sharing the room," Taylor protested, "Or my clothes."

"I'm pretty sure most of your clothes won't fit me anyway," Rose laughed. "Right, I forgot to say: for the purpose of people not in the know, I'm Taylor's second cousin from Montana, Aunt Margaret's daughter."

"But Aunt Margaret is--" Danny began.

"Untraceable, exactly," Rose finished for him. They shared a grin he realized was identical, wondering if she had more powers-- no, she said they weren't real powers, abilities, then, abilities than she let on. She turned to Miss Militia, "Aunt Margaret is... A little bit kooky, to put it mildly," she chuckled in unison with Taylor, a rare similarity that would have one thinking they were actually sisters, "She makes Sarah Connor look like a paragon of optimism, if you need a frame of reference."

The Protectorate heroine gave her a stiff nod, looking slightly worried. Danny suspected that she was likely thinking something along the lines of pots, kettles and other housewares at the moment, based on what his two -- he still couldn't believe he now had two! -- daughters apparently did on Sunday.

"So that's settled then. Is there anything else I should know or do before meeting your Director?" Danny asked, turning to Miss Militia, who stayed oddly silent throughout the exchange.

"There's a stack of papers to sign regarding Taylor's status change as we're using a loophole in the law to get her Warded without involving a judge and a court order, relying on martial law while the state of emergency persists," the flagged woman replied, "Some of them will pertain to her probationary status, although in light of her situation and the dire straits the city is in, some of these may be waived or reduced to expedite the onboarding process. And there's also the matter of deciding on her rebranding, if you don't want to leave it up to Image and PR, particularly on the name. Skitter the villain is going away, so you have to consider who Taylor wants to be as a hero."

"T and I already talked about that, actually," Rose said, nodding at her counterpart.

"My mythology-obsessed cousin has suggested Arachne, and I intend to agree. There's something fitting about a mortal ticking off a goddess so badly she gets turned into a spider, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, I'm not sure," Danny said, leaning back in his seat, "I think it sounds good, but there's one other thing..."

"Oh?" his new daughter asked, eyebrow quirked, "And what that would be?"

He looked at both of his daughters with the most unimpressed glare that he could muster.

"As soon as we get home, both of you are grounded."

This had been a weird meeting, but seeing a Protectorate heroine valiantly try to cover her laughter as the two Wards' jaws dropped more than made up for it.

Spoiler: END OF ARC 02. ROLL CREDITS.

 

[Noelemahc]

Reset 3.01​

[Rose]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

I couldn't accompany them to the Director's office, much as I may have wanted to, by sheer virtue of having to go on patrol. The state of emergency enforced a much more rigid schedule on all the heroes, but it was the Wards that were affected the most, with school being out and the situation being more or less 'all hands on deck', especially after I just stuck one of these hands into indefinite M/S containment yesterday.

It was also the reason why the Wards on duty glared at me when I entered the Commons.

"So I can't help but notice that I don't know what the hell is going on with you," Dennis began, keeping his tone light, before holding up his hands. "I know, I know, that's not really a big change from normal, 'Ha-ha, Dennis the Clown knows nothing', buuuuut," he glanced around, "Missy doesn't really know either, and I think that Chris'd probably like it if someone could explain to him about why he had to shoot Sophia."

I raised an eyebrow. "Leaving out Carlos and James, are you?"

Missy snorted. "Carlos says he knows what's going on and that we should ask you about it, and James is…" she cast a glance at the boy currently packing his suitcase, "James." She shrugged as if to punctuate the statement.

"Missy speaks the truth," intoned Browbeat from his hunched-over position at his suitcase, "I am in fact... James."

Tomorrow was going to be his last day here. The team would be down three people now, and only gaining one back, and even then in an unknown span of time. While I had no doubts in Dad's skill as a negotiator, on this world or any other, today would be the first time this Dad would be coming in contact with Director Piggot, and it did not sit well with me.

Missy rolled her eyes and gave me a knowing look, and I nodded in acceptance. "Fair enough."

"So, um…" Chris called over, "Can you actually tell us?"

I nodded at the back of his head, admiring that he didn't turn away from the Console. "Yes."

There was a snapping sound, and he shifted slightly. Dennis looked apologetic.

"We were betting on what the answer was. He bet 'Secret Government Conspiracy', and I bet 'Alien Infiltrators Preparing Invasion'."

Aaaaaaaand admiration gone.

"I bet that they were idiots," piped in Missy.

"Sucker bet," I smiled a Brandish #2 ('Lucky this was off record, eh?') at her, before I decided to spill some of the truth.

"From the top: I wasn't avoiding anyone, I was dealing with a time-sensitive issue," I explained, going over my things in preparation for the patrol. "I took Skitter in. She and her father are negotiating with Director Piggot right now."

Mjölnir was ready, and my helmet functioned perfectly despite being bare of paint. My ruined chest armor was replaced by a PRT-approved armor plating used for riot gear hastily repainted into a forest camouflage pattern, the various odds I kept in my storage compartment relocated to a generic utility belt. The end result was that I looked like a vigilante cosplaying as my official outfit, but it would give me about as much protection (sans ablative paint, which very likely saved me from cracking a rib or all of them) as my actual armor was still being remade, the ceramics being repaired by the tech team that normally cared for the maintenance of the Trooper armor like the one I got as a loaner. After that it would be back in Armsmaster's shop for repainting, the morose Tinker himself having been airlifted out yesterday for processing wherever it was they took Trucebreakers. I hoped Dragon knew how to work his paint machine.

"Wait, so you weren't pulling my leg before?" Dennis asked incredulously, "Skitter's actually going to become a Ward?" He followed his question up with a shudder, making me raise an eyebrow at him.

"There's a lot I can't really tell you- Unwritten Rules, written rules, some parts are classified by the PRT to protect some identities... but initially, she wanted to be a hero," I had to pause for a moment, close my eyes, and breathe out through my nose, and there was a definite clipped tone to my voice when I started again, "But Armsmaster managed to literally burn her on the idea," I replied, distilling the truth as much as I could, "The official PR statement is in the works, but basically, he tried to frame Skitter for breaking the Truce to Legend on Sunday. He's being tested for Master influences as far as I know, and it isn't looking good for him."

"Wait, what?! They're… they're gonna 'Cage Armsmaster?" Chris gasped, poking his head out from his position at the console. "Why would he do such a thing?"

I shrugged. "I don't know for the first question, but for the second... Best guess is, and that's Alexandria's best guess, mind you, is that he felt his career sufficiently threatened by Skitter to decide he needed to, uh, remove her as an obstacle," The confused expressions didn't let up. "This heroing wish she had? He stole credit for her taking down Lung in early April, then blamed her for when he got reamed out after Lung nearly died in custody because of how his tranqs interacted with her spider venoms."

"Wait, that was her that rotted Lung's junk off?!" Dennis exclaimed far too loudly for my comfort, "No wonder he was so pissed at the Undersiders when he got out!"

"Right, and then she did it again, during the ABB assaults," I went on, completely certain I was late for my patrol check-in, but then so was Missy, who was right there in front of me. "Armsmaster was already going to be shipped out to Chicago, Miss Militia set to take his place, when this was uncovered. So it's… plausible… to see where he's coming from."

"Suddenly, I'm even more reluctant to have her on the same team as me," Dennis added, taking a step back. "How did you even bring her in to begin with?"

"I asked politely," I shrugged, "It also helped that she learned what kind of sick twisted fuck the guy running the Undersiders from the shadows was, and she was in the process of leaving the team already when the Endbringer siren went off."

"So when you approached her at the briefing…" Missy began, gesturing at me with her hand.

"...she was already a free agent, which is why I kept by her side during the fight to give her a better impression of the Wards," I finished for her, smiling wide in a Glory Girl #1 ('Love me!'), "Which brings us to point number two. Sophia."

"You mentioned your cousin, I think?" Chris piped up, all pretense at preparing for his stint on console abandoned as he dropped himself into one of the armchairs.

"Yeah, remember her going nuts at the idea that I was my cousin?" I waved a hand across my face, "I talked to her on Sunday, after I got out of the hospital and checked up on my family," a small white lie never hurt anyone, "And learned that Sophia has been bullying her pretty badly since before Shadow Stalker had been Warded, and the PRT's probation officer watching her did precisely fuck-all to stop it. Or report it in."

James tore himself away from his packing as Dennis swore profusely, Missy falling behind by a short margin, while Chris simply spun his electrolaser that was Sophia's undoing on Monday like a cowboy would his pistol, staring at it proudly. I vowed to do something nice for him for that.

"That was on top of an inquiry I started on Thursday based on a few coincidences between hospital visits in troubled areas with wounds matching Sophia's pre-Wards arrows and her off-track patrols," I went on, bitterness creeping into my voice as the carefully controlled persona I was trying to project started to crumble in the face of how badly the PRT failed Taylor. "How these were glossed over before confuses me, but at least the records were there. My cousin's school just brushed off all of her complaints because they didn't want to lose a track star and a Ward they were getting extra funding over."

"Is… is your cousin going to be okay?" Missy asked in a small voice.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "No," I stated with an edge of anger, "She'll be fine physically, but... the school let Sophia get away with this for over a year and a half, and then the PRT found this girl who was shooting lethal crossbow bolts into criminals and decided to do no background check on her, or put her through therapy of any kind. They then followed up this winning combination of inaction--" I tossed my hands in the air, "--by assigning her a 'social worker' whose job seems to have been 'Cover for her psycho behavior so I can collect a paycheck'. So for the last eight or so months, the most powerful authority figures in the entire city basically turned their back on a teenage girl's suffering because it was convenient. She's not alright, she stopped going to school, and quite frankly, if I was in her shoes I'd be hard pressed to trust any sort of authority again!"

It wasn't until I'd finished that I realized that everyone had stopped and was staring at me. I realized that I'd steadily gotten louder as my answ-- no, no, I have to be honest to myself, my rant went on.

I slumped into myself slightly, seeing Vista look especially like a kicked puppy-- damn, the kid really didn't need that --at what had been an attempt to show empathy.

"I'm sorry," I stated quietly, "It's been a... rough last week or two."

"Tell me about it," muttered Missy, before brightening up a bit, "In fact, to change the subject, do tell me about it. What the hell did you do to your beautiful hair?!"

"Ah. That." I ran a hand against the short length of hair on the back of my head, barely enough for a ponytail,"When my helmet got busted open, my hair came spilling out, and so when I shouldered the anti-Endbringer Halberd at the Docks, I vaporized a good third of it before figuring out how to shut it off."

"You looked fine at the hospital?" Chris ventured, before slapping his forehead in realization, "Right, the helmet bunched it up!"

"Yeah," I nodded, glad my ruse worked. While there was enough damage for Taylor to notice (who else? It was her hair too!), my braiding habit adopted for the sake of the Wards concealed most of the damage, "When I took it off at home base, the hair was such a mess which is why I wore it over my shoulder all of yesterday. Then this morning I took the scissors to it to make it even."

"Huh, it looks as if someone else gave you the cut, to be honest," Dennis remarked, running his palm against the back of my head, watching the even ends, making me shiver a bit from the odd sensation, "How did you pull this off? Are you hiding powers we don't know of?"

"Uh-huh," I replied, "The mystical art of using three mirrors together, taught to all women by their mothers to check for wardrobe malfunctions and hair care."

They did not need to know I actually had it this short because my first two attempts failed and I had to go deeper, or that using Finist's camera in place of mirrors was a dumb idea because Wadjet's straps kept getting in the way. And yet, my first Tinkertech-assisted haircut was accepted by the jury! Challenge completed! My memo about requesting at least one damn full-length mirror in the Wards spaces was still in processing, but I bested the bureaucracy with science!

"So, Missy, let me ask you an important question," I spoke to the Mistress of Space, a devious smile on my face (Old Madison #3, 'Let's see you get out of this one'), before pulling my helmet on.

"Yeeeees?" she intoned in a very Dennis-like manner.

"Have you ever tried your power out in a city mostly devoid of people?"

------​

[Emily Piggot]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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"So, they agreed?"

Miss Militia stood at attention in front of my desk, overly formal as always. It was slightly irritating at times, how she held herself to a higher standard than most other capes ever dreamed of. Not that it was irritating in and of itself, but it just served to remind me of how few capes there were that would even try to show such professional behavior. The only other capes at my disposal capable of anything remotely similar were Dauntless, who would find himself to be in much higher demand than before with Armsmaster gone, and Emissary, whose other self we were discussing. With time, effort and a whole lot of luck, perhaps we could mould Skitter-- no, Arachne-- into something like her.

"They agreed to most of it pretty quickly," I nodded, "The largest issue being the oversight, of course. They feel wronged that Taylor would be subject to stricter measures than Sophia was, considering Sophia was responsible for her Trigger. It's quite a Catch-22."

"But the loophole we discussed?" she reminded me, quirking an eyebrow up.

"Should work to keep the wolves at bay, I believe," I pushed a file towards her, "The paranoid machinations of Rose Ellison give us the legal right of increasing the number of PRT agents watching Taylor Hebert by one whenever the two girls are together." I twisted my mouth into a smile. "Damn smart of her." My smile fell. "And what Legend said about her tormentors... What was it that stopped her that day?"

Militia nodded. "Tapioca dumped into her backpack."

I scowled. "We're throwing the book at Hess for sure now, if for no other reason than costing us an intern that sharp." I leaned back slightly in my chair, it creaking in an unpleasant fashion in response. "And what did the BBPD say about Clements and Barnes?"

In response, Militia dropped a folder of her own on my desk. "Deputy Director Renick asked me to give this to you regarding that very topic, actually."

My hands grabbed the folder, barely suppressing their trembling at the old aches, and my scowl deepened. "They're doing nothing?"

"Not... nothing, ma'am," she hesitated, before continuing, "With both their families leaving town and the school in question being destroyed, as well as the general upheaval caused by the Endbringer and the shakeup of the public school system in the wake of our... reorganization of Winslow's staff..."

"So nothing, then." I repeated, folding my arms across my chest.

"Not nothing," she stated with a hint of an edge in her voice, "They're doing the best they can, but the PRT remains one of the most intact government agencies in this city. Everywhere else was gutted by Leviathan." She looked down and to the side, "What's left is..." she let out a short laugh, "I'd say swamped, but I'm not Assault or Clockblocker."

I rubbed my eyes. "Militia, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that." I looked at her from between my fingers. "So what you're saying is..."

"We've got Blackwell and the teachers because they, at least, abused the terms of their agreements with the PRT. We could apply pressure through those channels. We've got Shadow Stalker because she violated the terms of her probation. But the crimes that Barnes and Clements committed..." she trailed off before slamming her hand into the desk. "I don't like them, but they're civilian crimes, and the PRT can't go after them for those since we didn't see them being committed."

"And the phone recordings we have of Hess revealing another parahuman's identity to Barnes?"

Militia sighed. "Just proves that Shadow Stalker was in contact with her. Not enough reason to put her away on its own, but we can put her on a watch list." She looked out over the wrecked city. "We just need to hold the city together long enough for the others to do their jobs."

I huffed, turning to look out the window as well. "Tell Renick to keep me informed." I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "I know," I whispered, before speaking louder, "I know. It burns... but…" I smirked at her, "I have a few favors Chief McGregor still owes me. I'll see what I can shake loose."

She nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

"So onto criminals we can touch, what is the deal with the gunmen Skitter and Emissary took down earlier today?"

I noted her eyes light up with a hint of bloodlust. Not enough to be really worrying... wait, no, scratch that, I made a note to myself to see that she visits Doctor Karpenko while she was still here. Bad enough to have capes like Hess, the last thing we need is someone who can literally make nuclear warheads develop mental issues.

"There we have plenty to go on," she said, her eyes dancing. "Each of them had a Tinkertech laser pistol on their person, which we're having our contacts with Toybox tracking as we speak, but I doubt that avenue will get us much information beyond the maker." She produced another folder for me to scowl at. "The two we have in custody here in the basement have rap sheets as long as my forearm. Arkady Naumov, formerly of the Russian Mafia before fleeing Moscow in the wake of Behemoth, and Barnabe Theotime of the French DGSE, arrested in 2005 for selling French Intel to foreign powers, but escaped from prison in the wake of an attack by the Blasphemies. The one that got away was identified from a lucky bit of traffic cam footage as Josse Fulbert, ex-SWAT out of Chicago."

"I assume," I mused, "That we have some clue as to why they were tailing two teenage girls?"

Militia shook her head. "I believe Agent Kanos is working on interrogating them as we speak, but so far one isn't talking and the other is still unconscious. The other agents assigned to the case have assured us that they'll have something actionable within the next day or so."

I nodded gratefully, "That's good to hear. It worries me that Coil, if they were indeed his men, would make a move on Skitter with a Ward in the line of fire."

"Oh no, ma'am. As far as I understand, the girls took offense to being aimed at and took preventative action. The Tinkertech and questionable tattoos on the Frenchman will have to do as 'reasonable doubt' if 'state of emergency' isn't sufficient grounds for arrest." She paused for a brief moment, contemplative. "It felt less like an attack and more of a recon in force, like they were sent there in case something happened. The question remains, what were they watching for?"

The two of us were quiet for a few more moments, the enormity of our jobs over the next few months washing over us.

"So," I finally broke the silence, "Your impression of Mr. Hebert?"

"He's… devoted. Driven. Idealistic, perhaps, but not naïve, as you no doubt have noticed." She paused, clearly indecisive about something. "Ma'am, in my report, I make note of--" she began, but I silenced her with a raise of my hand and a curt nod.

"Your identity is safe with Taylor, I'm sure," I stated calmly, tapping the girl's rapidly-thickening file with my index finger, "She triple-checked that she wouldn't be forced to reveal those of the Undersiders, which I'm told Rose already knew, and seemed amenable to extending the same fervor to you, the Wards or any other law-abiding capes she would learn the identities of."

"After meeting their father, a lot of their behavior becomes much easier to understand," Militia agreed, "Although Rose, ill-fitting as her chosen codename is, still strikes me as oddly devoted to the idea of making the PRT the best that it could be, dragging it along by personal example if need be. If half the things she told me about how she runs her Wards are true…"

I nodded, continuing after she trailed off. "...it would seem that a lot of opinions on militarizing the Wards were affected by the death of Aegis, or the fact that her Brockton Bay has escalated to open warfare in the streets more than once during the short time of her service. She's workaholic to the point of self-destruction, although the results it gives are readily apparent-- what's so funny?"

"I'm sorry, Madam Director," the recently-appointed Protectorate leader replied, stifling noticeable chuckling from behind her bandanna, "It's just that aside from her age, she reminds me of a particular PRT officer, one she has on numerous occasions openly named as her mentor and example."

"I'd like to think that I was a lot less destructive at sixteen," I huffed, not without stifling another smile, however. "And I doubt that had the PRT existed when I was her age, becoming a cape without having powers would have even occurred to me."

"Fifteen, ma'am. Her birthday, and therefore Arachne's as well, is next month," Militia corrected, her chuckling intensifying. "I also doubt your life was as much of a mess as hers at that age, including but not limited to losing a boyfriend to cape violence. She's damaged, like all of us are, Emily, yourself included. Both of them are, except only one of them Triggered."

"Back when we were still trying to do the global outreach, I served a tour with the relief taskforce in Moscow, after Behemoth stomped it flat," I recalled, reaching for my cold yet half-full coffee mug, "One of their guys, the ones the Elitnaya subsumed afterwards, taught me a saying of theirs that came from a war song. We could make nails of these people, and you would never find a hardier nail in the whole world."

"After seeing them working together, I'm inclined to agree," she nodded, her power's green glow shifting the gun in her holster back and forth, as it always did when she was worried about something. "One's pretty good with small-unit tactics, knows her way around firearms and hand-to-hand combat -- I'm guessing her versions of Sergeant Michaelson and Lieutenant Martinez are to blame -- and is willing to lay down her life on the line for anyone she considers an ally, though mainly she's relying on being harder to kill than most."

"And you would have thought her boyfriend's fate taught her something," I shook my head. "She's also always rushing into things, fails to see the bigger picture and makes her grudges into battle standards. And worst of all… she's made herself indispensable."

"To be fair, ma'am, she's fifteen and is still learning." She looked slightly hopefully at me. "And most of it she learned from you. Perhaps she just needs to continue her lessons?"

That earned her a respectful nod. I put the mug down, empty, the bitterness staving off the creeping pain in my left knee. "Alright, I admit that may have been a bit too harsh. What's your opinion on Skitter? And Arachne, now that you've seen her acting as an ally?" I expanded at her obvious attempt to correct me.

"Skitter's MO was a combination of terror and guerilla tactics, based on what we now know about her engagements against the ABB and the events at the gallery," she outlined, gesturing with two flat palms in front of her, "She presumably learned quite a few tricks from Grue, whose blanketing darkness trick she can apparently replicate using a cloud of bugs -- except she swaps out the sound and light absorption of his clouds for being able to sense and see anything in and around her cloud, not to mention the interference it creates for Manton-limited powers such as Vista's or Striker abilities like Clockblocker's. It would appear Panacea's ability to hard counter her bug control is the only outlier there. She's also incredibly effective as a one-person AWACS, as she claims she has no cap on the number of insects she can control or monitor on an individual level."

"And setting her power aside for a moment?" I asked, trying to recall whether the girl mentioned any hobbies other than breeding black widows in her basement, something which seemed to be as unnerving to her father as it was to me.

"She has a very basic idea about hand-to-hand combat, but I'm sure her 'cousin' will shortly rectify that," Miss Militia replied thoughtfully, "Barring that, she's moderately fit from a regular running regimen and whatever experience her month of being an active cape brought her, she's completed first aid courses, and I'd say she's deserving of a Tinker rating, given the things she managed to devise from merely reading up on spiders and lots of trial and error. I'm told Doctor Thorne is very keen to get his hands on her costume."

