Immortals [Worm]

[Expo Onethousandone]

This is a little project that I've been working on in my spare time. It a slightly AU AltPower Taylor story, set around a year and a half before the start of canon. This story has been kind of like a bi-polar car ride for me... There are long periods of placidity, followed by terrible, fast paced movement, and occasionally a wreck or two. Hopefully you folks enjoy it. Please read and review!

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 1: Welcome to Camp​

My name is Taylor Hebert, and up until recently I was a perfectly average fourteen year old girl. I had a mother and a father who loved me and a best friend who I considered nearly a sister. I had been born with an above average intellect, so it had been easy to get straight A's in middle school without too much effort. Oh, don't get me wrong; I hadn't been a genius by any stretch, just a fairly bright girl. There wasn't any one thing about me that was remarkable, despite the nice things my parents told me to build up my sense of self-worth, like all good parents tend to do. I was normal. Average.

I had always been a bit of a motor mouth, and lately I'd been accused of being a little too geeky due to my love of capes and books. I preferred reading and playing around on the computer to going shopping and doing sports, at least most of the time. My best friend Emma was the exact opposite, which I guess is one of the reasons we're so close... we balance each other out. She forced me out of my shell, and I forced her to study and take life more seriously. Overall, I had a pretty good life, which was not an insignificant thing to have in the time and place I had been born into.

When the summer after eighth grade rolled around, my mother and father signed me up for summer camp and practically forced me to go. They didn't like to talk about it, but around six months before they had been having some pretty serious relationship problems. One night my mother nearly walked out on my dad, storming off to God knows where. She had nearly made it to her car when dad caught up to her.

I had watched from the large picture window in my living room as my father, a tall thin man who was slowly losing his hair, dropped onto his knees in front my mother, begging her not to leave. There were tears in his eyes as he apologized for whatever they had been fighting about, and I think the entire neighborhood had heard him shouting out how much he loved her... how much he still needed her in his life. I could tell that mom still wanted to be mad at him, but she had pulled dad to his feet and wrapped her arms around him, telling him that of course she loved him as well. Then she told him sternly to get into the damn house before someone called the police or brought out a video camera. I had been crying earlier that night, but I remember chuckling at that.

After a quick call, I had been sent to Emma's house to stay the night after their argument. When I returned home the next afternoon, both of my parents were in a far better mood than either of them had been the night before. My mother was no longer looking at dad with ice in her eyes, and for his part, dad wasn't looking at mom like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air. They started visiting a relationship counselor the next day, and since then things had gotten much better between them. Whatever rift that had been developing between my mother and father seemed to have been mostly repaired. Home became a much happier place than it had been for the last few months, just before their big blowup. I was extremely glad that dad had raced after mom when she went to leave that night… Who knows what could have happened otherwise?

The counselor had suggested that my parents take a "couples vacation" to celebrate their newly reforged bond, which was why I had been shanghaied into attending summer camp. As I sat on the bus, I remember thinking 'Sure, I'd rather be spending the summer at home, with my best friend Emma, but camp is going to be OK. How bad could it be?' I should have known better than to tempt fate.

When the bus I was on reached the enormous campground deep in the forests of the appalachian mountains, I had thought the environment beautiful beyond compare. The hundreds of other boys and girls that were disembarking from their respective buses seemed to likewise be captivated by the scenery. I even made a few quick acquaintances as we were being sorted into groups and assigned cabins. I met a short, somewhat plump high school aged girl named Genevieve, who was bound for the 10th grade in September. She had a startlingly pretty face; I remember thinking that it was such a shame that she was overweight; she might have been the most beautiful girl at camp if not for that.

I had also talked to a tall, muscular hispanic boy named Carlos, who sat near me on the bus ride from Brockton Bay. Like Genevieve, Carlos was a year older than me; he had just turned fifteen. He also went to Arcadia High, the most prestigious school in town. I had been offered a place there thanks of my perfect grades, but I had declined. I had chosen to attend the less prestigious Winslow High this coming fall for one reason alone; Emma was going to be there. We had been going to school together since preschool, and had been best friends even before that. Each of our fathers had been friends since their own primary school days, so we had been playing together since before either of us could remember. Going to a school without my closest friend was nearly unthinkable.

Carlos was cool, even if he was a little bit clumsy. During the bus trip alone, he got a bruise from bumping his elbow against the metal wall of the bus's interior, and when we exited he nearly tripped over the bottom step. For some reason I found it funny that such a big, muscular boy was a total klutz. He had taken it in stride when I lightly teased him about being accident prone as we walked away from the camp bus stop together.

He took my light teasing (flirting?) with good grace, telling me with a wry smile that his mother and three sisters had been giving him crap about his lack of balance practically nonstop lately. Carlos shared with me that he had recently grown nearly six inches in as many months, which had thrown off his balance terribly. The trip to summer camp was an attempt by his mother to help him get used to the unwieldy height that he now sported with some good old fashioned outdoor activities. I commiserate with him a bit; I had grown almost four inches over the last year, becoming taller than almost all of my classmates, boys and girls both. Being a five and a half foot tall girl in the eighth grade had been a little awkward, both figuratively and literally.

Carlos had made quite an impression on me… I remember regretting that I wouldn't be going to school with him in the fall. I was just starting to notice boys at that point, and I remember thinking that the tall hispanic hunk I'd met and exchanged pleasantries with for most of the busride over from Brockton was a prime example of my 'type', if I could have been said to have one at that point. Since then, self reflection has led me to discover that I don't actually have a 'type'; more a number of qualities that I look for in prospective love interests… but despite that, there will always be a special place in my heart for tall, muscular young men. I think I wouldn't have minded too much if Carlos had tried to sneak a kiss, on that long-ago bus ride, despite my innocence and inexperience. But alas, he was nearly as bad around girls as I was around boys, so the most that came out of our roadbound introduction had been a tentative friendship.

I was assigned a cabin with other girls who were my age, so unfortunately I wouldn't be rooming with either of the people I'd already spent some time getting to know. Our cabin leader was a nineteen year old college student named Candy. She was nearly half a head shorter than I was, but she had a figure like an hourglass. I think each of the girls in my cabin was a little jealous of her mature adult's body. We walked to our cabin as