"Didn't Emissary note that her counterpart to Arachne, Weaver, made similar costumes for her team?" I furrowed my brow, "I distinctly recall reading a report that she herself is wearing one."

"You remember correctly, ma'am, but she refused to part with it at the time, citing the lack of a replacement if they damaged it. Now that Arachne is on board, I'm thinking she'd be willing to produce them for us if we set her up with an appropriate space."

"Which brings me to my final, and greatest, concern: the girl has 'malicious compliance' written all over her, though I can't exactly fault her for the issues with authority she has developed at Winslow." I sighed, "The fact remains that knowingly or not, Emissary's cutting off all of her alternatives may have been the only reason for her cooperation."

"I've been where she is right now, ma'am," the flag-wearing heroine replied with a sudden fire to her words, "What she needs right now is friendships and support. She already has an unshakeable pillar in Rose, and given time, I hope that can be extended to the other Wards. I, um, I do not share Rose's optimism regarding Panacea or Glory Girl ever making that list, however, particularly given her own issues with Victoria Dallon."

I snorted. "Given what Emissary has told us about her versions of them, I can agree, but I don't think she'll see it that way." I took another sip from my mug, then frowned at the lack of liquid inside it. When had that happened? "Aside from you she's probably one of the more capable officers we have... as well as one of the most stubborn ones and prone to getting tunnel vision," I grumbled. "Something we'll have to work on." I straightened in my seat and looked her in the eye. "So, now that we're more or less on the same page, how well do you think the Wards will react to the revelation tomorrow?"

------​

[Taylor]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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"If I wasn't grounding you already, I'd definitely be doing it now," Dad chuckled as he watched Rose extricate her foot from the porch, the remains of the rotten step crumbling to the ground off her shoe. Angelica sniffed at the wood carefully before snorting and walking away to study the lawn.

"In my defense," my double said with a Lisa-like grin, "We've replaced the whole thing about a month ago… granted, after I tore it up like that one, carrying Anne-Marie in on my back." We stared at her in unison, making her protest, "What? I was playing horsey for my kid sister, that's got to count for something!"

"Phew, it's just--" Dad began, but stopped, resorting to a dismissive wave instead, so I finished for him.

"--the way you phrased it, it sounded as if something happened to her," I said, pursing my lips. "You are going to look for her here, right? Now that you've no more need for the stupid cloak and dagger dance you did for me?"

She grinned even more broadly as she carried her bags inside, hopping over the freshly-broken step this time. "C'mon, level with me: if I'd come 'round to the house, or the Undersiders base -- yes, I think I know where it was -- and told you I was your cross-dimensional counterpart, how would you have reacted?"

I was honest in my response. "Ummm… You'd be down a few more teeth than just that molar," I deadpanned back to her, "And get a first-hand demonstration of why I carry multiple epipens."

Of course I made sure that Dad was outside for that when I said it, which Rose must have realized, judging by her Glory-Girl-like grin. "Yeah, exactly," she replied, dropping her baggage at the foot of the stairs and surveying the house from within. I dropped my bag of Rachel's stuff and the smaller one of my Undersiders things next to hers. "The tooth you knocked out is starting to grow back, by the way, the oddest side-effect of my 'powers' so far. Sooo…" she trailed off as she peered through the door to the kitchen. It felt oddly like the last time (a.k.a. the only time) Gram visited us, almost a decade ago, making me feel as if I'd be judged less harshly on Judgement Day. To make matters worse, Angelica seemed to share her opinion. "Okay, this place really did need another woman's touch."

"Come again?" Dad asked as he closed the door after himself and the grocery bags, looking startled and... a little hopeful? Huh? "Who's the other woman?"

My alternate looked contrite as she shrugged her PRT hoodie off. "Sorry, just my little sister. Other-you isn't dating... or at least, he hasn't mentioned it to me," she mused, looking thoughtful for a second, "Mind you, I did have this thought about--"

"OKAY!" I interrupted, grabbing her around her shoulder, "You already caused one big shift in my immediate family this week, let's not try for two. Shall we set up in my room?" I asked her, blatantly trying to shift the conversation, "I'm calling the bed."

She shook her head, "I'll take the spare bedroom, if that's okay."

Dad looked confused. "Sure, it's okay, but why?"

She shot me a look. "She snores! I don't want every night to be a contest of 'who falls asleep first'."

"I do not snore!" I spat, scandalized at myself. Well, my other self. This was somehow still managing to be confusing. Dad busied himself with setting down the dog bowls we'd just bought with some food and water for Angelica. Later we'd go about setting a sleeping place for her. I had enough of Rachel's stuff with me now to demarcate a safe zone for her to settle down with a comforting scent in it.

"I got a little sister with three weeks' worth of recordings that say that yes, we do." She shot back.

"Maybe it's your muscles getting in the way of the air?"

"Maybe it's the hair sapping your mental strength? I feel so much smarter after a haircut!"

"Maybe you should bleach it as well?"

"You know what? I just might!"

Dad's head was bouncing between the two of us like he was watching a tennis match, before he settled his gaze on me. He looked simultaneously amused and ashamed, a very odd combination for him normally. "Sorry, sweetie... but yes, you do." At my betrayed look, he shrugged. "You have ever since you were a baby, but by the time you were old enough to be made aware of it, you already had your own room and it didn't really bother us after that so we never had to break it to you. Sorry?" His stare turned to Rose. "And really, three weeks?"

"Synod is very thorough."

He and I just looked at her for a moment, her beginning to fidget under our gazes, before Dad cleared his throat. "Okay, powering on past that... your punishment detail for the night is making dinner. Together. A much better test of character than some Endbringer. Pshaw! Hundreds of people fight Endbringers. Who gets to feed the Heberts?"

"Mr and Mrs Pak, of Pak-Moon Packed Munchies?" Rose ventured, tentatively licking her fingertip before dragging it across a floorboard. Yeah, she definitely remembers that visit from Gram. "Or do you have a different preferred takeout place?"

That made Dad skip a beat as he took a moment to recompose himself. "Does that mean, er, the other me never--"

"Well, not as much as we'd love to, but hey, two daughters! And now you have two as well!" Rose announced cheerfully, demonstrating her black fingertip to the world. Angelica looked at her appreciatively and sneezed. Rose shuddered, and it clearly had nothing to do with the dust in the air. Then it dawned on me.

"Rose…" I began slowly, "You're freaking out, aren't you?"

Her smile seemed to crack.

"What? Me? No, I'm just stuck in a world where I'm a guest in my own house and my father clearly doesn't know who I am and I'm trying to be nice and all but it's REALLY HARD and okay I think I might be freaking out a little." She grabbed her arms and appeared to withdraw within herself. "I don't… I'm telling you these things about my Dad and my sister while they might be thinking I'm dead and--"

Dad and I had been getting more and more distant lately, but in this, we acted as one as we swept her into a hug as she started to sob.

-------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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In the morning, we went on my-- on our morning run together. She slicked her unusually short hair back, holding it down with one of my old hairbands, which kinda made her look like Rachel would have, had she been my sister. She wore her PRT stuff - dull grey sweatpants, dull grey running shoes, a full size larger than my own, a dull grey sports bra that made me rejoice that we were equally-sized at least somewhere that wasn't our eyes and mouths, and another Protectorate Gift Shop T-shirt, this one depicting Vista.

For my part, I had my own dull grey running shoes (thrift store), black sweatpants (worn out enough to look dark grey) and dull grey sports bra that hid beneath a plain blue T-shirt (worn out enough to look dull grey in the wrong light). She sized me up and handed me another of her Protectorate T-shirts without a word. It turned out to be one of Armsmaster, which made me scowl at her.

"What?" she asked with worrying earnestness, "Just think of the irony. Your very own private vengeance that nobody can judge you for."

"Is… is yours as terrible?" I asked, pausing to swap out the shirts, "I'm just wondering if it's a universal thing, like Lisa being a know-it-all?"

"Which one's Lisa, again?" Dad piped in from the bathroom. He would probably be gone by the time we came back - he decided it was time for him to chip in on the problem of Fenja's arm, especially in light of the talk he's had with Director Piggot yesterday.

"Okay, in order," she called back, "One, mine isn't as terrible... though he did go through therapy after…" she balled her hands into fists tightly for a moment, "After Aegis... so that might have had an effect. And two, Lisa is Tattletale-- the one in the purple catsuit, Dad!"

I swatted her arm as Dad called his thanks. "What? Did you want me to say that she's the smug one? He's never met her!"

"Actually, I think I have? Blonde, freckles, grins a lot?" came Dad's voice, ruining the point I was going to make. Rose uh-huh'd at him through the door.

"You shouldn't spread out secret identities like that!" I protested, "Do you tell your Dad all of this cape stuff?"

"Some of it, since I'm technically an open cape," she shrugged as we stepped outside, making sure that Angelica stayed indoors. We'd be taking her to the vet after breakfast, to try and figure out the state of her damaged leg, because while Rose was certain she could sweet-talk Panacea into helping her, I was still skeptical from the mixed reaction the New Wave cape gave to the news of her other self being my other self's BFF. "So the face of my self-appointed nemesis is pretty high on the list. I think it's good to keep him in the loop," she explained as we began our stretches, "It helps make sure that neither of us are surprised at what's going on in each other's life. Doctor Karpenko suggested it..." she trailed off, before resuming, "I mean, it doesn't get rid of all the weird things Cape Stuff brings into our lives, like when Kid Win crashed on my couch, or when Dad punched out Mush..."

"He WHAT?!" I exclaimed, shocked enough to almost let go of the swarm I started to build up the moment I woke up. There was no chances I was taking with Coil's attempt on us yesterday, however easy it was to deal with the obvious recon force sent to gauge our combined capabilities. To be completely honest, I was quite impressed by my 'cousin's ability to sprint, run down, tackle and hogtie a grown man with obvious special forces training. Two of the three snipers we spotted were now in PRT custody, one of them recovering from a previously-undiscovered bee sting allergy. And that is why I carry epi-pens.

Naturally, we didn't tell Dad about any of that.

Rose grinned - and this was one of her, our natural smiles - and set off on the run, leaving me to catch up. We flipped a coin for who would be setting the pace, and I was already prepared to come home with my legs falling apart from exertion, but she set a pretty mild one, even by my own standards. "He was settling some sort of territorial dispute with the Merchants. Told Mush where exactly he could shove his demands for protection money. Mush objected that having two unmasked capes for his daughters didn't mean jack. Dad agreed and reached for the crowbar. He was very proud to have landed a newspaper page number lower than mine for a change."

Her grin persisted as she picked up the pace which I realized she had been doing the entire time she was speaking -- and not missing a step or a breath.

"Okay, now that I'm about to sell out to The Man and you're living under one roof with me--" I paused to gasp for air, "--will you finally tell me what the heck is wrong with your face?"

 

[Noelemahc]

Reset 3.02

[Taylor]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

I stared at her, dumbstruck, my mouth slightly ajar from more than my meek attempts to catch my breath. My one consolation was that she was breathing heavily as well, and the sheen of sweat on her arms and neck told me she wasn't a robot double of me sent from the future to kill me and take my place. We were winding down from the run, doing light stretches as we walked home together.

"So, what, you're telling me you've been lying to people all this time?" I asked, incredulous and more than a little offended, mentally reviewing every time I saw her smile at me. The tally wasn't actually that terrible if what she told me was true. Her current smile, a goofy thing I vaguely recalled as being my own before… everything… only grew wider at that.

"Lying is too strong a word, T," she wagged her finger at me, "Besides, do you honestly think every time people smile at you, they mean it? A cashier at the store, a nurse at the hospital, Glory Girl whenever she's not talking to her sister or boyfriend…" She gestured vaguely at another morning runner, a boy a year or two older than us who looked pretty fit, then waved at him. He grinned in response to her, then shot a quizzical look at me. I tried to copy her grin, feeling fake throughout. He wasn't at fault my other self was a manipulative asshole. He waved at me too and disappeared from view around a corner.

"What about Lisa?" I asked, fearful a little bit for the mental image of the one friend I hoped to keep from the mess that was last week. "You said that she does something similar?" I gulped, coldness rising in my chest, "So is she--"

My stupid thoughtful asshole of a counterpart gently took my hand and squeezed once. "I'm not going to say she hasn't manipulated you," she looked up, seemingly thoughtful, then winced slightly. "I have to say, after... well, I screwed up a lot last week trying to get to you--"

"Really?" I injected fake shock into my voice, putting a hand to my chest, "I didn't get that from Grue all but telling me to fuck off at all, nor from the PRT knowing who I was." I flipped my hair in a way that I'd seen Emma do back at Winslow, and barely managed to suppress the feeling of my blood turning to acid, "I mean, I thought you had the situation completely in hand!"

"Ha-ha, funny," she muttered, shoving her hands in her pockets. "And I'll have you know that the identity reveal thing was an accident, it was just supposed to tell them that I was from another world, not reveal you as Skitter." She glanced at me. "Seriously, though, I am sorry about that. I didn't think things would get so…"

"Complicated?"

She shrugged.

"Good a word as any."

The two of us walked in silence before I cleared my throat.

"So... Lisa?"

"Oh!" she yelped, "Sorry, got off track. I was saying that I... I don't really have the best track record with her, and I'm a bit biased since... remember the Bank thing she did to Panacea and Glory Girl?"

I flashed back to that day. "Six words to destroy a family, I think she said."

"Picture that being turned on you." She and I shuddered at the same time. "I don't like her. I know enough of her backstory that I can sympathize with her... but I don't like her, so fair warning--" she held up her hands, "My info is probably biased..."

I circled my hand in the air in front of her, gesturing for her to get on with it. Geez, I was an actual supervillain and I didn't monologue this much. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around... guess not.

Thankfully, she got the point. "Okay, fine. Before I get off on a tangent again, one last note - I at least know she hasn't been fully truthful with you since I know her real name and it isn't Lisa."

"You're absolutely correct, Rose," I shot back, a sinking hole in my stomach opening up.

She nodded and closed her eyes, "Fair point. That being said, though, I do believe that she actually considers you a friend. Tata's pretty genuine about stuff like that most of the time, and I enjoy doing her expressions because of that. Weaponized honesty. Did you know she has about a dozen smiles depending on how much she hates the person she's talking to? I can only do five of those," she soothed my worries, before setting them off again by making a disturbingly accurate impression of a Lisa threatening to tear the Dallon household apart with six short words. Speaking of which…

"Hey, Ems, if you're so tight with Amy, there's this thing that has been bothering me for a while," I began awkwardly, feeling like an asshole for even considering it, "Those six words, do you know... No, don't tell me, just nod."

She stopped to look at me, halfway across a wooden palette someone set up as an impromptu bridge across a crack that crossed the street, making it creak ominously. Opened her mouth to say something before I stopped her, then closed it with an audible click of teeth. Tapped her chin a few times, obviously counting words. Nodded.

"I can think of three phrases that fit into six words that would do terrible things to the Dallon household as it is now," she said thoughtfully, then grinned, "At least, in terms of truth. I could just say 'your house is full of termites', but..." her grin slid off her face as she noticed my unamused look. It took on a somber cast, any trace of levity wiped off her face completely. "I also doubt your Tattletale knows the one that mine actually used, although Carol and Amy were already on the outs by that point because of me."

"Because of you?! What did you do, seduce her?" I snorted, before looking at her accusingly. "You didn't, did you?"

At this point she was fighting back a case of the giggles. "Sorry, but no, no I didn't. It's just funny because... well, when I first heard that her mom didn't like me hanging around with Amy, that's exactly what I thought she thought."

I drew back slightly. "Wait, seriously?" At her nod, I repeated myself. "No, really?"

She waved her hand. "String of misunderstandings on several fronts, but yeah." She tapped her fingers together and followed me as I resumed moving. "Turned out she thought I was seducing Amy... to villainy."

I cocked my head, confused. "Weren't you a PRT agent? How the hell does that even--?"

"Carol Dallon-- Victoria's and Amy's mom--," she interjected, "--was messed up even before her sister and brother-in-law died. I don't know the whole story-- my Amy doesn't like to talk about it --but she's got some sort of 'black and white' thing going on." She paused as we had to double back a bit to get around a car stuck in a section of collapsed road, "So fair warning, she's really not going to like you."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, great, more people I don't know that hate me. I'm blessed."

"I really don't know why she didn't like me... at least, until I was able to get Amy out of that house by inviting her into the Wards," she confessed, "That kinda... split her family…" she rubbed her eyes, "That was a bad month... and the one after that..." Rose sighed. "and the one after that... and then I fought an Endbringer."

"'May you live in interesting times', eh Ems?" I offered.

She glared at me, to my amusement. "Interesting I could handle if I had five fucking minutes where things were boring. There's always something weird or new or some villain trying to set something or other on fire, and speaking of weird, why the hell do you keep calling me Ems?"

It was my turn to laugh. In the distance, I had a fly study the object in an oddly-dressed man's hand, tagging his shoulders with several more. The fly's senses insisted whatever he was holding was edible, which likely meant it wasn't a gun, unless he used it to stir his soup or something like that. I still kept the flies watching him, naturally wary of anyone dressed wrong for the weather. Better safe than sorry and all that.

"One, because Tata hasn't realized it's a perfectly symmetrical response to het being called Tata," I grinned, finding myself bothered by the idea that I was suddenly unsure of the image my smiles projected, "And I learned on Sunday that I do enjoy showing her up. Two, because you keep calling me 'T' and you don't see me objecting, do you?"

"But I think it's neat if we give each other sibling nicknames," she protested, thankfully without pouting which I honestly expected based on her tone alone, "I never had one, and think it's a cool one!"

"Aaand apparently we're more different than you thought! Fancy that!" I threw my hands up in the air, "Because I haven't been ten in a while now. So if I get a childish nickname that irritates me, so do you."

"And there's the real reason why Clockblocker is afraid of you," she said, hopping over the broken step as we entered the house. "You're absolutely merciless!"

As expected, Dad had already departed for work, so I leveraged my status as the actual resident of the house to get first dibs on the shower, leaving my eerie twin to prepare breakfast and check on Angelica, who seemed a tad worried to have been left alone in the house. This will be an issue we're gonna need to find a workaround for when we'll be going to school, or Ward business or whatever, while Dad is working. Unless one of us takes her with them every time?

------

[Rose]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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Of course, the villain of the family barely left me any hot water to shower with, but suffering builds character and mine must probably be a freaking skyscraper by now. And Taylor's is likely twice as tall.

After breakfast and a change of clothes, which resulted in Taylor wearing a surprisingly well-fitting fitted shirt - likely one Lisa picked out for her - above a pair of thankfully unskinny jeans (not so different after all!), we left the house with Angelica in tow.

The state of emergency imposed on the city and its general trashed-up state meant looters and other bandits would be operating even in broad daylight, uncowed by the actions of the police or the gangs, because the heroes never really bothered with my-- with our neighborhood. Taylor had her swarms, sure, but I still felt naked without Mjölnir on my hip-- note to self, get Dad to get a new gun locker for our tasers, because I will be DAMNED if Taylor doesn't get some more protection, and I need a safe place to store mine --and so it was in its rightful place, hopefully not too visible as it bounced with every step. In addition, Taylor had a pair of collapsible batons strapped to her belt, although I was unsure whether she was actually good with them. Then again, in the unlikely event she wasn't (because at least one of us had to have full faith in ourself), I was right here.

"So what other terrifying things can you tell me about smiles and how we misuse them?" she asked after some quiet time, clearly unsatisfied with my earlier explanation. "And, more importantly, why only smiles? Why not frowns or scowls or--"

Sophia's #3 ('Hebert') cut her off sharply. I dropped it as soon as I saw the hurt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry for dredging that up!" I half-whimpered, reaching out to hug her, but she swatted my arms away, startling Angelica and making the face I should have used instead. Fuck me, why is talking to myself so difficult?!

We walked on in silence again for a bit, with the occasional pause for the dog to sniff things out. I half-remembered Rachel's explanation about 'sniff walks' and their importance, but the gist I caught was 'take your dog to more places it hasn't sniffed yet' and nothing beyond that.

"I'm… I'm sorry too," she half-whispered, barely audible, "You're trying to help me, I realize that, but…"

"Yeah. But. We're a pair of pretty messed-up girls, aren't we?" I asked, carefully wrapping an arm around her shoulders. This time she didn't resist, giving me a nod instead.

"So, something something 'I've frowned enough for three lives already', huh?"

I gave her terrible impression of Clint Eastwood a puzzled look, then nodded myself, accepting the shoving of the elephant in the room out the window.

"Something like that, yeah."

Taylor bent down to stop Angelica from picking up a questionable piece of refuse, then straightened out with a smirk on her face.

"Although you have to admit, you kinda made a mess of taking your therapist's advice about not smiling enough and faking till you make it so far that you crossed dimensions."

It was my turn to stare at her dumbstruck. Then we both burst out laughing like the idiots that we were. Together.

------

[Taylor]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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"The good news is, there's no threat to her health, and she will probably recover enough to be able to trot in a month or two," the doctor, a middle-aged man who embodied the word "tired" in every fiber of his being (and every fiber of his clothing too), told us as he helped Rose get Angelica down from the examination table. "What happened to her? Besides the face, I mean, that looks like an old wound."

"She's a rescue," I supplied, "Remember that mess with Purity a couple weeks back? We got trapped under the rubble, her and I," I paused to pet the dog on the head, "All I got out of it were a few scrapes and bruises."

"Well, she seems mostly healthy otherwise, though I could suggest a few supplemental vitamin options?" His hand reached for a prescription pad, but Rose waved him off.

"Thanks, but I fear we'll have to decline," my double sounded apologetic, "Money was pretty tight even before all that," she explained, gesturing at the window.

He nodded, an understanding look in his eyes. "Well, the key thing is that she's not in pain, so it's just a matter of not overburdening her, I'd say."

"Thank you, doctor," I said gratefully as we stepped back out into the waiting room. The city may be in ruins, but people still get sick, and so do their pets. The sights we saw ranged from the mundane, like cat carriers filled with twinkling anger, to the bizarre, like a dog that looked like its fur was falling out in patches right before our eyes. With the bill settled, we hurried to get out of there, remembering our own dreadful experience at age nine, catching some sort of virus in a hospital waiting room after a dentist visit.

The sun was out and the air was warming up and if not for the scheduled appointments at the PRT building for me to officially stop being a villain, I would have rather stayed in this liminal state of perpetually walking the dog and my sister in all but name down an endless road lined by puddles and broken-down cars and okay, that twisted body clearly wasn't a part of the landscape I wanted to see. A recovery crew was extracting someone's remains from a pile of rubble that used to be an electronics store or something like that, and their faces, half-hidden by their hard hats, were about as enthused about the discovery of yet another ruined life as I was. I can't forget what I'm doing this for. We have to stop this city from turning into the shithole too many believe it already is. We. Us. Together.

As we rounded a corner, an obvious issue with today's schedule popped into Rose's head as it did mine earlier. "Crap. We can't leave Angelica alone, not this soon."

"So what do you propose?" I asked, looking down at the one-eyed beast. The beast chuffed, clearly envisioning an option where it would get its own spidermesh suit and maybe a jetpack to zoom around to better bite the baddies for its new twin mistresses.

"Bring your dog to work day, apparently," Rose replied, drawing a questioning head tilt from Angelica. "The problem is, mine or Dad's?"

"Yours, I think. The PRT has to have dog handlers? How did you deal with them when you had your Rachel…" I trailed off, the grief over my teammate and the confusion over the bizarre nature of the question likely plain as day on my face, "...taken in the first time?"

"Fair point. Let me make a few calls, find out if Martinez is onsite. She did it last time, but she's not a Sergeant here, so I can't ask her to dogsit for us. I can, however, ask her to assign someone sensible to it."

"And someone who won't throw a bitch fit when they recognize Hellhound's iconic dog, you mean?" I mused, scratching the dog, the icon, behind the ear once more.

------

[Rose]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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After swinging by home to pick up the bag with Taylor's costume, we hiked to the PRT building, owing to the lack of running buses. Or any other transportation, for that matter. We left Angelica in the care of a Sergeant Hastings, who came highly recommended by Martinez (who had a smile and a wink for Taylor as we committed the grave idiocy of walking around the base wearing the generic masks, leaving Taylor's distinctive hair loose).

This chain of events saw us arriving at the door to Mike Chambers's office nine minutes early, but a cursory knock on the door got us in instead of having to wait around in the uncomfortable hallway chairs. Where we discovered the other Chambers, Glenn, instead. Mike sauntered in a few minutes later, bearing coffee for himself and his not-relative. The irony of the room was palpable as the two Owls looked at the two Chamberses, both of which were aware of our true nature.

Glenn clapped his hands together, grinned predatorily - something that looked positively disturbing in combination with his garish outfit and vast volume, making me want that expression in my collection at the earliest convenience - and spoke. "Let's see your costume then, Miss Hebert…"

I ducked out of there half an hour later, citing the need to go on patrol and utterly convinced the battle over the costume redesign would be bloody and prolonged with or without my involvement. I felt a little bad about leaving Taylor alone in there with them, but then I remembered how they'd gotten me to pick my Deputy Commander costume and wished she'd give them hell. Then I snorted.

Hell, I thought, compared to fighting with PR, meeting the Wards should be a snap. And if I tried really hard, I could almost believe that.

She could afford to make a bad impression on the PR veterans. They were used to abrasive Wards being argumentative about branding decisions and would likely not harbor much ill will towards her no matter how much of Skitter's appearance she will be allowed to retain as Arachne (they also are yet to agree to that name, I realized) even if she fought tooth and nail and praying mantis. Note to self: evaluate appropriateness of praying mantises as birthday gifts. Or is it mantii? Damn it, this is the anuses thing all over again.

My patrol partner for the day turned out to be Chris, who was already in costume by the time I entered the Wards Commons. Dennis waved his greeting at me from the console and I saw that Missy's door was ajar, revealing the light was on inside.

"Has James left yet?" I asked as I walked to my room. Chris leaned against the wall outside to wait while I changed. "I hope I haven't missed that!"

"No, he said he'd be back later to, and I quote, 'bid us all farewell'," I heard the Tinker's response over my grumbling efforts to squeeze into the spidermesh. It needed better detergents than the ones the PRT provided, and the stuff I swam in on Sunday certainly hadn't made it any softer. Then again, I now had access to the girl who could make me a new one if the push came to shove. "If I understood him right, he's timing that right for when we'll be back from this patrol."

"Good," I said, stepping back out, clad in my loaner armor (just thinking that I would be getting my own back later today or tomorrow morning made me squirm) and securing the helmet in place. "Route four, right?"

"Amended, though," he nodded, handing me a printout. Route four would normally take us through the Lord Street Market and neighboring streets, but one of them was Dirk - the one I shot Leviathan on, the one whose corner now housed the time bubble. Owing to the security perimeter established around the bubble containing the out-of-town capes, Leviathan's severed foot and four of Armsmaster's fingers, the route was amended.

"Aegis?" I asked, stepping into the elevator after Chris.

"He had the morning shift today, but he said he'd be here to see Browbeat off and deal with a bureaucratic thing? I dunno, he was kinda vague."

That said, the perimeter did precious little to stop people who wanted to throw in empty beer bottles and other refuse just for the novelty of seeing them sink in a few inches and then stop. The fact that one side of the bubble was filled with dirty seawater - which was what probably shielded Armsmaster from being washed away when Taylor was - only added to the object's mystique as a sightseeing spot for the battle that raged here three days ago. PHO mods had a fun time of deleting and blocking the neverending stream of pictures people took of Jotun's resigned expression or Morningstar's terrified one. The fact that some asshole figured out her identity from those pictures and slapped it across the Internet didn't make things easier, but at least that got her off the unidentified cape list, her name would be on the memorial after all, I've learned. Lucy Fern would get some recognition at least in the limbo of frozen un-death than she did in her job as a legal aide somewhere out in the Rockies. Her not having any next of kin made things a lot easier overall.

As Kid Win and I emerged into the glaring sunlight of Brockton Bay's fourth day as a disaster area, a sudden realization struck me. "You're… walking? You can walk!" I exclaimed half-seriously.

"Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system, prove once and for all you're merely a projection created by Clockblocker's secret power he gained because no real girl would show interest in him," was the scathing reply I got. If not for his full-face helm, I'd say Chris was pouting under there, "I'll have you know, all of this is entirely on the head of a certain somebody who, oh I don't know, blew up my hoverboard?"

We set off in the direction of our patrol zone, talking in hushed voices more over the comms than out loud. Ah, the boons of sealed helmets.

"First off... is that just your thought on my secret origin, or is that a PHO thing? Because if it's a PHO thing I gotta go run damage control..." I tried to keep the worry out of my voice. True DeputyH Facts had nothing on Clockblocker's Fantasy Come To Life, "And then get ready for another round of M/S…" After he shook his head vigorously, I continued, looking a little more chipper as I did so, "And second… Yeah, sorry about that," I winced inside my helmet, then shrugged as apologetically as I could, chastising myself for not taking the quarterly refresher course on emoting for heroes with closed masks and helmets. Such were the perils of sealed helmets. "If it makes you feel any better, it hurt really really bad when the Alternator Cannon exploded in my face and I got thrown butt-first into a car?"

"And also Skitter apparently saved you from that? After giving me first aid?" he clarified, and I nodded. "Hell. Still hard to believe she wanted to be a hero. She's just so--"

"Efficient?" I suggested pointedly, before easing my tone into levity, "Implacable? Mysterious?"

"Hey, Emissary, I thought we were discussing Skitter and not yourself?" Dennis piped in over the comms, laughter clear in his voice.

"Thank you, Console, that goes a long way towards explaining why I like her!" I quipped, grinning to myself as we stepped onto Lords Street, or what was left of it in the wake of the grenade-and-forcefield chase sequence that led to the time bubble's creation. "Glory Girl sighted, Console. Win, wanna go say 'hi'?"

"I don't see why not," the red-clad Tinker agreed as we approached New Wave's golden child who was busy moving a collapsed section of a building wall to let the employees of the half-wrecked store get in and check if any of their wares or equipment were salvageable.

We waited politely while she moved the giant piece of ferrocrete, putting it down slightly to the side with a care I didn't actually expect from the so-called Collateral Dama-- you know what, that's grossly unfair. She didn't choose her looks or her powers. She does normally choose to be blasé about breaking stuff though. So, Miss Danger Close?

"Good afternoon, Victoria!" I called out, waving at the floating heroine. She scowled at the sight of me, then eased off when she saw I wasn't alone.

"For a moment there I was worried you've dragged your asshole cousin along to stare at me again," she said in lieu of a greeting, "Hey there, Win!" she added for my companion, "What brings you two to this sight of heroic aid?"

"Your cousin is an asshole?" Chris whipped his head towards me, seemingly ignoring her, "Is that why you tried to set Clockblocker up with her?"

"Yeap," I played along, "Just think of the kind of offspring they can create! The worst of all worlds! Bad puns everywhere! No thesaurus is safe!"

"I'm sorry, did I miss a part of the conversation somewhere?" Dennis sounded worried, but was summarily ignored for the sake of the gag.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry for snapping at you, okay?" Vicky relented, "Maybe she gets a bit of an excuse with the bullying--"

"You knew about that?" Chris angled his head in her direction awkwardly. Emoting-for-capes class told me that was the equivalent of gawping. My Chris may have been second best after Dennis, but that was only because in a class that was literally scientific goofing off, nobody could best Dennis. I had no reason to believe the situation was any different here.

Vicky gave him an odd look. "Dean filled me in, I connected the dots-- wait, how do you know her cousin, anyway?" I gestured for Vicky to fly along with us and she nodded, floating lazily a few feet off the ground as we moved along our route.

"I don't, actually, we've only heard stories," Chris replied guilelessly, making me cringe at the comedy of errors unfolding before me. "And no, she wasn't actually trying to set her cousin up with Clockblocker, although if she's anything like Emissary, I fear the result would be exactly as advertised."

Vicky looked at me with a positively explosive mix of admiration and disgust. "I'd say. By the way, is the rumor true? Skitter's becoming a Ward?" she asked, the perfect picture of innocence, the elusive Glory Girl #7 ('That does sound like a great suggestion!') on her lips, which I failed to learn before locking my Vicky away. Suddenly, I felt compelled to complete the set.

"Yep, she's at the PRT building now, debating her costume redesign with the PR people," I replied earnestly, because that was the actual truth and nothing but.

"SHE WHAT?!" Dennis and Chris yelled in my ears at the same time, making me jump up in surprise, no doubt giving a fun sight to take pictures of for the people watching this Capes Of Our Lives scene unfolding in front of them.

"So, uh, hey, Emissary, dearest of all my friends, would you by any chance... happen to know her range?" Clock gulped over the radio.

I rolled my eyes. "Several blocks. So yes, you are within her range."

"Ah." He swallowed heavily, "If you need me, I'll be ordering a couple dozen cans of Raid."

"I take it you kept that bit from your team, huh?" Vicky grinned wider, "Who's on the line? Clock?"

I nodded, opening my visor to grin at her, an Emma #4 ('I'm going to enjoy this more than you'), "You can talk at him if you have something to say." There were few people out on this street, and both she and Chris already knew my face. That, and Wadjet covering half of it, of course.

"Take Emissary's cousin out on a date just to spite her, Time-Man!" she yelled into my face, sharing a shockingly close vision of her picture-perfect lips (I wondered if Amy did the same thing to mine as she no doubt did to Vicky's) and the invaluable knowledge that her chewing gum was banana-flavored. "I can be the maid of honor at your wedding!"

Oh it is on, Barbie-girl. You're going to regret these words when you're wearing that periwinkle dress my childhood dreams intended for Emma to shine in at my dream wedding to Matthew Broderick. So sure, Dennis is more Zack Ward than Matthew Broderick, but Taylor and I aren't quite Anne Hathaway either.

"I wonder, how many times per day do you have to remind people you have a camera in your helmet?" Kid Win wondered aloud, making Vicky flinch and sending me into peals of laughter as I closed my visor to Dennis's loud protestations.

"What I wonder is why you still don't have one, Win," I pointed a chiding finger at him before turning back to Vicky. "Jokes apart, how are you holding up? After, you know..."

As I trailed off, I realized that she was off her game. The smile fake, faker than mine usually are. The tension boiling, reason enough for her earlier outburst. She was trying to act like her old self, but she couldn't recenter, couldn't quite remember how the steps went, as it were. The feeling was painfully familiar to me, stirring something dark in my chest. However, this Hookwolf was as dead as the one back home, but this Aegis yet lived. I did not get my vengeance, but I felt vindicated anyway. Vicky… had no such luxury available to her.

I spread out my arms with obvious intent and she acceded, floating down to step into my hug, my ribs creaking in protest to the ferocity of it. Kid Win realized how he could be useful as he shooed away the onlookers before anyone could snap a picture. It was easy to think of Glory Girl as unshakeable and impervious to everything. She was, sure enough, but not to mental anguish.

"What's happening, Win? I'm not getting a visual anymore!" Dennis complained over the comms, so Chris shooed him too.

"Bit better?" I asked as we resumed moving, glad to see her jerky nod.

"How are Eric and Crystal doing?" Chris, paragon of tact that he is, asked to make himself relevant to the conversation again.

"They're… trying to get distracted, playing along with Mom's idea about increased patrolling to show that we still matter as a team," she replied wearily, the earlier bluster gone completely. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I must have badgered her hundreds of times to come along on patrols with me, but… not like this. She's running us ragged. It's only been three days and they didn't even get to mourn properly and it feels like it's been a month already..." she trailed off into an uneasy silence.

"Amy?" I asked carefully, hoping I wouldn't set off Vicky's Big Sis Alarm (I wonder if I should ever tell her she isn't the older sister?), considering her opinion of me.

"On standby at the hospital, and she told me last night there's already people coming down with stuff from the dirty water," Vicky provided, then lit up a little, clearly having remembered something, "So, you know, stick to bottled for as long as you can or get a filter for your home?"

"Already have one, the water was never good in my uncle's neighborhood to begin with," I replied, remembering in time to correct from 'my neighborhood'. "You are checking in on her regularly, right? She didn't really have time to recover from Sunday from what you're telling me, and she was barely vertical then."

That did earn me an affronted look, but at least it shattered the gloom surround her.

"If there's anything we can help you guys with--" Chris began before Vicky waved him off, then stopped suddenly. "--anything?" he finished awkwardly.

"Actually, there is something," she said slowly, as if still thinking it over, "Something you told Amy and me on Sunday…" she was staring into my eyes now, straight through the visor. A cheap trick, but very effective - she must have remembered where they actually were when I opened the front. "It was her idea, but we have to sell our cousins on it first, obviously and--"

"Vicky," I said softly, putting an arm on her shoulder, "Take a breath. You're babbling. It's okay, you can tell us whatever it is."

She looked questioningly at Chris, who nodded resolutely, right on cue. Definitely have to do something nice for him.

"We, uh… we wanted to know what we need to do to join the Wards," she finally squeezed out, "I'd rather shatter the team but keep my family intact and sane, and the way things are going right now, it's the only option we have of not losing both."

"Vicky…" Chris whispered, shocked.

"Did I hear that right? Glory Girl and Panacea in the Wards?!" Dennis exclaimed.

"I'll get you a folder of paperwork at the drop of a hat, you'll have less of it to deal with than Skitter did, most likely. Laserdream's of age, right? I have no idea as to Protectorate procedures, but I'd wager they're not much different," I replied easily, but didn't stop there. "I have to warn you though, Tattletale will be devastated," I deadpanned, trying my damnedest to keep the laughter out of my voice.

"The hell does she have anything to do with us?" Vicky's returning fury demanded.

"Depending on how Brandish takes this, you may lose the rights to your cape names, since the merchandising rights are likely registered to New Wave the team, which is currently administrated by one person, "Which means Tattletale will have to invent a new nickname for you."

"Ha!" Dennis snorted, "Does this mean they'll be like those mockbuster movies? All-Healing Girl, Triumphant Female Child, Light Emission Wish and Defender Boy?"

Despite Vicky's demands, Chris and I adamantly refused to explain the reasons for our hysterical laughter.

------

[Taylor]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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​

"I hate you," I told my brat of a cousin as I found my freedom from bureaucratic oppression in the form of a hot drinks vending machine. Much as I loathed vending machine tea, it was my best option without braving the cafeteria which was probably chock full of troopers willing me no good health after I ridiculed their comrades (or possibly themselves) at the gallery. I was mostly in costume, opting for the visitor mask in place of my own, glasses balanced awkwardly over it, since my mask would have gotten between me and this atrocity of a tea. "I hate you so very much."

"What did they veto?" the brat asked nonchalantly, sipping her own crime against tea and wincing. Somehow, vending machine tea always had that distinct tang of drain cleaner eating through your tongue during the first few sips while it was lava-hot, and the PRT's vending machine lived up to that ghastly standard with pride. I felt very much like Dentarthurdent at the moment.

"Nothing," I replied darkly as we stepped into the elevator. By some unspoken agreement, we decided that Angelica was going to be with me as I unmasked to the Wards. She spent enough time changing hands lately, and if we were to get the villain out of her, we'd definitely need to get her used to being around the Wards and their powers.

"Nothing?" she gaped at me, which actually looked pretty funny with the way her helmet was opened and her Tinkertech goggles covered her face. What you could see of her face was all surprise. "Wait, let me rephrase that. What did they impose?"

"Color scheme change, but we expected that," I started counting off fingers on my free hand, there went the thumb. "Then it was 'no using bees' and--" down went the pointer, "--this I don't even get, I mean, I've never even really used bees in my swarms, why do people even think I do that?" My double shrugged unhelpfully. "But they also want me to use no venomous insects, which is bullshit, because I can command them to not use venom. Otherwise the Gallery would have turned out way worse for all involved…" I curled the rest of my fingers into a fist. "And I'm just distracting myself, this is not the time."

"Elephant in the room?" she nodded, tapping her faceplate.

"Elephant in the room. To be frank, I'm terrified out of my mind," I admitted, as we walked the deserted hallway to the indoor conservatory, originally designed as a stress release room. Corporal Jonlan, an awkward bespectacled man who Martinez assured us was a veteran field trooper, was playing tug of war with Angelica using a bit of rope. And losing badly.

On setting her eye on us, she gave a cheerful bark and hobbled over, wagging her tail.

"Angelica, heel," I ordered, and she did. A couple of beetles tag-teamed a piece of kibble for me from the bag we'd left Jonlan for her, which I rewarded her with. "Good dog. Good."

"I have to say, that's a finely trained animal you have there," the Corporal remarked, getting up from his crouched position, "Your doing?"

"Hellhound," Rose said bluntly, "Angelica is the only one of her core pack of dogs to survive Leviathan. Skitter is the last person alive she would obey without question, I think."

"Huh. Fancy that. The PRT's file on her must have been wrong. Master rating my ass," he snorted, shrugging back into his uniform jacket, "Makes me want to smack the boffins who wrote that file upside the head. Want to bet they're cat people?"

We laughed at the obvious joke and bid the Corporal farewell. Rose plotted a slightly different course to the elevator on our way back, which felt as if she was trying to make me memorize the layout of this floor. Or maybe she wanted to go past the armory to requisition me a taser of my own. It wouldn't be Tinkertech like hers, but there was clearly a moral coming to this.

"Alright," she said as she handed me the requisition slip, "Once you're fully inducted, it should already be waiting for you. I want you to have as much options available besides your swarm, and batons alone aren't enough," she explained as we moved on down the hallway. "As a Ward you're not allowed to have a knife or gun or any other lethal weapon on you," she added, curtailing my next question.

By that point we were already entering the elevator. "I see," I nodded as the doors slid shut. "But you--"

"Yeah, yeah, pep talk!" she interrupted me again, "Here's the thing: You're afraid of them about as much as they're afraid of you. Quick advice: try not to remind Clockblocker why he's afraid of flying insects now, they will probably be on eggshells around you, so be as friendly as possible, and Browbeat... well, he's leaving the Wards so you probably won't see much of him but he's... odd, fair warning."

"Oh, good," I muttered, "That actually helps... mind you, I'm still debating the merits of trying to make a run for it."

"I wouldn't," she said cheerfully as she squeezed my shoulder, "Their vision is based on movement."

"Well, that--" I stopped and gave an unimpressed look at her. "That's T-Rexes and you know it."

"We can't really lie to each other -- we both know we would rather face down a T-Rex than do this."

I shrugged. "Fair enough."

The elevator continued its trek in silence before I broke it.

"You'll have…" I started, pausing when the elevator stopped at its destination, then finished, "You'll be with me, right?"

We both will," she gestured to Angelica, "You aren't going to be alone."

With those words, she stepped out, and I followed with her.

 

[Noelemahc]

Interlude 03.G​

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

Glenn Chambers exhaled slowly and rested the glass of ice water against his forehead. For a moment, he just sat there breathing in, and breathing out. Getting his mind into a state of calm serenity, where things made sense instead of the chaotic whirling that the world he lived in tended to do. As a young man, he'd tried Buddhism– admittedly, mostly as a form of rebellion against his so-white-you'd-go-blind community in the suburbs –and while he hadn't stuck with it, he'd learned enough to get a little practice in meditation… and thirty years later he still used those techniques when the stresses of the job got to be too much for him.

He felt the tension leaving his body, his thoughts growing more orderly, the coolness of the glass growing more soothing…

And then he thought back to why he was in Brockton Fucking Bay in the first place, and the glass shattered against the far wall.

"FUCK!" he bellowed, slamming his fists against the desk.

The job of PR director of the PRT and the Protectorate was one that was thankless. Ideally, it was a job where one had to market people with special powers who did good things. That was a job that practically did itself. Unfortunately, that was only on the surface. Parahumans were people who were, at their core, broken. Emotionally unstable people who had been given the keys to the armory and told to go crazy, because it was all free.

This meant that it was his job to make sure that people saw only the good sides of what members of the Protectorate did, and none of the worse ones… like that moron in New York who punched a Mexican boy for "Being a..." (Can't even repeat that in my head!) and then died to the Endbringer last weekend. Or Typhoon, a member of the Phoenix Protectorate whose power had perforated a line of condos while trying to intercept a couple members from the local chapter of E88. Or even fucking Clockblocker who thought it was funny to circumvent the system designed to keep things working smoothly and made life all that harder for all the newly minted Wards that came after him. Glenn could appreciate a good pun as any other man, but what was so terrible about having a safe name like Stopwatch?

But the local situation made dealing with idiots who thought that a sex joke would make a good cape name seem like small potatoes in comparison.

While yes, the Endbringer attack in and of itself was bad, its direct consequences could be wallpapered over with visible patrols of the PRT and Protectorate bolstering anti-looting efforts and rooting out the idiots who would try to say "I am the new Warlord of Wherever", as had happened in at least half a dozen cities that Glenn could think of after they'd been attacked by an Endbringer. No, the issue was how and why the Protectorate Population had been depleted.

Velocity. Strider. Myrrdin. They'd all died well in the line of duty– as callous as it sounded, he could use their deaths to push the "Heroic Sacrifice In The Face Of Evil" narrative –and good on them for doing what they did. The ones he had a problem with were Armsmaster, Shadow Stalker and Taylor Fucking Hebert.

He was interrupted from his mental grouching by a knock on the door, before it opened anyway to reveal the tightly-smiling Mike Chambers.

"So I'm hoping that the glass shattering was you throwing a tantrum and not a Stranger thing going on," he began without preamble as he stepped into the borrowed office Glenn was using during his currently indefinite stay here, "Because I have a feeling you'll be needing this, Glenn." He held up a bottle of vodka and two tumblers.

Glenn raised an eyebrow. "How kind of you. No ice?"

"I can take this back, you know," Mike said amiably, starting to reopen the door.

"I didn't say that, dealing with this thing while sober is a Health and Human Safety violation." He snorted as Mike sat across from him, beginning to set up the drinks, "Last thing we need right now is OSHA breathing down our necks."

"Heaven forbid," Mike dryly shot back as he pushed the shot towards his boss. "That's what we need right now, lawyers. And to curb your worry - I have a perfectly functional minifridge in my office. It's cold enough."

"About what you said though," Glenn paused, swaying the tumbler in his hand back and forth, watching the clear liquid within roll along its edges, "If I was a Stranger, what was your plan, seeing if drunkenness makes me drop my disguise?"

"Hell no, I'm getting a drink for the one who got rid of my asshole boss." Mike tossed his shot back and blinked hard. "Phew! Little bit strong!" he exhaled in one breath.

"You missed your calling as a comedian. Three cornball jokes in as many minutes," Glenn fired back before he took his own shot.

Mike grimaced as he set his tumbler down on Glenn's borrowed desk, not really caring that it was leaving a tiny trail of condensation on a section unprotected by the inefficiently small placemat designed to safeguard the wood from the elements of the office. Fire, from the workplace smokers. Water, from the coffee drinkers and the slowly pooling puddle of dew around Mike's vodka bottle. Air, from the sneezes of those who never took sick leaves. And Earth, from the pots of those raising monstrous mutant Tinker plants in their offices, because surely nothing else could survive in the recycled air and artificial lighting of these halls.

"My apartment was near the Boardwalk, so right now most of what I own is probably sitting on the seabed half a mile offshore," he gestured vaguely in the general direction of the wall behind the other man. Glenn had long since abandoned any pretense of surprise at the fact that most Brocktonites he knew could tell him which way the ocean was. Offhand, in a cellar, while blindfolded. Maybe it was something in the water. "When I say I'm living out of my desk, that isn't an exaggeration– I am literally living at my desk. If I don't try to fake being in at least a semi-good mood I'll start crying, and I'm not sure I'd ever stop."

Glenn raised an eyebrow. "The Trooper Dorms aren't occupied?"

"Full up, Glenn, with everyone ELSE who lost their home in the attack and the Protectorate guys until the Rig is usable again." He shrugged noncommittally. "No idea how long that would take. It got the giant monster version of a saltwater enema, after all."

"Ah," the wider Chambers acquiesced.

"So, time to fess up, Glenn," Mike leaned back in his chair, staring Glenn in the eyes, "You're such an ass that I've considered testing you for burro DNA, but usually you don't break things," he eyed the broken glass, "So what's up?"

"Taylor Hebert," Glenn replied, dropping a meaty hand on the folder that lay to the side of his desk, its front consisting more post-it notes than actual folder at this point.

Mike sighed, shaking his head. He was sitting in the chair the girl occupied not twenty minutes earlier, after all. "I know that, I was there. What about her, I mean."

Glenn placed his head in his hands. "That's just it. What about her? I don't understand. Yes, there's the connection to Emissary, and sure, she's a villain… but I don't get why I'm getting such pressure from above on this case."

"So Piggot's breathing down your neck to make sure that she doesn't attack another art gallery, big deal," Mike snorted. "I thought you were worried she'd walk back on the costume revisions," he added, tapping the sheet of pencil sketches of one of the girls which the other scribbled over with corrections, which, in turn, Glenn traced over in a multicolored flurry of felt pens. The end result was pretty far from Emissary's original proposal, which Ski-- Arachne did not take a liking to.

Glen glared at him. "It's not that. I got calls from Tagg, Armstrong, and Costa-Brown herself. All of them telling me over and over again that I need to accede to her demands, to try to not upset her if at all possible–" Glenn shook his head, "And I have an allergy to ladybirds, so I know not to deliberately antagonize someone who controls them. I just can't figure out why."

"Well, there's lots of theories as to why allergies exist, but some have speculated that it's a sign of the–"

"Not that!" he snapped, "Although… make a note, I am slightly curious about that. What I mean is…" He spread his arms wide, "Why?"

He stood up and began to pace. "Why would so many PRT higher-ups have an interest in such a small-time criminal? It doesn't make any sense."

"Well…" Mike followed Glenn's path as he strode around his office, "She did rob that bank, humiliating the Wards and New Wave and then walked all over the Protectorate heroes at that party at the Gallery…"

"Pshaw!" scoffed Glenn, "You live in a city where actual, real Nazis are often in open gang warfare with either wannabe-Yakuza whose boss deals in drugs or sex slaves, or a group of druggies that includes a cape whose power is literally to cover himself in garbage. Brockton Bay had more requests for resources and cape transfers than every other PRT department in New England combined, but now they show an interest in it? In one wannabe villain who genuinely embarrassed us once?" He shook his head. "One of the things I learned over the years is that 'Cui Bono' is usually the best, first question to ask when something doesn't add up."

"And you think that all the attention to the dimensional wonder twins is bad," Mike concluded, not bothering with making it a question. He knew Glenn too well for that.

Glenn whirled on one foot to face Mike. "There are two problems with it. The first, and most immediate problem, is that I know exactly what they're doing. They're trying to take a girl who– and let's not butter this up, Mike, we've known each other too long for that –was psychologically traumatized over and over again on our watch, by someone we, if not trusted, then at least gave a degree of free reign, so they want to take this girl and force her into a new group that she's supposed to trust and respect like she did her old friends, the supervillains. Another kid on the line in a shitheap city that we're manipulating into working for us." He swore, this time under his breath. "I need a smoke."

"You don't smoke," Mike snapped back with practiced ease.

"I need to start," Glenn countered, waving his subordonate off.

"You've been doing this for years, Glenn."

"I know, I know, it's just…" he rubbed his eyes, growling under his breath. "Some days you just…"

"Get hit with a dose of 'dear god, this is my place in the universe', right?"

Glenn stared. Mike shrugged before continuing.

"We've all had those days, Glenn."

Glenn slumped into his chair. "Right. What doesn't help is knowing that the Brockton Bay that Emissary comes from is bad enough that she knowingly trained herself into the epitome of a child supersoldier to compensate for having a dollar store equivalent of powers and apparently leads her Wards by example in that regard."

He slammed a fist on the table, nearly sending the tumblers flying right from under the bottle just as Mike was trying to refill them while his boss was having a crisis of faith.

"Vista is her second in command. She has Panacea deploy on patrols wearing Tinkertech power armor. The little girl she took in as her foster sister used her persona-creating power to channel Mr. T for fuck's sake!"

He accepted the freshly poured drink, downing it in a flash and setting the glass on the desk with a loud bang.

"Just tell me: are we fighting a losing battle terrible enough that we have to have teenage girls turn themselves into burly muscled men to protect this hellhole of a city?"

"Beats me, I just make up costumes and slogans for them," Mike said languidly as he downed his own shot, setting the glass down. This one seemed to go down a lot more smoothly than the last. "At some point you may have to accept the simple fact that I've already learned: not all Wards want to stay children. They take this whole 'protecting your city' thing as seriously as any Trooper."

"And that part scares me like you wouldn't believe," Glenn admitted, pouring another round for the both of them. "I wonder if that's what World War Two recruiters felt like," he said quietly, before slowly pouring the next shot into his mouth.

Mike sipped at his own shot, idly drawing a sealed envelope from his pocket. He didn't open it, opting instead just to lazily study the scribbles on the front of it.

"So that's one problem down, what's the second?" he asked, smirking at the other man over the object in his hands, clearly fighting back the urge to give it up too early. "I mean, I doubt it can beat 'I have a crisis of conscience about helping make child soldiers', but please, go on, it looks like you haven't had confession in a while."

Glenn looked sheepish as he spread his hands. "I hate to say it, but the second is the one I'm more worried about."

He sighed. "The Chief Director has ordered me to drop any and all efforts at dressing up what happened with Shadow Stalker and Armsmaster and focus solely on promoting Skitter as a new hero."

Mike choked on nothing before he goggled at Glenn.

"You're serious? She told you to just…" he waved his free hand in front of his face, as if waving away smoke.

Glenn nodded sharply.

"But that's– that's insane! We spent millions marketing Armsmaster around the country. He's known as the second-best Tinker in the world. His logo is on everything from toothbrushes to girls' underwear, for– wait, why do we have a male cape's logo on underwear for little girls?"

Glenn shook his head, throwing himself back in his chair, the tenseness finally bleeding away from his bulky form. "Not my fault, that decision was on my predecessor, and it's probably like that because if we stamp some hero's logo on anything, we can charge up to 25% more for it." He raised his shot glass, this time full of water poured from a pitcher on his desk, in salute. "God bless Capitalism, even if it makes me want to bathe in lava sometimes."

Mike shuddered. "Creepiness aside, that still doesn't stop the fact that Armsmaster was a rather large investment, and upstairs is acting like they can just… sweep it under the rug! And Stalker…" he shrugged. "Not as well publicized, but she does have a fanbase among those who like the edgier types of hero."

Glenn shook his head. "I know, I know. The good news is that with a little retooling, Arachne should fill the 'Edgy Hero' look nicely enough, but that's small potatoes compared to the question of how, exactly, we're supposed to act as if one of the faces of Heroic Tinkering isn't on his way to the Birdcage, which his best friend runs, might I add." Glenn splashed his hands out in exasperation, "I'm guessing my opposite number for the Guild is running herself ragged doing damage control for Dragon."

Mike shook his head. "I have the utmost faith in Dragon, if you ask me. As for the other issue…" he sighed heavily, "I never was all that happy about Stalker joining us– no, no, don't get me wrong," he added at Glenn's raised eyebrow, "I'm all for bad guys turning over a new leaf and all that. It's just that it feels like for every Madcap-turned-Assault, we have either someone not really changing at all or going the other way." He shuddered. "Like Sphere, or what happened to Mouse Protector…"

"God, don't ever mention them," Glenn grumbled, "I just hope they'll actually get him to the 'Cage. Man's intense when he wants to be, and I don't want to see what he'd be like on the other side of the law if he gets loose." He sighed again. "But that still doesn't really solve how we're going to deal with this problem."

Then Mike smiled, reminding Glenn of himself for a moment, his face alight with the energy of inspiration.

"Well…" he began slowly, "It would seem to me that one of the best ways to get people to forget something is to offer them something else to fixate on."

"And I suppose you have something strong enough to completely eradicate the memory of one of the most famous capes in the world?" Glenn asked wearily.

Mike shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't say that… but I came back here because one of the boys in analysis passed me this." He held the letter out to Mike, who took it from his hands. "Think we could do something with this?"

Glenn casually opened it, unfolding the glossy picture inside.

And he stared.

It was a shot, from sideways on, of Emissary, standing over Skitter's crumpled, partially submerged form. Her legs were slightly apart, her open helmet revealing a mouth twisted into a howl of rage. From her outstretched hands, a beam of lightning lanced out, connecting with Leviathan's eyeball at the moment it exploded, the monster reeling in what passed for agony on its excuse for a face.

Slowly, Glenn raised his eyes to look his distant relative in the eye, the unasked question obvious.

"There's more where that came from," Mike said in a conspiratory whisper, "Because her drone and helmet cam filmed the entire thing."

"Yes," Glenn whispered, his eyes back on the picture, "I think we can absolutely use this."

 

[Noelemahc]

Reset 3.03​

[Taylor]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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For a moment, it felt as if the world froze. As of we intruded upon some alternate universe and were watching it through the plated glass of a spaceship, detached and separate from its goings-on. Sure, the mask-up alarm gave them warning, but at the same time it was clear they only paid lip service to it: Aegis wore a generic mask that sat crookedly on his face, obscuring one eye, Clockblocker pulled his on halfway (I doubted it was comfortable enough that he pulled it off halfway) and Vista opted for a Groucho set of false spectacles complete with a bulbous red nose and zany mustache. Actually, it was pretty efficient at keeping her features hidden, I had to admit, but the whole situation still reeked of oddness when they turned to watch Miss Militia stride into the large domed room, followed shortly by Rose, her helmet closed once again, and myself, masked up and at the ready for any potential foul play, the heroine's assurances be damned.

I had a bunch of mites spread throughout the room as soon as the doors opened, and co-opted what wildlife was already present - fruitflies, mostly - so I had a pretty good idea of where everyone was - including someone who I assumed to be Browbeat in the toilet or bathroom or whatever it was down the hall past the supposed dorm doors. Angelica padded softly along next to me, leashed for the sake of appearances. I knew she wouldn't do anything unless ordered to or unless Rose or I were threatened openly, but if it came to either of these outcomes, I could just as easily let go of her.

We took position in a wedge a few feet away from the door as it slid closed behind my back, with me in between Miss Militia on my left (she took the side that had Clockblocker and Vista, the most likely to cause trouble, I assumed) and Rose and Angelica on my right (Kid Win and a re-emerging Browbeat, imposing even in civvies and generic mask) with Aegis front and center. He knew the whole story about us, including Rose's origins, she said, so we could count on him to defuse the situation if the adult and the mistress manipulator couldn't.

"Wards!" Miss Militia greeted them, "We would like to introduce your newest member, who I'm sure you are already familiar with. After a bout of, frankly, creative rules-lawyering, Emissary has obtained permission for Skitter to join," she paused to throw an aside glance at Rose, who seemed unperturbed by the dig at whatever she did to get the PRT's collective head out of their ass, "I know your previous encounters may have colored your opinion of her. Nevertheless, I would like you all to welcome her to your ranks and help her with settling in as the newest Ward of Protectorate ENE."

The Wards… stared. In silence. As it persisted, I felt ill at ease, worried that this will shortly degrade into more misery and name-calling for me. This was a terrible idea.

It was Rose who broke the awkward silence, making me wonder if she was trying too hard to sound like Tattletale. "You started celebrating without us!" she chided them, "Don't tell me the cake is gone too!"

"S-suh-skk-kitter!" Clockblocker finally squeezed out, as if just noticing me and visibly restraining himself from outright pointing. I felt like facepalming. I felt like turning to look behind me to ask 'Where?' and almost did, too. Instead, I did something I read about in a book once. I pointed as feebly back at him.

"Ck-ck-cloh-awkblocker!" I stammered out, squawking halfway through out of the nervous realization that I was making an idiot of myself in front of Miss Militia— who cares, you saved her life, you can act however you want! —and my potential future teammates. But it worked. Vista suppressed a snort of laughter, Aegis grinned widely and it was clear that the confusion overpowered the time-controller's fear of all things crawly as well.

I could hear laughter in Rose's voice as she shook her head, exhaling as the tension bled out of her, her stiff pose making it evident that she didn't expect that from me. I must admit, Alec was a terrible influence on me. Aisha would have probably loved this. Oh hell, these two should never mee— why do I still care what happens to any them? Right, because I'm not a callous asshole like Brian turned out to be.

I was saved from my confusion by my idiot of a cousin taking her helmet off. "In the interest of full disclosure, let the dancing around the tarantula in the room commence," she announced as she dropped it onto a chair that stood near the entryway no other apparent reason besides letting her make jazz hands in my general direction. "I present to you, the Artiste Formerly Known As Skitter, who will promptly be entrusting her life in your hands. Over the course of this Sunday, she and I had also seen Miss Militia unmasked—" a collective gasp was silenced by a jerky nod from the Protectorate heroine, who glared at Rose again - and who was also my new boss, shouldn't forget that, "—and also unmasked along with me to an impromptu jury consisting of Panacea, Glory Girl, Armsmaster, Legend and Tattletale after some spurious accusations. Oh, and Alexandria was also there!" she added with a snap of her fingers. "That's in case you don't think we're being serious with this. Because…" she gestured to me again, and I knew that was my cue.

I grabbed the edge of my mask and pulled, perturbed slightly by the fact that Lisa swiped it off far more elegantly that I just did. "My name is Taylor Hebert. I'm sure you've already heard of me, as Rose is my cousin."

The reactions were varied… and, frankly, a little bit confusing. Clockblocker swore under his breath, his head's turns indicating his eyes were darting to and fro between us, likely noticing the obvious similarities. Aegis folded his arms across his chest and grinned at me and what I saw of the smile certainly lived up to the way Rose talked him u- wait, why are the bugs on her legs moving? Are her legs shaking just from seeing him smile? Holy shit…

Kid Win stood stock still, apparently shocked. Didn't Rose say she thought he had a crush on her? Browbeat blinked blankly and took a bite out of the piece of cake he apparently cut and lifted out while I was being introduced. Finally, Vista was grinning madly. And yelling.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed triumphantly, snapping her fingers and pointing at us both with two hands, "That's why you cut your hair! You realized it would give the game away if any civilians saw you in and out of costume after the thing on Sunday! Was the excuse about the Halberd even real?"

Rose wilted slightly. "Well, you're no fun," she said in that fake pouty voice that irritated me to no end because of how Madison it sounded, "But yeah, that was part of the reason. I thought we'd shock everybody with—"

"Bull. Shit!" Clockblocker forced out, pointing accusingly, ignoring Miss Militia's exclamation of 'Language!' entirely, "You're just playing us to get me to date your cousin, who, while admittedly attractive, simply cannot be Skitter! She's too meek and nice-looking to be that, that witch! It's that thing with Glory Girl!" he stated blankly, making Kid Win smack his armored face into his bare hand, hurting himself if the noises he made afterwards were to be believed.

I was confused. Should I have felt offended at being called meek? Impressed with the bold accusation? Flattered at being called attractive? I was supposed to date this guy? Since when?! I bought time to respond by pulling out my glasses and putting them on with a slight flourish at the end as I pushed them up my nose with my index finger. Then I realized my next line.

"What thing with Glory Girl?" I pondered, turning to my other self. The other self grinned in a Glory Girl-like way and gestured at the white-clad Ward again.

"Win and I bore witness to, and my camera recorded, Glory Girl's promise to be your maid of honor should you ever marry this dork!" she announced triumphantly, so I cuffed her upside the head, naturally.

"You manipulative asshole, you played a grieving girl into offering something you know she won't take back!" I fumed, "What else did you wring out of her?"

My stupid cousin raised a hand while placing the other over her heart. "I swear to whoever is willing to listen, I did no manipulation. She volunteered for that herself, no coercion needed!"

At this point Kid Win butted in. "She also volunteered that Brandish has gone overboard with their patrols, pushing them too hard," he offered, "So the Dallon sisters are considering defecting to the Wards and taking their cousins with them, probably permanently."

That had quite an effect on the assembled capes, everyone's eyes that I could see widening in surprise.

"Have you… brought this up to anyone else yet?" Miss Militia asked, the concern clear in her voice, "I don't recall seeing a report on the subject."

"I, uh, I went straightaway to pick Taylor up after the patrol ended," Rose said sheepishly, "And Clockblocker was on the Console at the time? I was going to check whether he reported it, then do so myself if not once I got to a computer," she explained, her voice growing more steady as she spoke, "There it is, right over there," she added, waving her hand at the workstation idling on a screensaver to the side of the room.

"In the future, please report drastic news such as the imminent collapse of the city's only independent hero group as soon as possible, preferably in person," the heroine said with an exasperated sigh, her fingers rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I have to kick this upstairs. Can I trust you all to behave yourselves around Taylor while I'm gone?" She looked around the room, collecting the nodding faces as she did so. "Good. Is there any other pertinent information?"

"Brandish has gone hardcase," Rose spoke up, "Because if Glory Girl, who normally revels in punching thugs, thinks it's overboard, then it's so overboard we should maybe use the Youth Guard as human shields," she mimed holding something in front of her, before grumbling, "Though I'm hesitant on calling them human, personally…"

Clockblocker snickered, then was promptly silenced by Vista elbowing him in the side. Miss Militia looked reproachful.

"And the Pelham children?" she asked.

"They're all staying at their house because the Dallon residence is ruined, ma'am," Kid Win reported, "And Laserdream is Protectorate age, if things do come to that."

She nodded, then looked at me. For the first time since we entered the room, I realized. "Taylor. Please try not to learn from your cousin's example too much." With that, she gave me a supportive squeeze of the shoulder and departed, leaving me and Rose and Angelica, all unmasked, staring at the assembled Wards, who stared back.

"We still haven't settled the issue," Clockblocker drawled, "Of you actually being Skitter."

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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"Arachne, now." I replied coolly, feeling my upper lip twitch in the beginnings of a snarl. This is Bitch all over again, I thought, I have to mark territory, show force or it will be the Trio again instead. Except… unlike with the Trio, I have full right to use my powers to assert myself.

"And according to the phone book's worth of documents I had to sign, legally, I have settled the issue. I'm on probation until I'm eighteen, when they'll revisit the issue. But otherwise, no. There is no 'issue'."

"Fine, then, Arachne. How is that less scary than Skitter?"

I felt a hot, sick swoop of anger as I made my words deceptively light. "Oh, I took it from mythology. It's about this girl who refused to bow down to gods and was turned into a spider after being driven to suicide by Athena, goddess of war and wisdom." I'd started sweet, then turned sarcastic, and then dark. "In some versions of the myth, the gods then gave her dominion over all the spiders."

Rose stepped forwards and placed a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.

"Your point being?" I asked as everything I could find in the room, or collect across the building in the last ten minutes joined the small contingent that rode in on my costume and inside my hair. Spiders crawled out onto the palms of my hands as I turned them up at my sides, striking a modeling pose I vaguely recalled Emma use, one foot in front of the other. The last time I attempted it, she laughed herself silly at how dumb I looked and I laughed along with her.

This time, I had a semblance of muscle mass to compensate for not having a proper figure.

This time, nobody was laughing as the hornets formed a miniature halo behind my head, Egyptian-style, the flies buzzing to enhance my voice, roaches adding an extra outline to the armor paneling on my costume. Beetles followed the guidance of dust mites and smashed against the lightswitch, managing to plunge the center of the room into relative darkness, leaving only the greenish hue of the computers and the various appliance power lights visible. And the two fireflies I positioned in front of my eyes, which I squeezed shut before lighting the bugs up to finalize the demonic appearance of a squirming living mass of insects.

"Are you convinced now?" my swarm voice asked as the beetles hit the light switch again before anyone had a heart attack. In the light, the swarm held its shape for a second before dispersing, returning from whence it came. Okay, so maybe I retained more of the spiders than I carried in, but I also had some of the roaches originating in the building march themselves into the most custodial-feeling room in the building, judging by the bleachy feeling the flies scouting around got from it, and shaped their procession into a neverending streak of the letters EXTERMINATION IN PROGRESS. When they started dying in droves at their destination, I felt satisfied and diverted the remainder of the useless insects there as well.

"Holy. Shit." Aegis muttered, voicing the opinion almost everyone in the room apparently shared. Rose looked alight with glee. Browbeat looked as unperturbed as before, although he was now covering his cake from above with the palm of his free hand, apparently worried something might land on it. What little I saw of Clockblocker's face rapidly hid from view as he rolled his mask down his face. A bit too late for that, don't you think?

"I've just had approximately thirteen hundred roaches I found on the premises hand themselves in to the building's custodial staff," I announced, making a few flies orbit my outstretched left hand as I dropped the other, "The PR people suggested a good first step for giving me a better rep would be to offer a service like that to all the hospitals and clinics still operating in the city."

"I told you it would be better to have her on the team than against it," Browbeat said after he finished stuffing the rest of the cake into his mouth. For some reason, that didn't make his speech muffled.

"Alright, if you would all please stop antagonizing the girl who cut off one of Leviathan's claws? Thank you!" Rose announced, drawing more horrified stares to her. She grinned wider at the sight. She's enjoying this a bit too much, isn't she?

"So wait, if you're Rose's cousin that we kept hearing about, and you're Skitter, this means you didn't want to join the Wards at the outset because you were being—" Kid Win began, but then saw my expression and dropped the subject along with most of his vocabulary, it seemed. That was answer enough for him, however. "Shit."

"No, I didn't know Sophia was a Ward when I turned Armsmaster down," I replied as evenly as I could manage, trying to keep the thrumming of the swarm in my hair down, "But the school's inaction in what was being done to me was a great first step at ensuring I had no respect for the authorities. The way he behaved after that first meeting only confirmed my fears," I paused to take a breath before continuing my rant, at least quieter than the last one, "This isn't going to be an issue of 'can we trust her', it's a question of 'can I trust all of you to not be like Shadow Stalker', you see."

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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"So Sophia caused your—" Vista tried to ask, but relented just like Kid Win did. I nodded. She swore under her breath as well, then tore the Groucho glasses off. "—whatever happens to her, I hope she suffers for it. For what it's worth, I apologize for what she did to you," she said, her small adorable face, ringed by that picture-perfect mass of blonde hair, marred by a momentary flash of very Rachel-like fury, "My name's Missy. Welcome to the team, Taylor."

She offered me a hand to shake, and I took it. She had a very impressive handshake for a girl her size. Hell, for a girl my size, and I've been tutored in shaking hands by people that could bend iron bars in their hands! Or, at least Kurt could, but he certainly wasn't the largest dockworker I've ever seen, so it stood to reason-- NOT NOW.

Aegis was next, revealing an attractive olive-skinned face that made me want to blush. Throwing caution to the wind, I did. The fact that Rose called dibs on him doesn't mean I can't soak in the sights. "And I'm Carlos. Don't mind Clockblocker please, he's the price of admission into government sponsorship, sent here to test all of our patiences," he explained, offering me his hand as well. Vista's handshake was firmer, but then again, he was likely holding back, being a Brute and all. "All bark, no bite," he added, before screwing his face in a wince, "Shit, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to offend—"

"Don't worry," I told him, forcing a semblance of a smile onto my face, finally, "Losing Rachel hit me pretty hard, but I know what you meant. No offense taken."

"Rachel, as in Rachel Lindt?" Kid Win clarified, his voice more confusion than interest, "Were… were you close?" he added carefully.

I gestured at Angelica, who looked up at me, expectantly. "I have her last surviving dog with me, so I guess closer than her old teammates were, that's for sure." I didn't sound bitter at all, nosiree. Lies and slander. "Don't worry, she doesn't bite. Unless ordered, of course."

That statement failed to instill any cheer in the Wards, it seemed, but earned a few appreciative nods. Vista— no, Missy, bent down to Angelica, holding out a palm for her to sniff. "I've got a lab at home," she said to no-one in particular, "So what's her name? Did she get hurt when Hel— when Rachel was killed?"

"Angelica," I supplied, making the dog perk up its one and a half ears at the mention of her name, "And no, she was like that when Rachel picked her up. All of her dogs were strays or rescues. Rose said we can get the ones Leviathan killed onto the Endbringer memorial next to her."

"B-but they're dogs!" Kid Win mumbled, making my opinion of him drop into the red. Not a good start, buddy.

"If I am to understand correctly, those dogs... and their mistress... sacrificed themselves to save not only Rose and Taylor from Leviathan, but myself as well," Browbeat said, putting down the empty paper plate that had previously held his piece of cake. "I do not speak exaggeration that without them, I would most likely not be here today." He licked his fingers clean, pulled his mask off with his other hand, and bowed to me. "Thank you for that. I will pay my respects to your friend – and her dogs – before I leave the city tomorrow." He then offered me a hand – not the one he had been licking – and I took it. "While it is a moo point now that I am leaving, I am James. Welcome to the team."

His large meaty hand was surprisingly soft in the handshake he gave me, making me scramble for recollections about what his power did. Forcefields and… something else?

"Moo point? Don't you mean moot point?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, unsure whether I simply heard wrong.

"A moot point is when the argument is meaningless because it won't change anything," James replied, making me look in wonder at how much he looked fit for the Aryan ideals, even as his deeds and apparent beliefs stood in opposition to them, "A moo point is when the argument is irrelevant from the outset, like the moo of a cow."

I blinked at him. He blinked back. It felt like talking to a more eloquent Rachel, except if what Rose was telling me was true, he was like this even before he got his powers.

I looked down again to see Angelica panting happily and wagging her tail as Missy scratched her behind the stub of the missing ear, and allowed myself to crack a smile. I guess they're not all terrible people?

"We're being terrible hosts, guys," she said, standing up, dragging me by the hand to the sofas and the coffee table that held the cake and drinks. I was surprised to see Rose already seated there, her armor a discarded pile off to the side. Her spidermesh was a simple bodysuit, clearly designed for mass-production as an undersuit for armor to be worn over. I still haven't grilled her about that. She said Madison Triggered with my power in her world, so it stands to reason she made that suit, but if she's a Ward, shouldn't she have access to better working conditions that I had in my basement?

"I couldn't help but notice that you girls are wearing suspiciously similar costumes," Kid Win said, still muffled by his helmet and clearly feeling awkward as he was caught between the rock and the hard place of unmasking to the scary bug cape and sweet, delicious cake. Dang it, but I was hungry. "How'd that happen?"

"Spidermesh," we replied simultaneously, Rose's response somewhat muffled by the cup she was drinking from, after which she nodded to me to go on first, "Layer upon layer of spider webs, comparable to Kevlar at this thickness. I used black widows, for the best web weavers available locally," I explained, pulling my gloves off to get access to cake and, incidentally, demonstrate the inside of one of them to the young Tinker, "Took me a while since whatever errors you make with this stuff, you have to correct with bolt cutters or start from scratch. Leviathan tossing me into a building turned my legs to mulch, but the suit only needed laundering."

I blinked in surprise at the blank stares I got. Didn't they get briefed on my circumstances from the hospital? Thankfully, my cousin pitched in.

"Mine uses the same principle, ironically enough, but it's synthetic, Tinkertech-fabricated," she waved vaguely at her midriff, making me realize she was faking it, because it felt the same as mine to my spiders, all-natural, "Guy who made it keeps trying to make the term 'Tinkerfab' catch on, for stuff made by stuff made by Tinkers. Maybe if he gets Toybox to hear it, it will. They'd be all over that like flies around honey."

"Wait, so you… Tinker with spiders?" Kid Win asked incredulously, "What about your mask and armor plates?"

I shrugged, offering him a bemused look. "I don't Tinker with the spiders themselves, I'm not Bonesaw," I took a tiny guilty pleasure in seeing him flinch, take that for saying Rachel's dogs shouldn't be on the memorial! "I just have them weave webs, adjusted in ways that are better for me. As for the armor plates, it's more web and insect shells, mostly from beetles. Individually, kinda fragile. Layered together, good enough to keep me alive when fighting against Bakuda." More horrified looks came my way. "Come on, it was even on an Über and Leet show! At least part of it is still available online! I got a messy concussion out of it." I shook my head, trying to dispel the memories of attacking Emma at that mall, or of Sophia, as Shadow Stalker, humiliating me afterwards.

"Huh," the Tinker replied, unimpressively, then lowered his head, bouncing his helmet off into his hands. "I think there's a lot of things we can learn from each other, Taylor. I'm Chris," he said, offering me a hand. It was a bit clammy, but I wasn't going to complain. I just won the second before last Ward over. "I made that drone your cousin likes to play with. I'm guessing your insect control is a bit like that? Ordering drones around, except without extra gear?"

I nodded resolutely, accepting a plate from said cousin, who was grinning widely. It only took me a moment that she was mimicking Chris's expression pretty decently, as far as her — our — face would allow to. "Except she has one, and I have however many are in my range."

"Speaking of which, how large is it?* Aegis, Carlos, asked, sitting down himself. It felt odd to be the center of attention, but between Somer's Rock and the Endbringer Truce, I realized I could handle it as long as I was Skitter, not Taylor. Except now, to these people, I was both. It was… actually liberating, in a way.

"Several city blocks, maybe? It gets bigger or smaller depending on my state of mind and agitation," I replied, hoping the honesty would be appreciated. "So anything in that sphere is fair game."

"Anything?" Clockblocker asked, his voice panicky.

"Any insect, most kinds of worms, spiders and other arthropods qualify as 'simple enough' for me to control, apparently," I explained, making a few black widows run out to circle around the cake on my plate as I worked it over with a fork.

"What else is there besides insects?" Carlos asked, furrowing his brow. I grinned.

"I think it should also work on some of the seafood, seeing as they're basically the same arthropods, except in seawater. Shrimp, lobsters, crabs," I listed off, noting the distinct lack of laughter, "Both kinds of crabs." At that, they did laugh, although Chris seemed to have missed the joke.

"Crap," Clockblocker said dejectedly, "You can even do puns? I guess I have no choice but to cede defeat," he added, reaching for his mask. "I'm Dennis. Promise not to set your swarm on me, pretty please?"

"Only if you promise to stop insulting me," I countered, not buying his apologetic tone for a second. He was good-looking in a way that wasn't Carlos, and reminded me of Greg in some way, like if Greg was handsome a tiny bit, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Still, it reeked of dishonesty. I had too much experience with Emma and the others to fall for this so easily. Maybe it was the red hair, I wasn't sure.

So when he offered me his hand to shake, of course I took it.

------

[Rose]

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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It was an odd mix of feelings, although chief among them was rage. That and indignation.

"You fucking idiot!" I bellowed, springing to my feet in front of Dennis, who was gingerly letting go of Taylor's unmoving hand. To my surprise, he nearly tripped over himself as he backed away from her.

"FUCK!" he yelled, pulling as far away as he could from the table. "MISSY, TRAP THEM, TRAP THEM NOW!"

"Trap what?" she yelled back, frantically looking from him to Taylor and back again, and her voice sent Angelica growling.

"SPIDERS!" he pointed at the table, where the Black Widows were still– oh fuck. The feeling of dread only intensified when Dennis screeched like a girl that just saw someone bite her leg off, moving his pointing finger to Taylor's face, completely covered in the spiders now streaming out of her hair. Towards him.

There was a slight shimmer of light as Vista warped space, closing the airspace around the table and Taylor when the first wasps departed from her shoulders. The resulting tube of distorted space refracted light in a decidedly odd way and Taylor seemed a speck in the distance whichever way you looked at it.

I rounded on him. "What the hell were you thinking? Don't you–"

"It was an accident!" he interrupted, "I didn't mean to, I just…"

"Just what, DENNIS?" Carlos hissed at him, trying to twist his head this way and that to see what the insects inside the bubble were doing, "Just thought it'd be funny?"

Dennis glared back at him. "You guys might think that I'm an idiot, but I wouldn't do that deliberately when she's the only one keeping extremely poisonous spiders under control!"

"Black Widow spiders are not poisonous," James piped in, "As they inject their chemicals, they are actually ven—"

"Poison, venom, whatever! Not immediately relevant!" Carlos returned fire, obviously mentally lost in the mountain of reports he'd be filling till the end of the week on the potential fallout of this fiasco.

James raised an eyebrow as I turned to Dennis, who was now shaking slightly.

"So what the hell happened, Dennis?" I asked him, placing an arm on his shoulder. It seemed to ease him off a bit.

He took a deep breath, and let it out shakily. "Her hand was covered in bugs and I freaked for a second."

"You... freaked?" Missy was incredulous, "You froze her!"

"Yes, like you've never had problems with your powers when YOU get emotional," he shuddered again. "I still remember the bank. My goal is to make sure I don't have that happen again. Step one of that plan is 'don't piss off someone who can control scorpions'."

"She doesn't have scorpions."

"Guys?" Kid Win chimed in.

"She could!"

I folded my arms. "So you're expecting me to believe that this was an accident."

"Guys?" Chris asked, sounding slightly more insistent. I tuned him out.

"Yes, I swear!"

"Well, congratulations," Carlos sneered, "You get to be the one to explain to the girl with trust issues that you just froze her in time because of a screwup."

"Guys!" Chris called out, and finally I turned to look at him– or rather, what he was trying to call our attention to.

Missy's compressed space was back to normal, presumably because she saw movement inside and thought Taylor unfroze, except… Angelica was curiously sniffing at the cockroachy foot of one of Taylor's swarm clones which was otherwise made up primarily of fruitflies, hornets and houseflies, all quietly buzzing now that we weren't separated from them by the warped space. It was looming ominously next to its creator, gazing at her frozen face, which was still patrolled by the spiders from her hair.

"Huh," buzzed the clone, "This is different."

"Hello, bug individual," stated James. "Are you a new person or part of Arachne's powers?"

It turned its 'head' towards him, then stared at him for a moment before slowly responding, "I am part of Arachne's powers."

He nodded once, satisfied, then headed back to get another piece of the cake. At this rate, I would never get around to tasting it!

Carlos stepped up, nodding to the mass of bugs. "I'm sorry for what happened. Please rest assured that Dennis will be punished for this, I promise."

"See that he is," the clone buzzed imperiously, turning tge rest of its 'body' towards the Wards, and I started to feel a twinge of suspicion in the back of my mind.

"If it matters," Dennis spoke up, sounding more apologetic than I'd ever heard him – well, either of him – sound in my life, "I am sorry. If there's–"

The swarm clone waved a hand, silencing him. "Across the street, Joe's Sandwiches. Number 2, extra lettuce, Medium Coke."

"On it!" he cried as he bolted for the elevator, barely stopping to pick his mask up.

As the door hissed closed behind him, Missy turned to me, leaving Carlos to shake his head in amazement at Dennis's eagerness, "Did you know she could do that?"

"No, she didn't, because I can't," Taylor said with a chuckle from behind them, making them nearly jump in surprise when she spoke. "I was afraid he couldn't resist doing something like that on purpose, but he obviously had no idea what two years of not trusting anybody can do to a person." She gestured back to where she was standing before, a faint outline of her hand left floating in the air. Then, when Dennis's power must have run out, it collapsed into a tiny puddle of insects on the floor, which promptly scuttled out of sight, some of them by air. "I just didn't expect my precaution to cause what it wqs defending me from. The spiders on my face were to conceal my breathing and blinking."

"You made an air gap using bugs?" Missy gasped, the idea lightbulb all but visible above her head, "You could probably fool a lot of Manton-limited powers like that!"

"Yeah, but I'm guessing I'd need more than a hundred fruitflies to trick yours," Taylor nodded, grinning at Missy in a way I haven't seen her yet. More importantly, it was a grin I didn't remember owning. Have I forgotten a part of myself?

"One question though," Carlos raised a finger, "How do you stand them crawling all over your face?"

Taylor shrugged awkwardly, the smile sliding off her face. "I can feel them as if they're a part of me. I know it's creepy to others, and I guess I'll have to work on that now that I'm officially a hero, but for me it's about as stressful as scratching my noae with my hand," she explained eagerly before looking worried again, "I'm sorry I set Dennis off, but it was too good a chance to pass up so I played along. Did I, er, overdo it a bit? Do you think he'll get over it? Should I apologize too?"

"Nah, sweating over it may do him some actual good," Carlos replied with a shake of his head, "Maybe he will learn something from this, drop the habit of pranking people with his power like that."

"I still feel guilty about scaring him like that. The bank, too," Taylor repeated, rubbing the back of her neck, "Not the food run, though. I am kinda hungry," she added hesitantly, earning herself a sympathetic smile from Carlos, which sent her into another cute blush. Wait, do I look like that whenever he smiles at me?

A cursory look to check for Chris, who had fallen oddly silent since Dennis's departure, revealed that he was seated on the sofa again, occupied with the formidable weight of Angelica's head in his lap. Considering she had demonstrated her gravity manipilation powers on me last night, it was easy to understand why he was busy giving her head scratches.

"You can always eat cake?" James suggested, offering Taylor a plate with the last piece on it. She accepted it with a nod and a small smile.

And while it looked like I wasn't getting any cake after all, I felt quite okay with that.

 

[Noelemahc]

Reset 3.04​

The hell of a day finally ended with hugs all around as we bid James farewell, while Dennis unclenched ever-so-slowly once we managed to convince him Taylor wasn't going to give him fleas or something and did quite enjoy the sandwich he procured for her. And so, as the two of us trudged home afterwards, Angelica at our side, I felt elated as it seemed I've managed to put some spring in Taylor's step. She certainly looked much more upbeat walking away from the PRT building than she did walking towards it. I never doubted Vista's ability to endear people to herself for one bit.

While the others were celebrating, I dropped my report on the Dinah Alcott situation into Director Piggot's inbox, CC'ing Hannah and Nate. The only bad news of the day was that my petition to personally question Über and L33t has been denied again, this time with a note that they weren't in Brockton Bay anymore. When did that happen? I swapped that out for one to visit Sophia instead, leaving the date to the discretion of the responding officer, which would likely be Nate or Hannah at this point as well. It was time for the man to learn to step up if he ever wanted to stop being a non-entity of the ENE. I was still ruminating on potential ways to shake Dauntless out of his spiraling self-loathing which somehow only got worse with Armsmaster's decommissioning without magicking Doctor Yamada into Brockton by the time we reached home.

We spent the evening sharing the less garish tales from our cape lives with Dad - like Taylor learning she had to use bolt cutters to correct mistakes in her costume design before she realized she can just have the spiders eat the incorrect web away like they did in the wild. My contribution was the story of recruiting Synod and the tale of the Pink Unicorn Shirt, followed by the demonstration of its wayward brother. Much laughter was had as I described its merits and importance in repelling unwanted advances unto my person.

It still felt weird to sleep in the guest room of my childhood home, but I hoped it would not be a permanent arrangement. Oh, how I hoped.

------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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​

Thursday wheeled past in a blur of paperwork, of carrying my armor from one lab to another, and then another, because it turned out the local PRT didn't know the particular composite it used - another tickbox for the 'divergences unrelated to The Deputy' list - and finally the evening found me gingerly loading it into the ablative paint machine with Chris's help. The young Tinker was clearly apprehensive about rummaging around in his mentor's workshop in his absence - likely permanent, judging by the lack of any information filtering back to the PRT ENE. It seemed that it would not actually be given over to Win, staying in its current liminal state as Dragon took over Armsmaster's extant projects using her access to his waldoes and commandeering Kid Win for things they couldn't do. Somehow, I couldn't imagine Chris objecting to that turn of events in the slightest, partly because Colin apparently wasn't much of a mentor and partly because duh, which Tinker would willingly turn down a chance to work with Dragon?

Having to play minder to Taylor between her repeat visits to the Chamberses to finalize the suit design and nail down which additional components she would need to get in order to construct it herself put me off the patrol schedules for the day, but I was glad for it. Not having access to my own armor made me wary of catching a stray round even more now that I knew it was actually superior to the stuff they used around here. Speaking of Taylor, she was being fast-tracked into active duty due to the state of emergency and her swarms being potentially useful for recovery efforts and mapping out collapsed buildings. This meant my advance requisition of a taser for her was a timely decision - she pressed the Chambers Boys into letting her have a gunslinger-esque loosely-hanging (actually securely fastened to her thigh) holster for it as part of her new costume.

As I brushed away the metal-and-circuitwork debris of some failed project off Armsmaster's largest workbench into an empty plastic tub, I contemplated the irony that Taylor would be getting a Tinker workshop of her own now. She was supposed to use it to house her spiders and dressmaker dummies and of the three spaces she was offered to pick from, she chose the one that was originally designed and outfitted to be a chem lab. Whatever the reasoning the building's architects used to justify the decision (likely influenced by the Tinker that originally resided there at its inception, but he died in 1999 so we couldn't ask), Taylor's preference for the only Tinker space with windows that could be opened was obvious: rapid and/or remote swarm deployment. The huge stash of glass containers for fiddling with venoms and insect eggs wouldn't hurt either.

Chris was using the largest workbench in Armsmaster's lab for the express reason of assembling his new hoverboard and I was helping as repayment for his help with the paint machine as Dragon turned out to have no access to it, but she did walk us through its operation. It took a bit of effort, but we got everything locked in. In 27 hours, I'd be prim and protected again. I've also put in an order for a second set of plates, even if they would be made from the inferior local stuff, because if I got into a fight tomorrow, it just wouldn't do to have to wear the loaner again. I had an image to establish for the city.

"So, uh–" Chris began, layering the pieces he produced earlier this morning, and yesterday's as well, apparently keen enough to get his board functional again that he was willing to work without 'falling through the hole in the circuits' as my Armsmaster once described the sensation to me. This meant he had to keep talking, but I didn't mind, and he seemed to be glad for it. "–you're sure Taylor doesn't have a grudge against the Wards for what Sophia did?"

"Nah," I shrugged dismissively, helping him align the segments of what would be the keel, or whatever passed for it in this contraption, "She's unhappy nobody noticed anything until I literally pushed the PRT into their mess nose-first, but she's aware that Sophia probably never did anything incriminating around you guys, so the only other Ward she could believably feel angry at would be Dean and, well—" I spread my arms out in another exaggerated shrug. I seemed to be doing a lot of these lately.

"Yeah," he agreed, then looked apprehensive for a moment, "And how do you feel about the issue?"

I blinked at him in confusion as I held the segments in place while he plugged in all the connectors and receptacles together. The whole thing came together like a multi-layered cake of snap-on pieces, presumably with the intention to swap them out whenever they became damaged or worn out or he built a new and improved one. Heck, maybe they'd teleport in, like his Alternator Cannon was designed to.

"Regarding Sophia?" I clarified as he gestured that I could let go of the board now. We flipped the construction over and set out to repeat the procedure.

"Well, yeah. Sorry if it's inappropriate, but, uh–" he trailed off, making some sort of circular gesture at my utterly confused face. "It looked like you maybe had a thing going?" his voice became progressively smaller as he neared the end of the phrase and my expression, rated on a scale from one to ten, neared 'full sour lemon'.

"Oh-kay," I exhaled, my first instinct being to deny everything. I cannot be attracted to Sophia fucking Hess! I just needed to avoid rocking the boat until I had Taylor legally covered! She flirted at me, not the other way around! "I maybe get where you're coming from, but in case you haven't noticed," I paused to roll up my hoodie's sleeve up, then waved the tattoo in front of him, "I have a much better-behaved athletic Ward on my mind."

"Yeah, but except for that one glad-to-be-alive hug on Monday, you mostly avoided him since arriving here, haven't you?" Chris asked, his voice a little subdued, his face a little too close to mine as I helped him get some sort of extendable servo arm back into the hatch it poked out of. "And I may have been half-asleep, but I checked with Dennis and he saw the same thing that I thought I saw. She kissed you, and you didn't resist. I'm just worried you might be, well, in denial, kinda?"

I was scandalized. Do my Wards discuss my personal life behind my back? But there isn't anybody to suggest me having a relationship with, is there? Except maybe… But I still haven't–

"On the neck, and I was too busy hugging the boy who you've just reminded me owes me a date!" I exclaimed, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, judging by the hurt expression on Chris's face. I know what you were angling for, buddy, but surely there's a clause in the Bro Code about not inching in on the girl that has a crush on your friend?

"Wait, how does he owe you a date if you don't talk to him?" Chris asked, making an adorable face of confusion, like a cartoon cat. "And also, I think that's it. Time to take it out for a test flight," he went on, patting the board fondly. I gave him an apologetic smile as I helped him ease it off the workbench, then put the tubful of mess that I brushed away off the bench back onto it. Not going to spread it all over it again, but just in case it's important, I'm not throwing it away either.

"Glad I could help," I grinned back (Taylor Hebert #6, 'You are not alone', because I wanted to do something good for him, not shove him face-first into the friendzone), then whispered conspiratorially, "And we do talk, just not where it would seem unprofessional, you know? Not that I get a lot of opportunities for it, what with some new crisis springing up every time I'm about to relax," I lied through my teeth, resolving to get back to Aegis about that date ultra ASAP before I forgot again.

"Don't relax too quickly though," he countered, putting his helmet back on, "I reused an older antigrav for this one to save time, and if the setup turns out to be too heavy for it, I'm going to need your help with a spatula to scrape me off the pavement."

The gallows humor failed to amuse me, but I didn't let my face show it. He deserves to have his fun, I just shouldn't let him be stupid about it.

"Then why won't you do the test flight at the indoor basketball court?" I suggested, replacing my own mask on my face and pulling up my hoodie's hood. Hopefully, my visibly displayed ID badge will stop me from being harassed at checkpoints over the hood. "Wide enough so you won't hit the walls, at least at first, and high enough to check if it will fall?"

------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

Taylor's power testing was still underway when I walked into a different lab, two floors up and across the building from the one I started at. Assault was watching the proceedings with rapt attention, gesturing slightly along to Ravel's Bolero, which Taylor was making her swarm bounce to. It was a pretty mesmerizing sight, and the fact that I entered a roomful of loud music didn't stop her from sensing my entry, turning to look at me a give me a small nod. I was certain she was grinning under her mask. She was literally sculpting the mass of insects to the music, and she still had enough multitasking capacity to do things with her physical body.

And she does it all on the fly, from afar. I am almost afraid to guess who would outdo who in a contest between her and Weaver, even assuming she would forgive Madison given her circumstance.

"Did she pick the music?" I asked Assault, dropping down into a seat next to his. "Not Night on the Bald Mountain or Mars, Bringer of War?"

"Nope, that was her all along. She began with Brave New World, if that helps?" Ethan grinned at me from under his visor. I wondered if he knew what happened between me and his wife on Sunday, or if he was already acting on it. Then I realized I didn't have to guess.

"Assault, listen… I keep running all over the city so I didn't have the time to seek her out, but I'd really like to apologize to your– to Battery –over what I said to her on Sunday," I rattled out, holding up a finger to show I wasn't done when I paused to take a breath and he tried to speak up, "Could you please, I don't know, tell her I'm sorry and that I'd like to talk if she has—"

This time, he silenced me. "Okay, first, chill. We talked it out, she realized that not only Armsy was out of line all by himself, he was also attacking your family, which accounts for a lot of your reaction then," he grinned again, seeing me winding down from his words, "And second, you can tell her yourself, she'll be here in, like, ten or so minutes? I gotta go on patrol and your cousin's test shows no indication of slowing down."

He gestured behind me, and, with a widening grin of my own, I watched how my other self made a dozen swarm clones which surrounded her, then one more which engulfed her. The scientists looked away while she reshuffled her crowd, then looked back at her, whipping out various kinds of testing equipment. They're trying to see how effective her bug concealment is?

"How the hell are all of them giving off the same thermal image?" one exclaimed. I heard Assault snort over my shoulder. A different scientist, this one female, but as bald as the bearded guy that spoke first, facepalmed with a loud slap.

"Right, bees versus hornets! Bees can vibrate to generate heat, and you can probably replicate that with other insects, though maybe not to the same extent?"

"Third from my left, farthest row from here," I called out. Heads turned to me, and the clone I indicated fell apart, revealing Taylor crossing her arms in a huff. I gave her a Tattletale #2, 'I think I figured this out', then explained, "Sorry, I've worked with an insect controller before, I know how some of the tricks work." They stopped the music and crowded me as Taylor dispersed the insects into the designated storage tanks. Huh, they shipped specific insects in for her to play with. I hope these came out of a lab somewhere in town and not by hogging space on an emergency relief transport.

"Oh, you two are just perfect as a team, you know that?" Ethan laughed this time instead of merely chuckling, "Guess Dauntless owes me money over saying the stuff you pulled fighting Leviathan was a fluke because one of you, probably you, Emissary, was good at adapting."

"Well, he was only partly wrong," I rebuked, "We both are, I simply have more combat experience. And you guys," I turned to the huddle of lab coats, "Rely too much on your gadgets. She has to hide her whole body in the insects, the clones are empty. The human body is not cylindrical and she isn't good at faking the shape of her head in the clones yet - most had the "neck" too thin to hide an actual costumed human inside." When I saw Taylor's shoulders droop a bit, I raised my hand again, "The operative word being 'yet', of course, because now she knows what to fix. Better luck next ti– oh, right! When you figure out how to get backscatter to see through a cloud of insects, please give me a call, I need the upgrade for my goggles."

As I spoke, I was moving through them and towards Taylor, ending in a hug that left her stiff as a board until she melted into my embrace, relaxing noticeably. This felt oddly like coaxing Amy out of her shell. Hopefully, with both Taylor and Vicky on my side, unfucking the local Amy would go easier and not involve any oddball if brief hookups with Youth Guard interns.

"You're no fair," she muttered quietly enough so that only I could hear. "But still, thanks for the heads up. What really gave me away, though?"

"Flight patterns," I replied just as quietly, "You had the empty swarms cycle through the chest area, which the you-swarm avoided. Compensate for it or learn to fake it, 'kay?"

I let go of her in time to see her nod. The bald beardy guy called a break for coffee and the crowd around us dispersed, leaving only Ethan and Taylor standing next to me. He jumped at the opportunity.

"Hi, there, Sk– err– Arachne," he began, not even really stumbling over the name correction, "I'm Assault, nice to meet you without you trying to shove something small and crawly into my ear," he raised a hand to shake, his smile winsome. I recognized it as his #1, 'I'm a hero, you can trust me'. I was still miffed I couldn't pull it off, it would have been a great flirting ai– Aegis, fuck. I've been such a scatterbrain lately.

Taylor flinched, likely wincing under the mask, but I was almost certain that he didn't catch it. "I did what I thought was right at the time…" she muttered and looked at her feet before clenching a fist and staring him directly in the visor, "Though I am truly sorry about doing that. As you can see, I'm a bit limited in what I have to work with."

"No worries," he shook his head, his voice light, showing that when he put in the effort, he was easily the most PR-savvy Protectorate cape in the city. "So long as you never do that again, we're good. And I couldn't help but notice that you're in no way limited in how you work it."

"Um. You do know I'm fifteen, right?" Taylor asked uneasily, making me snerk in a way that sobered me up immediately due to how Alexandria-like it sounded.

"Don't worry, he's married, it's his way of earning your trust," I explained, privately enjoying the way Ethan's smile dimmed a bit. I can totally see how Sarah gets off on acting like this all the time.

"Well, for what it's worth, I was just going to ask Arachne a bit about how she's been settling in as a hero," he de-escalated gently, "You know how tough it can be when you switch sides, I'll bet?" he directed the next question at me. I smiled back, aiming for more of a polar fox than a fennec that persistent fan of mine – Aisha, was it? – sometimes reminded me of.

"Okay, I see where this is going, MC," I interjected, watching him deflate further, far enough, by my reckoning. "So don't worry. I'm watching out for her."

"Or at least she's making a good enough impression of it," Taylor quipped, her hand on my shoulder. "I'm not five, Ems, let the man speak his piece."

"I thought I asked you not to call me that?"

"I thought I asked you not to coddle me?"

"I thought sibling rivalries rarely happened to cousins," Assault noted idly to Battery, who shrugged in response. Wait, when did Battery get here?

"Depends on the personality and the upbringing conditions, really. I'm pretty sure Shielder thinks that he has three older sisters, not one," she quipped back, and only the sound of Sam's voice was enough to make me stop arguing with Taylor. It was true, however, we did have a bit of a… sibling thing going, it was chiefly my fault due to the way I treated her. She is not Anne-Marie, we're the same age, she's not supposed to follow my lead in everything!

"Battery!" I exclaimed, turning around to the sound of the rising agitation of the insects in their containers, "Just the person I wanted to apologize to! I'm sorry I got carried away on Sunday, I know you were acting on bogus orders and none of it was your fault—" I cringed at the way she flinched at the mention of bogus orders. Well, shit.

"—that they were, as you say, 'bogus'," Sam responded dryly, "But you're also new, and were acting above your station. How was I supposed to react?"

"But to be fair, it's not like either you or Legend tried to stop Armsmaster from manhandling me, Truce be damned," Taylor added her five cents, somewhat snippily, "Though I guess you were glad to see him do it after the gallery fundraiser, huh?"

"Alright folks, let's kick it all down a notch, shall we?" Assault suggested, interspersing himself between his wife and my 'cousin'. "MM said there's gonna be a big team meeting tomorrow, Protectorate heroes and you two, to cover all the conflicts of interests. Let's stow the attitudes until then, a'ight?"

"Sure thing," I said, "I'll take Battery's place at the testing in that case, if there are no objections?" There seemed to be none, although I couldn't help but wonder if we accidentally made an enemy today.

The two started to walk away, before Ethan leaned back and pointed at Taylor, who looked taken aback for a moment. "Just remember, my door's always open," he added, before he resumed his conversation with his wife as they left the room.

"Is she really his wife?" Taylor whispered to me.

"Yeah. She was a Ward, he was her nemesis, then she caught him, turned him, married him," I listed off, matching her volume. "Small surprise he sees a kindred spirit in you. My version of him did the same for Rachel, but I didn't understand him then like I do now."

"Is that why you scared him off of me?" she asked playfully, putting one hand on her waist and jabbing me with another in my solar plexus. It didn't hurt, of course, but it was unpleasant. "I swear, if I have the same helicopter parent instincts as you do, I'm not having kids ever, to save them the embarrassment."

"I'm sorry, I just–" I paused, unsure if the hollow excuse would even work. If it even worked on me. "For whatever reason, I can't stop projecting my Big Sister feelings onto you. So when I do the hovering thing, buzz me or spritz me or whatever. Deal?"

I held out a hand for her to shake. The web-gloved hand shook it, the feeling reminding me of a similar situation with Madison, months ago. And just like then, when I pulled her into a hug, I got no resistance. This, at least, I still knew how to do right.

------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

Come Friday, I had a morning patrol before the meeting, which was scheduled into the lunch timeslot. Dennis and I were supposed to scope out one of the proposed routes for emergency relief aid delivery trucks, and investigate reports of capes taking territory for themselves devoid of police patrols and PRT oversight. The one we were headed for was near the partially flooded area where Leviathan failed to collapse the city center into the aquifer below. Instead of a lake or a sea, we had a pond, and now someone claimed the newly-formed beachfront property.

My heart fell at the thought of discovering the possibility that the Empire were setting out to set up their own Escape From New York thing right here in the Bay. However, it also rose again on the notion of Kaiser taking the story role of a large black gang boss, a concept that was infinitely hilarious on second thought.

Dennis kept mostly quiet as we walked down the road his PRT smartphone indicated for us (he had the lead as I stubbornly refused to part with my brick and the system that generated the routes refused to work with Wadjet), probably still unsure how much of what he would say to me would filter back to Taylor or vice versa. At least having Missy on console was a treat.

"Be advised, we've just received word from New Wave that the zone you're supposed to investigate for parahuman control expanded since last night," she called out over the radio, professional as ever, "There are now border markers along the perimeter. You'll be brushing against them once you make the turn onto Westlake. Guys, please be careful?"

"Don't worry, Console, I'm always ca–" Dennis began before having the wind knocked out of him by a bright yellow cloth ribbon crossing the street that he tried walking through without moving it out of the way. Judging by the way his chest seemed to treat it as if it was made of concrete, I spared a chuckle at him being given a taste of his own medicine.

"Console, the parahuman in question appears to be Parian," I reported, patting Dennis on the back as he fought to get his breath back. "Attempting to establish contact, please make a note that she seems to have some sort of early warning system set up with her power."

"Acknowledged, isn't she one of the truly neutral ones?" Missy asked over the sound of keyboard clacking. Despite having literal Tinkertech used in our comm suites, the penny-pinchers of the PRT still insisted on hooking up peripherals from the nineties up to them. On the one hand, cheap to replace after power-related incidents. On the other hand, most people got easily irritated with the sound.

"I'm thinking she's worried about being next door to the Empire. Remember, they're looking into recruiting to replace their losses, judging by the latest reports," I tried to mask my prior knowledge about Hookwolf's failed recruitment of Sabah. Of course, here she never unmasked, so they probably hadn't pressured her that much. At least not yet.

"Stop!" came a familiar muffled voice, as a cloth donkey trotted into view, its distinctly dressed mistress cutting what I suspected she hoped was an impressive figure. To those who hadn't seen what she could do, it came across as more comical than anything else. For those who had, they saw a cape riding on the back of a huge pile of her weapons. I surpressed a shudder with difficulty.

She looked down on us, looking down the nose of her mask. "I already told Cricket that this area is under my protection." She waved an arm, and a trail of strings followed. "I will not join the Empire. None of us want their 'help'," She leaned in closer to us, the donkey doll adjusting its footing as she did so. "So what would make Kaiser think that I would be any more amenable to the Hitler Youth than to the adult capes?"

I carefully held up my hands to show I wasn't trying to trick her. "No, no, I get what's happening here," Dennis shot me a look of confusion– well, I thought it was confusion –as I rushed to explain, "I'm Emissary, and this is Clockblocker - we're from the Wards, our costumes are just... well... Leviathan, you were there too," I shrugged. It was true. Clock was wearing a backup version of his signature outfit and I was still in my loaner costume, which in the dim light beneath the overcast sky made us look like a crazy survivalist and her KKK buddy.

She folded in on herself a little bit, holding a hand up to where the mask's mouth was. I could bet my monthly allowance that were she not wearing a mask, she would be blushing and biting her thumbnail at the memory of eyeing me up so openly during the briefing.

"Right, you lead our group from the Docks," she recalled instead, gesturing at Dennis, "Is your partner okay? I'm sorry if he got hurt, I can't monitor the neighborhood without using my power on the lines and ribbons I spread out."

"No problem," he finally spoke up, fake-coughing as he punched himself in the chest like a cartoon character would, "Just caught me by surprise, that's all."

"What brings the Wards here?" Sabah asked warily, finally deciding to make the donkey lower itself down so we wouldn't have to crane our necks up to look at her. "This is the first time any of you came this way," she said with suspicion, and I got the impression she'd be squinting under her mask, "And it wouldn't be hard to put someone in fully-concealing suits..."

Dennis shrugged, projecting his best Good Cape Image, bringing to mind my earlier encounter with Assault. "We heard reports of some new cape taking territory. Turned out it was a known cape becoming more active. Who knew?"

I could hear the grin in his voice, as much as it was hidden behind his mask. The irony of the situation - three people in full-face masks having a communication breakdown because of it - made me snicker out loud.

"What's so funny?" he turned to me, more confused than offended.

"Parian, do you know what my power is?" I asked instead. It would be better if I could air at least some of the stuff I was trying to hold in, especially if we were to win her trust. Nobody deserved to have the weight of the lives of people dear to them hung onto their parahuman ability against their will. Getting Sabah to accept our help would be crucial here.

"You're some sort of Brute?" she asked more than stated, then added, still a little guarded, "I don't remember what your Thinker aspect is."

"Profile building. Useful for negotiation, social integration, manipulation," I listed off, trying to keep my voice even. I was rushing things, but the more time she wasted on us, the less she had to patrol her territory. "I'm being upfront here so you don't attack me when I turn off my comms," I pulled my helmet off, watching her first gasp at my 'unmasking', then relax as she saw Wadjet, "And tell Clock here something he should not repeat."

"Alright, hit me," Dennis replied, making the necessary gesture for switching off his own comms. I hoped. He bungled that before more than once.

"I know that you're not Empire material because you're not white, and you're not straight. I promise you that I won't share this information, and he won't either, because we're Wards, and we take that stuff seriously." Deep breath, now for Sabah, "And sorry, khiat jamila, I'm fifteen so I'm not in the Half-Plus-Seven range. I know the Wards aren't the most ethnically diverse, but you have nothing to fear from us. If you want, we can arrange so that only female capes come this way?"

She looked taken aback, started sputtering. "Excuse me? I'm not- wait- wha- I wasn't going to ask you–! Wait, why—"

I grinned at her earnestly. "I do have eyes under these," I tapped Wadjet with a finger, "And I'm observant, Ms. Wandering-Eyes-Before-An-Endbringer." God help me Dennis is rubbing off on me so badly...

"Why only female capes though?" asked the teammate/pain in my backside/friend in question, oblivious as always.

"The only male capes we have right now are Assault and Dauntless... and... yeah." I awkwarded. I was not going to go in-depth with Sabah's mistrust of men here.

"Fair point," he shrugged.

She shook her head, clearly stuck processing the infodump while I re-helmeted myself. Dennis tapped his ear in the meantime. "Console, we're back online. For the record, Emissary used Thinker-derived personal details to secure co-operation."

I threw him a look of bewilderment at that, and he preened. Smug bastard knows how to pay me back for the formula remark! Wait till I– no, wait, I can't force Taylor on this, I promised. Maybe she won't like any of the Wards?

"I don't think we need anything like that right now, thank you, any patrols would do," Sabah said, her voice a bit stifled, as if she was holding herself back from emoting too much, "We are running low on potable water though, what plumbing works, only gives rusty salty water no filter cleans. If you could—"

"Sure thing," I nodded, thankful that Dennis let me take point again, "The current plan is for this road to be used for shipments of relief aid anyway, we may simply mark this place as another refugee camp? How many people do you have in there?"

------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

When we approached the PRT HQ, we were still talking.

"How many languages do you speak anyway?" Dennis asked, milking his rediscovered feeling of safety for all he could.

"One and a half? English and a smattering of half-learned entry-level Spanish?" I knew that my gesture of respect to Sabah would backfire, but I could do damage control for almost anything, "Everything else is scattered words and basic things like 'hello' and 'help'. Not a lot of uses for foreign languages when you can't go overseas."

"Eh. I've been struggling with Chinese for a few years now," he admitted reluctantly, "You know, living in the city with the fifth-largest Chinese diaspora in the States makes it useful."

"I take it progress hasn't been good?" I showed my badge to the guard on duty, and so did Dennis. With a bit of surprise, we almost ran into Laserdream, Crystal Pelham, just as we entered the still-waterlogged lobby.

"Hey, Dream," Clock waved at her, dodging my question, "Something happened? Should we be concerned?*

"Hey, you," she replied listlessly. She looked rumpled, her hair brushed but not washed recently, her face pale and barely made up. If it were up to me, I'd have her off patrols and in a blanket fort with a huge cup of cocoa, playing therapist until she could look at a real one without flinching. It was not up to me, and Carol Dallon once again had proven how little she knew about running actual living people. "Reported some of the stuff I saw on patrol, they told me you were the ones that went to check out the campus?"

"Yeah. Parian hunkered down there with whoever stayed behind," I explained, producing a pencil-scribbled paper map of the city to show her the outline, "We're going to try and get them to send some food and water their way for a start."

"Good. She's a good person, glad she stepped up," Crystal sleepwalked through the trite remark, moving to walk around us. "If you see her again," she announced, "She's got a good defense going on, but she doesn't have anything to keep out fliers. I was able to get my stuff from my dorm without her noticing. Might want to mention that." I fought the urge to stop her, ask her if I could help. Dennis beat me to it.

"Hey, Crystal," he called out just as she was about to pass him. "That wasn't all you came here about, was it?"

"Vicky told us you were talking about maybe leaving the team?" I ventured, feeling like an asshole as I spoke.

"Yeah. I asked about that too. I... Yeah, we… to he honest, only Eric's reluctant, and even so, he'll likely fold if the rest of us go." She hugged herself, shivering. "Aunt Carol is on a crusade, and doesn't seem to want to care about the cost."

"Crystal…" I finally gathered myself up, "...how are you? Can I interest you in a hug?" I offered, spreading my arms out a bit. She looked at me as if I had a second head on my back. Then she nodded meekly, walking into my embrace. I was a bit taller than her, so she rested her head on my chestplate as I hugged her round the shoulders, her arms hanging by her sides.

"Just… so tired of it all," she whispered, while behind her back, I saw Dennis gesticulating like crazy at the receptionist. Whatever he was saying, I couldn't hear, but when he apparently won the argument, she let him have her desk phone. "Vicky… Vicky said you lost someone too. Does it…?"

She couldn't manage to finish the question, but she didn't need to. "I have. It… I can't say it gets better, but you can learn to live with it. Therapy helps, if you can find the time. Talking to people helps. Keeping busy helps." I paused, pulling her off me. Two thin streaks of water ran down her cheeks. I took the opportunity to open my faceplate so she could at least see my smile, a Yamada #4, 'I'm going to make it better'. "But don't overwork yourself, okay? We do have a therapist on-site, if you–"

Behind her, the elevator disgorged a concerned-looking Eliza Karpenko, the doctor whose monthly rotation was supposed to end this month and who was now stuck with us indefinitely. I was glad for it, she knew her stuff, even if she was a bit of an odd duck, and in my world, her rotation was two months earlier, so I already knew a bit about what she could and couldn't do.

But I stopped because I saw something else. Something hanging on the boarded-up wall of the ruined gift shop. Something vaguely familiar. Something I saw in Finist's logs.

Myself. Standing over a (thankfully edited to look less like a corpse) downed Taylor, the pell-mell of other capes in the background, as I screamed at Leviathan, frying his face with Mjölnir. My pitted armor, my stance, my weapon, my fury, turned into a motherfucking motivational poster. Dennis, his heroic task completed, was standing next to it, casting occasional glances as he tried to copy the pose, using a flashlight as a stand-in for Mjölnir.

"Not. Fucking. Again," I growled, startling Crystal into taking a step back into Eliza's arms and Dennis into dropping his flashlight. "Glenn Chambers, I will find you, and I will kill you."

 

[Noelemahc]

Reset 3.05

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

In advance of the scheduled meeting with the Protectorate heroes, likely intended to get Rose to repeat her performance from the hospital, she went on patrol and I went to settle in ny new lab.

A lab. My lab. I have a whole Tinker lab to call my own! I am officially a Tinker now!

Perhaps this whole "joining The Man" issue was overblown, if they were so willing to put up with Rose's antics and my past transgressions to get at my armorweave and her connections on the other side. Provided, of course, anyone could link up with her Earth Bet again, because without that dimensional traveler political capital she was just another cape, even if an unorthodox one.

Then again, as far as keeping the peace in a city ravaged by an Endbringer went, the "just another cape" factor became "one more cape", which probably weighed the odds more than a little bit in favor of my acceptance. Some part of me realized that if Sophia was as horrible as everyone said even as a hero, then Director Piggot couldn't be happier to swap her out for another Taylor Hebert, even if this one wasn't a Brute. Some part of me didn't care about that as much as the excursion to the detention block Rose promised me as recompense for the inevitable mud-slinging that she expected the meeting to become.

As much as I accepted that she was me, or at least a version of me, I still couldn't reconcile that fact with how manipulative she was. I knew I was a bit touchy on control issues, but she… it's like she somehow combined some of Lisa's worst traits with obvious inspiration from Director Piggot sometimes. Trampling all over other people's wishes to make her vision of the world the only possible truth, something I couldn't really imagine myself doing, and I was the former villain!

Shaking the dreary thoughts aside, I resumed cataloguing the glassware that came with the room as Angelica sniffed her way around the place. It felt hilarious, having a dog romp around in what was obviously supposed to be a "clean room", but what I was going to do here did not quite call for rigorous sterility. Quite the contrary. I was told of the specifics of how a Tinker was supposed to operate in Protectorate or Ward service, and was expected to adhere to a lightened version of these.

A discretionary budget to spend on resources monthly, negotiable based on needs and utility. Moot right now with the city in the state of emergency, but if I could requisition a few breeding pairs of Darwin's Bark spiders… To counter the money spent on me, I was also expected to provide value for it - either increases in my own capabilities (as Armsmaster operated) or producing things others could use. For Kid Win, both of these were obviously applicable. For me… well, I could make armor. Provide fabrics for offsite tailoring, maybe? If I set up a silkworm farm, I could fiddle with selective breeding, sell the resulting materials for a hefty profit… most of which the government would pocket, of course, but if that would get me help with taking down Coil, saving Dinah Alcott, fixing the city? I would make doilies with my spiders if they told me it'd help.

I smiled at the containers I retained from yesterday's power testing. Orb weavers, black widows, a varied selection of flies and beetles, some of which I didn't have access to, previously. The college's entomology department would want some back when (if?) the damage done by the downtown sinkhole would be repaired, but I had a starting capital to replace those lost to the water and the damage to the Undersiders' lair. Not a lot of each breed, but it was a start, and a start was all I needed.

A cough attracted my attention to the door.

"Aegis! Good morning!" I beamed at the Wards leader, fully kitted out in his costume of rust. I was wearing most of my costume, temporarily spray-painted into the PR-approved color scheme, reds and grays making it significantly lighter in shade overall, but with a domino mask, as the mask warning system for the lab wasn't working yet. Hasn't worked for years, they told me. Not that it was an issue when I could see someone coming from the next block over.

"Hey, Arachne. Settling in?" Carlos gestured at the cubes of insects. "Never thought I'd be glad to see so many spiders in one place."

"I am not letting you eat them," I said with mock seriousness, "Not until I've bred at least three times as many, at least."

"..." He opened his mouth. Closed it, dropped his raised hand. Opened it again, then clacked his teeth shut in a panic as a fly flew past his face. Finally, he seemed to have recovered his ability to speak. "Why would I want to eat them?"

"I don't know," I deadpanned, looking up the fume hood system above a sealable reaction cabinet. "Why are you glad to see so many?"

"Because that's thousands of helpers in keeping the peace over there?" he said weakly, waving his arm behind his back. "Never mind, it was supposed to be inspirational, but you seem to be eager as-is. What are you looking for?"

"The building's wired to let me open the windows only if there's an emergency, otherwise an alarm goes off. I want to be able to freely move my swarm between here and the outside, so I'm having a dozen mosquitoes map out the ventilation system as we speak. I was just wondering if there's any way I can use this stuff for its original purpose. Maybe mixing venoms?"

"Two problems with that, I think," Carlos offered, looking down to watch Angelica stare in confusion at his boot as she tried to gnaw on it after apparently recognizing the scent. "One, what sort of insect venoms exude fumes toxic enough so you'd need a fume hood for them?"

"No idea," I grinned at him madly, realizing how insane I must have looked right now, wild hair and wild grin and wild glee at having my own lab, "Just something those action movies conditioned me to expect, you know? It has to be green and has to smoke to show it's dangerous."

"Okay, I think I can grant you that one. Second question. What would you need venoms for?" he went on, his voice turning concerned. Did he think… does he have no idea of a joke?

"Not all of them are lethal, you know. Paralytics are a thing," I chided him, providing Angelica with a tiny bit of kibble to snack on, "A thing that lets me take down a criminal without doing irreparable damage to him is a good thing. Of course, a thing that lets me take down an S-class threat by doing irreparable damage as fast as possible is also a good thing."

One I hope I never have to use, of course.

"Aren't you…" he seemed a bit at a loss for words, "You know… a little too quick to reach for the burning-and-salting option?"

"You've seen what Bakuda does. You've heard of the Teeth. Of the Nine," I offered him a shrug to go with the list of ways for us to die horribly, "I believe in being prepared for the worst, so that any other outcome is a pleasant surprise."

To my great shock, he laughed at that. "Dios mio, you really are the same person, aren't you!"

I huffed in protest, crossing my arms across my chest, suddenly aware that I was talking to a handsome boy and not really panicking about it. Before I could get to panicking about it, he continued.

"So, aside from 'How do I open the window', is there anything else you need?"

I shoved what panic I had into my swarm and tapped my chin thoughtfully. An idea popped into my head and I grinned wickedly.

"Sure," I said, "I'm going to need to requisition additional supplies…"

He shrugged. "Okay, as long as you can justify it."

"Good," I began, "I'm going to need some of those plasma globes, a tesla coil, and a white noise machine that makes thunderstorm sounds."

Whatever Aegis had been expecting me to say, it clearly wasn't that. "I'm going to regret asking why, aren't I?"

My smile widened further. "The way I see it, I have my own lab in a secretive base, which I will use to breed an army of bugs, harvest venom, and create suits of armor with which I will then rain down doom upon my enemies." I spread my arms wide, "I've turned from a street-level villain into a mad scientist, and I'm going to embrace it with both arms."

His face was buried in his hands before I was finished speaking, before sliding them down. "Thank you, by the way, for giving me new reason to believe in religion."

I cocked my head to the side, furrowing my brow. "Um... why?"

"Because if this is normal for you, then managing a team with you and Clockblocker on it will officially be Hell."

The two of us dissolved into laughter before his phone began ringing. He shrugged apologetically and answered it.

"Yeah? Uh-huh, she's right here. She WHAT?!" Well. That doesn't sound good.

"Rose got into trouble?" I guessed, then felt my heart drop as he nodded. "What is it this time?"

"Master/Stranger tank. Came in from patrol, ran into Laserdream, both had some sort of breakdown. Laserdream won't stop crying, Rose won't stop swearing," he explained, his voice exasperated. Clearly, he thought he had his hands full with Clockblocker alone, the rude asshole. "Walk with me?"

"Sure. Angelica, heel!"

-------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

We only were late by two minutes, and when we arrived, not even everyone was already there. The briefing room stank of spilled coffee, someone's post-cigarette breath, machine oil and a little bit of fresh sweat. Miss Militia sat on a chair beside the lectern, twirling a butterfly knife in her hand, looking glum, or at least radiating glumness outward.

Battery gave Rose a quirked eyebrow as our trio traipsed through the door.

"Sorry, everyone," Aegis announced, "It seems that someone," he shot a look at my double, who looked decidedly sulky, "Thought it would be a great idea to announce that she wanted to kill Glenn in the middle of the lobby."

I don't think I would forgive Battery soon for her role in what Armsmaster did, but I did smirk at her snort and grumbled exclamation of "Been there."

Triumph glared at me from a front-row seat, turning away as soon as he saw who the new arrivals were. I couldn't exactly fault him now that I knew it was his cousin that I'd inadvertently helped kidnap, but it still stung.

Dauntless was sewing up a hole in a bomber jacket, his Arclance propped awkwardly against the empty chair next to him. Belatedly, I realized it was a bullet hole he was working on.

Nobody said a word as we picked out a couple of chairs and sat down, side by side. Angelica was once again in Jonlan's care, and clearly took a liking to the bespectacled Trooper. Rose, fresh out of containment, was fidgeting in her seat, clearly psyching herself up for her dramatic reveal. Or maybe she had an itch, I wouldn't put it past Madison Clements to mess up the simple task of making a comfortable spidermesh outfit. When Aegis arrived at our end of the room a minute behind us, having finished his quiet chat with Battery, he easily slid into place next to Rose, and I had the pleasure of watching the unflappable smug version of me blush at his polite smile.

Finally, as Assault filed in, settling beside Battery, Miss Militia stood up, pressing some buttons on the lectern, likely engaging whatever M/S defenses the room had, which, judging by the clacking sound, included locking the door. Then she did something that shocked the other heroes, pulling her bandana down.

"There's been a few things we were keeping from you," she said gravely, her gaze moving from one masked face to another, "And I wanted you to see my face as we came clean about them. I want to have your trust as your new team leader, and that means taking responsibility for past mistakes and transgressions." She gestured to the screen behind her. "Dragon will be joining us in a little while."

"Does this have anything to do with… with what Armsmaster did on Sunday?" Battery asked, somewhat timidly. I couldn't exactly fault her after the mixed signals Rose sent her way yesterday with that passive-aggressive apology of hers.

"Among other things," Miss Militia, Hannah, nodded. "And in one way or another, it revolves around our two newest Wards." She didn't point, but she didn't have to, as every head in the room turned towards us anyway.

I glanced to my side, to Rose's encouraging nods devoid of her usual manic energy. With some hesitation, I pulled my domino mask off.

"My name is Taylor Anne Hebert," I said, putting my glasses on again, because wearing them over the mask was quite the hassle. "And I've always wanted to be a hero. On my first night out, I stumbled onto Lung and, with a bit of help from the Undersiders, took him down. Armsmaster convinced me to let him claim the takedown to shield me from ABB reprisal."

I watched Assault whisper something to Battery. I could have easily listened in, but I didn't need to, the word 'junk' was quite audible in the otherwise quiet room, even over the hum of the air conditioning system.

"The Undersiders were convinced I was a would-be villain due to my outfit. So was everyone else," I paused to swallow nervously. Why didn't I wait for longer to get more dyes? Because I would have put it off indefinitely, and Lisa or Alec would probably have died to Lung that night. I did save them, after all. "So I came to Armsmaster as my point of contact with the Protectorate, offering to infiltrate the Undersiders, help catch the Masters of the Escape."

"Isn't that against the Rules?" Triumph noted, "You'd be essentially unmasking them?"

"Didn't know the Rules then," I countered, "Nobody teaches you these things at school. Nobody explains what Trigger events are until you ask for someone to tell you theirs," I added bitterly, enjoying the way the entire room flinched, although Triumph's was the slightest. Figures, of course he'd be the one with the easy Trigger. "And yes, I committed that faux pas as well."

"Woah, woah, woah," interrupted Assault. "Wait a minute, hold on." Battery shot him a look, but he waved her down, "Seriously? How– how can you not have learned about that?"

I lifted my arms and dropped them helplessly in an apathetic shrug. "I don't know, the school just never taught anything about them."

He looked around the room, incredulous. "Really?" He waited a second. "Really. This is happening. One of the most important things in the modern world is Parahumanity, and Winslow– you went to Winslow, right? –wasn't even teaching kids about how they're formed or why we don't do certain things?" I saw Rose shake her head out of the corner of my eye, and Aegis lifted a hand.

"They don't teach that at Arcadia, either. Glory Girl said her college classes did cover them, though. Parahumans 101."

"Which means it's probably not taught at Clarendon or– Christ!" he threw his hands in the air. "And of course this is the first time we're hearing about it because we never asked?" All three of us Wards nodded in sync. "Right. After this meeting, I'm making an appointment with Director Piggot. I think I might know why the villain population is so high if no one knows what the fuck is going on with powers." He pulled out a pad of paper and began scribbling furiously on it. I looked at him oddly, before continuing.

"Back to the Undersiders, then. After the fight with Lung, they offered me a place, and I took it, and when I tried to strike a deal with Armsmaster over it before the bank robbery–" this time, Triumph did flinch properly, "–well, let's just say, it left me amenable to staying a villain full-time. Learning that Glory Girl was just another bully certainly didn't help my opinion of the heroes any."

"And then the thing with Bakuda on Über and L33t's show—" Dauntless spoke for the first time. He had a pleasant voice, higher-pitched than I expected, but still heroically masculine in that toothless PR way, like the narrator in a PSA.

"Yeah. Maybe it was stupid, throwing my lot in with the first people to treat me as anything other than shit for the first time in two years," I admitted, trying not to let the bitterness set in again, "But that was more or less the point of no return for me. Then came the Truce against the ABB. While you stopped Bakuda's bombs, we took down Lung, again."

"You carved his eyes out!" Battery protested, but a hand on her shoulder from Assault sat her down in her seat. "Those are not the actions of a hero."

"You're right. Because I was not a hero by that point." My agreement took her aback. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Rose grinning again. It keeps unnerving me to see her smiling like Lisa. But will she stop if I tell her to?

"Lung regenerates, and it's a valid tactic to keep him to stay down for longer. Ultimately, we have Taylor to thank for the chance to Birdcage him," Hannah stated somewhat emotionlessly. I still couldn't figure out what was bothering her enough to throw her usual demeanor off, but not enough to make her cancel the meeting.

"So then the gallery attack was, what, a personal 'fuck you' to Armsmaster?" Triumph asked next, his tone still indignant. I'm getting your cousin back no matter what it will cost me, I promise.

"Not really. It was a job first. Coil says 'embarrass the heroes', we pick an easy target to do so," I replied as dismissively as I could. "Of course, we didn't know it was Coil back then, or that he used us to get at Dinah. I'm… I'm sorry, Triumph. I gave everything I had on him to Miss Militia. We will find him."

"That name sound familiar. Dinah… Alcott?" Assault probed, rubbing the front of his helmet as if it was his actual forehead. "The mayor's– oh."

"The moment I learned the truth, I walked out on the Undersiders," I went on, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Two hours later, Endbringer sirens."

Triumph caught my eye, and he gave me a slow nod. It wasn't one of forgiveness – and, quite frankly, I didn't really think I deserved it until we got Dinah back – but it was one of understanding.

"And after that went down, Armsmaster decided he had the prime opportunity to screw her over again, and me as well," Rose piped up, "Choosing a way that would theoretically tear a divide between us in the process, as at that point Taylor didn't yet know the school bully that Triggered her was Shadow Stalker, but Armsmaster knew I knew."

"Wait, what?" Dauntless jerked forward in his seat, dislodging the Arclance from its perch. The whole room must have winced as it clattered to the floor. "Is that why she's…"

"...in the holding cells, yeah. Can't ship her out before we make at least a token effort of talking to her mother, can't reach her mother, circular situation," Rose finished his broken-off thought. Funny, I never once paused to think that Sophia had parents too. It was as if she came into the world fully formed, already a vicious bitch with a mad-on for everyone and everything that wasn't a certain traitorous redhead. I stifled the urge to giggle at the thought of Sophia Hess, Age Seven, Axe Murderess.

"Anyway, this is where I come into the story," Rose went on, heedless of my mental tangent. Off came the mirrored helmet, which she told me she wasn't repainting any time soon because she couldn't afford the 27 hours to spare and any other paint made zero sense here. Off came the Tinkertech goggles, letting me notice for the first time they actually had some sort of Egyptian motif drawn on them to go with the fancy name. Down came what was left of her hair. "You know me as Rose Ellison. That name, that person, is a fabrication. While there actually is a Margaret Ellison out in Montana that we're related to," she waved her hand between the two of us, "She's not my mother. She's my aunt, because my actual name is Taylor Anne Hebert."

Silence reigned. Again. Waving off the sense of deja vu, I chortled through saying "You should work on your presentation better. They don't seem to believe you."

"Long story short: L33t built a portal thing," she made a childish gesture outlining an oval in the air in front of her, "I tried to arrest him. I fell into the portal thing," she made a diving motion through the space where the oval was, "Whoosh, I'm on a different Earth Bet where Aegis is alive, I am a criminal and not the Deputy Commander of the Wards ENE, and Alexandria is a rude witch." That one, at least, drew some chuckles.

"Wait, Deputy what now?" Triumph gaped at her. She grinned in a way that vaguely reminded me of Aisha of all people (wait, does she know Aisha?! How can she know Aisha and not Brian?) and made finger guns, which she proceeded to point at people around the room.

"I was the first to hold the title. An experimental program, JROTC meets the PRT," she gestured at the projection screen, where Miss Militia summoned a scan of what I assumed to be Rose's– Deputy's, because of course her cape name had to be something befitting her loyalty to the organization –PRT badge. A very me-like face stared from the photo, the lack of glasses the only thing that it had in common with the prettier, stockier, shorter-haired version of me that looked away from it to share a grin with the audience. "It was supposed to be a punishment detail of sorts after my becoming The Deputy - a PRT intern that had more cape arrests than some Protectorate heroes - a full month earlier. After I nearly committed suicide by cape trying to capture my world's Shadow Stalker, who'd gone rogue when her probation violations were uncovered by accident during the background checks when I was brought on board."

"To quote a great person who will eventually probably become a man, I call bullshit," Assault objected, "This all sounds like some ridiculous capefic. You have all this Tinkertech, powers, and training of a PRT Trooper, all in a month?"

"What? No! I've joined in November," she even took a step back under Assault's verbal assault, "I was Deputized in early January, while investigating the flipside of Taylor's Trigger event– because I was transferred to Arcadia, someone else fell into the trap laid for me and Triggered from it –and by late January, I was appointed as the first Ward ENE without powers, set to lead the team that was beheaded when Hookwolf killed Aegis."

Now everyone gaped at Carlos. The poor boy raised his hands defensively. "All I'm saying is, I'm very glad that thanks to Leviathan, I got to outlive that particular Nazi." He paused, glancing at Rose. She blushed. He blushed. They blushed together in a stupid cute way that made me wish for a bucket of ice water. "That and Rose– well, Taylor –because without her and her drone, I'd be Endbringer roadkill too."

"I still failed to save Dean," Rose mumbled, the blush gone from her face, her head hung low. Carlos finally stood up, drawing her into a hug with a bit of effort, given that he foolishly tried to hug her armored form around the shoulders, and he was barely a match for her in the shape department. Congratulations, Taylor, you're not the least feminine girl on the team, and only then because the least feminine is also you!

He sat her down, and while he whispered something that I refused to eavesdrop on, Miss Militia took the meeting back under control. "The long and short of it is, there's technology besides Professor Haywire's that lets you travel between worlds, and there are other worlds besides Aleph out there." She threw a glance in Rose's direction. She wasn't crying as I was originally worried, just hyperventilating a bit. I felt the insects in my lab (my lab! I have a lab!) thrum with my own emotions, but I refused to let my own façade slip up. "Meanwhile, our versions of Über and L33t have been handed over to Watchdog to see of they could replicate that feat from this end, because we have no idea whether the tech used to send her here is still functional... at least, not until very recently."

She turned and waved a hand at the screen. "Dragon, would you like to take over?" The face that showed up on the screen was… pretty mundane, to be honest. I vaguely recalled being told that it wasn't Dragon's actual face, that being a virtual shut-in, this was her equivalent of a mask, but even knowing it was computer-generated, I couldn't help but marvel at how lifelike it looked, down to the minute eye movements. She probably has some sort of tech that scans her actual face and maps its movements to this one?

"Certainly. While I've been... distracted, as of late, between Leviathan Cleanup and arranging for Armsmaster's transfer out of the city…" she trailed off before catching herself, "I've been setting up sensors to try to detect more exotic energy bursts, such as the one that heralded Emissary's – The Deputy's – arrival." There was another pause, before she announced, "Based on her report that she was taken and delivered to the exact same spot in the Docks, we can surmise that however L33t achieved it, the portal maps directly to the corresponding location in the other world. And I've detected two bursts of Haywire particles since I began looking. Both were too short to gain an exact location, but I have a suspicion that—"

She paused again, seemingly looking to the side, presumably to a secondary screen away from her face scanner.

"It's happening again?" Dauntless guessed, his voice wavering a little. I couldn't fault him. Knowing that there's actual parallel realities, and not whatever we've had with Aleph, must have been more than a bit shocking.

"Yes. The same energy signature that let us confirm the portal's nature originally has just popped up on the scans," the Canadian Tinker explained patiently, barely containing her enthusiasm. "And it's localized to Armsmaster's lab. That was my original guess as well."

"The other Armsmaster is likely poking around in the devices, then?" Carlos suggested. "Maybe he got it to work from there, somehow?"

That made Rose's head snap up sharply. "Dragon? What was the last thing Armsmaster worked on using the central workbench?" she asked hurriedly, strapping her gear back onto her head.

"The Halberd he used against Leviathan. The same one you passed on to Browbeat afterwards, I believe," Dragon's voice sounded lost in thought, "Why do you ask?"

"Should have noticed it earlier," Rose's voice was muffled by her helmet closing fully as she stepped up to the door. "He's not the kind to leave circuit debris strewn around the place when he's done working, correct?"

"No, he's not. Did you notice something when you were in there with Kid Win?"

The other heroes snapped out of it, finally, and we were all out the door in a bustle as soon as Miss Militia unlocked the door with the security passcodes. While ostensibly useful, this mechanism was clearly not well thought-out for evacuation purposes.

"Aegis, Dauntless, follow Emissary. The rest of us will stay here. No need to cause a panic," Miss Militia ordered, taking her seat again.

"Meet us there, I'll explain!" were Rose's last words as she ran off, and we followed, getting in each other's way. In retrospect, a dumb decision, because a Protectorate hero chasing a stray Ward down a PRT HQ hallway does not a calming picture make.

I had a vague idea of the building's layout by this point, having spent several days indoors with not a lot to distract me between bouts of waiting in hallways, so I knew where to go. And where to search.

"There's…" I huffed as I paused in front of an elevator, leaning a bit against Dauntless. He seemed amused by this, if my costumed-hero-body-language-reading was correct. "...something like a, a memory stick in the middle of the empty workbench? Next to a container of circuity parts." A beetle tried to shift it, but it felt heavier than it looked. Feeling the door to the lab cycle open, the beetle buzzed to grab Rose's attention.

I was through that door last, just in time to see her laughing like a woman possessed as she waved a piece of obvious Tinkertech around. "They did it! They can send messages through, which means we can communicate!"

"So then, let's see what's on it?" Aegis suggested.

------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

(or open this link in a new tab)

We were back in the conference room, everyone more or less in the same seats. In fact, the only major difference was the fact that at some point on the way back, Rose intertwined her fingers with Carlos and refused to let go after his first few panicked attempts to free himself. It's like she suspected what was to come and needed support, any support. By the time we were shuffling among the seats, he relented, throwing me an apologetic glance in the process. I shrugged in response. They were still joined at the wrist when they sat down.

On the memory stick, as the large screen showed us, were three files, two small and one large. The text file labeled READ1ST.TXT was concise, to the point and so very Armsmaster.

"Armsmaster,

If you receive this first, please pass the accompanying video on to the girl that arrived two weeks ago via the same Haywire-type radiation-emitting portal as this object. Details will follow once we confirm her location.

You.


Deputy,

This is attempt #3 to send a message through the portal. The original device had been damaged during the fight. We are still devising appropriate repair methods. Each attempt uses different power settings. To respond, deposit similar items in the same space, including this memory stick. Will attempt pickup in 24H.

AM."

The second file was an encryption key - the digital version of a Master/Stranger passcode. A quick test Dragon ran on it indicated that it was 96% accurate, confirming it was genuine enough, given the minute differences between the two worlds. The third file… started with a familiar clock-covered mask.

"Hey, Armsmaster! This is Clockblocker, and I know that if someone's viewing this first, it's gonna be you! If you haven't found her yet, Deputy's yay high," the on-screen Dennis indicated a height well above his head, clearly mocking the fact that Rose was even taller than the beanpole that was me, "Is wearing cape armor made like a PRT Trooper parade armor and has lots of muscles here, and here, and here, and here…"

He was shoved rudely out of the frame by a figure both familiar and not, the knightly armor looking like Gallant's previous armor revision. There was a gasp and murmuring behind us, probably because they were hearing a dead man talk, but I ignored it. "Deputy Commander, I know you're also going to watch this, so now that someone is done being a comedian–" there was a short scuffle as Clockblocker tried to take back the camera, only for him to be restrained by two sets of green-clad arms. Dean shot him a dirty look before rallying, "I can tell you what you really want to know. I don't know if you had an Endbringer attack last week or not, but we fought Leviathan in Boston," there were a couple more gasps, though I couldn't tell whose, or whether they related more to the confirmation that Rose's Gallant yet lived or that he did despite facing an Endbringer of his own. "My armor got destroyed, Clockblocker landed in a full-body cast but Panacea made him better. Nobody else but us three went, and your sister's safe. You can breathe out!"

Another shove followed, but this time there wasn't a scuffle to take the camera back. I pretended not to notice that this time Rose was crying, though I didn't think it was out of sadness if the ear-to-ear smile she wore was of any indication. The hyper blonde girl on the screen wasn't masked and wore an outfit that someone could have easily called a deliberate mockery of what Vista stood for as a cape. Flashy. Girly. Similarly green. "Taylor, Taylor, Taylor! They tell me you're alright, wherever you are, but please come back soon! Dad's fine, but very worried about you! And Amy! And Ma–" she looked out of frame, listening to someone, before deflating a bit, "–right, sorry, Weaver, she was very worried when you disappeared! Here she is now!"

With that, she dragged in someone who looked a lot like me. Or, well, costumed like me, at least, except painted in blues and yellows. Weaver. Madison Clements. I clenched my fists involuntarily at the thought of one of my bullies being a Ward, then gritted my teeth at the memory of how I got here in the first place. If Emma ends up getting powers of her own, I am going to be so pissed.

"Commander, I'm sorry I failed you," she said grimly in a way that made my mental train crash into a mental ditch and catch mental fire. This was not any way I expected a Madison to behave. Perhaps Rose was right when she said she changed? Triggers… the trauma involved in them could change a person, right?

She continued, "I couldn't stop them from taking you, and then they got away when I was…" she clenched her hands into fists, "It won't happen again." She sniffled, and I was surprised to find myself actually believing that she was really that emotional about my double. I was used to crocodile tears to get me in trouble, not... this. "Please come back, Commander."

"Oh Mads…" I barely heard my other self whisper, sniffling.

The on-screen Madison seemed at a loss for further words before the camera turned around, showing a stern-faced Amy Dallon, wearing some sort of power armor, her hand around Vista's shoulders. Missy, even leaving the costume change aside, looked different from the way the one here did. More… severe, a word I would have never thought I'd use to refer to someone as cute as her. Unlike Madison, she actively fought against being seen as cute, and it looked like Rose's fared a bit better at it than the one here. She looked annoyed to have Amy's armored hand wrapped around her shoulders, and her face screamed it at the world.

"Hey, Deputy. We were thinking of promoting Vista to your position if you don't come back soon. Look how unhappy she is to have all that paperwork to herself— OOOF!" Amy was cut off by an elbow to the gut, causing her to double over and leaving Vista grinning grimly.

"And I'm more than willing to take that paperwork out on you if you keep talking about me like that," she smirked, raising an eyebrow challengingly at Amy. "In fact, I don't think you've done your reports since before Deputy left, maybe I should–"

"I'll get them done, I'll get them," Amy wheezed for a second, before grumbling, "Seriously, how are your elbows THAT BONY, that shouldn't be possible…"

"I practice on Clock," Vista shot back. From offscreen there came a cry that sounded suspiciously like 'Knew it!' before being drowned out by a yelp. Vista looked back at the camera. "Seriously, Deputy, come back before I go nuts. For the life of me, I don't know how you stand it." Amy straightened up and stared into the camera as Vista warped out of the shot.

"Armsmaster says once they're done mapping this thing out, they're going to drop the plans for it as soon as you confirm whichever of the numbers you received." Amy paused, and the mask of cheer she wore seemed to crumble. "Please, Taylor, please tell us you're okay, that there is a PRT HQ at the coordinates we aimed at, because we need you back. Because–"

She got cut off by an irate Kid Win wrestling the camera away. "Amy! Those were my lines! Commander! We're going to put the standard Protectorate encryptions on this thing, so if you're seeing this, rest assured, unless this lands on more than one world, you're probably the only one seeing this. If not, a request to the Armsmaster of the world this is on: please find the girl named Taylor Hebert, student at Winslow High in Brockton Bay. Help her. Please. Wards ENE, Earth Bet, dimensional coord 0800D, out."

Dauntless was the first to speak when the screen went blank. "Well, that was more confirmation than we possibly needed."

"Thanks a lot for broadcasting my name to the Multiverse, Win," I muttered before turning to Rose, who was still wiping tears away. "The blonde girl– that was your sister?"

"Yes. Synod. Anne-Marie. She's…" Rose paused for a moment, mulling the word choice over, "...invigorating. I'm sure I wouldn't have gotten as far along in the cape life as I did without her support."

"Earlier on, you mentioned you were the first Ward without powers," Battery spoke up, looking concerned. Studying what I could see of her face, I realized that Rose, Hannah and I remained the only ones unmasked. "But you have them now?"

Rose gave a somewhat stilted laugh at the question. "I guess it could be called powers, but I'm not a parahuman. The Thinker rating is a running gag since the first days of my internship, because Director Piggot refused to accept that I could do what I do without powers and had me tested several times."

"And the Brute rating?" Assault took over from his wife, leaning a bit forward, resting his elbows on the unoccupied chair in front of him. In a five-row mass of chairs, he chose the fourth, like the class clown who always had to be at a safe distance from the teacher, but not on the outskirts of the classroom. "I'm guessing you didn't find those muscles at the bottom of a cereal box."

"No, I did not. After Shadow Stalker nearly killed me, Panacea did me a solid. My bones are reinforced, and my metabolism optimized to peak human efficiency," she paused to flex a bicep, reveling in the way Carlos gaped at the sight. "With her as a dietician to manage my supplement intake, it was just a matter of spending enough time with the PRT trainers. I have several Trooper certifications now, but since I'm a PR figurehead, I can do a lot more good as an open cape. This secret identity thing I have to do here has been… kinda grating, to be honest."

"That may be out of our hands if your friends establish stable communications between our worlds," Hannah said, her worn-out expression reminding me that I forgot to ask what was wrong with her. "Once word gets out here that Taylor Hebert is a famous unpowered cape, you can bet your taser the public here will take a close look at her counterpart."

"Speaking of the public and figureheads. What the hell is up with those posters I saw?" I managed to squeeze in, "I'm a damsel in distress now, apparently. Both of us are," I grinned at Hannah, who only nodded grimly. Is that what's eating at her? "In the meantime, I'm guessing that's why you wanted to murder Mr Chambers earlier?"

"Please, do tell," Assault perked up, exuding enthusiasm everywhere. "I haven't seen any posters yet. Is it another anti-drug PSA? I can't be the only one they stick on those, right?"

"Nope. They're marketing the PRT internship program," Rose replied, incredulous, "Somehow. I mean, it worked back home because I was the face of PRT ENE PR pretty much since the moment I was Deputized, but this is different, even if the narrative of me starting out as an intern remains the same."

"So, what you're basically saying, you wouldn't've minded if such a poster cropped up from your PRT?" I needled, barely resisting the urge to snicker at her first world problem. Realizing the trap she just stepped into, she stuck her tongue out at me and went on the offensive.

"Oh, and they're making T-shirts with that scene," she countered, her fingers splaying out to outline a rectangle against her chestplate. "And several other images they've snagged off my drone and helmet cameras. Some will go in use for PR bulletins, a few will be used for updated 'Who's that cape?' guidebooks, and yes, I'm getting credit and royalties as the photographer."

"Well, with that sorted out, let's move on to the second point of today's agenda," Hannah said, a bit of worry eroding from her at the mention of other images. Suddenly, I realized that showing the new leader of the Protectorate ENE as a beat-up bloody mess was a great way to set her up for failure. "Whatever you said to her, coupled with your outburst, kicked Crystal Pelham in a full-on hysterical episode. Doctor Karpenko has managed to calm her down, but now we have a very pissed-off Brandish stewing in Conference Room five, waiting to tear me a new one. You too, naturally, so this meeting was the only thing putting off our demise. Alright everyone, back to business!"

We filed out into the hallway. As I watched Rose detach herself from Carlos with the reluctance of a mother letting her child go to school alone for the first time, I had an mini-epiphany.

"Wait, isn't that the door we ran past on the way to the lab and back?"

------

Spoiler: Soundtrack

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Chris was walking me through the peculiarities of using the various overlay modes of the map display on the Wards Console when Rose returned, looking like she was put through the wringer. Tearing her helmet off, the first thing she did was pour herself a cup of tea – not that the choice on offer was significant, but having Orange Pekoe was better than having no tea at all. I saluted her with my own mug of steaming liquid as she plopped down into an armchair.

"For the record: Carol Dallon hates me. I'm one sneeze away from a restraining order, or so she tells me," she shared with no-one in particular. With Dennis and Missy out on patrol, and Carlos gearing up to go out with Chris as soon as they returned, the Commons looked deserted and empty compared to the celebratory atmosphere of Wednesday.

Curious, I've only technically been a Ward for two whole days, but I already feel… if not at ease, then at least safe. I still held that grudge against my double for depriving me of the option to choose, but… it wasn't terrible, and as long as I kept the insects out of the Commons, the Wards were a welcoming bunch. I guessed it helped that most of them liked Rose, and some of that goodwill rubbed off on me. The fact that they all sympathized with the circumstance of my Trigger, unpleasant as the subject was to me, their politeness wasn't borne out of pity. I wasn't weak, like Sophia and Emma tried to convince themselves for so long. I recovered. I persevered. I did not break.

"But that means we can infer the movements of drug shipments from the way the dealer activities shift?" I asked, probing what I thought was a setup for a trick question.

Chris blinked at me while Rose called out from her seat. "Exactly! I knew it runs in the family! When I voiced the same idea to my old team, nobody believed me at first!"

She stood up with the obvious intent to come over and look at the map Chris was showing me, but then got diverted by the sound of the doors opening. An ashen-faced Missy was about the same color as Dennis's mask, and when he pulled that off, he was little different.

"Either we have cannibals roaming the city," he began, only to stop until his full-body shivers subsided, "Or there's a new serial killer out there that uses an ice cream spoon to dismember people."

"Dude, not cool," Chris chided him, indicating Missy with a jerk of his chin. She was standing motionless, half-leaning against the chair Rose just vacated, her mask in her hand, her lips moving soundlessly. I hurried over to wrap her in a hug, and she nuzzled her face against one of my armor plates, muttering indistinctly about blood.

"Rose, can you and Taylor man the console for us?" Carlos asked, pulling his helmet on, waiting for Chris to extract his new, larger hoverboard out of its stand.

"Of course, coach," she chirped back at him and, before he could turn away, landed a quick peck on his cheek, barely missing the lips due to his turn. When he froze, staring at her in slight confusion, she spoke up. "Please stay safe out there, alright?"

He held up her hand that she put in his when she kissed him, gave it a reassuring-looking squeeze. "I promise."

"Don't worry, I'm sure there's nothing for our fearless leader to worry about," Chris said with assuredness that wilted a bit at the realization that only recently they've already lost one of their number, that being in the Wards was not a guarantee of avoiding harm.

"I certainly hope so," Rose said quietly as the door closed behind the two of them. "Because he still owes me that date."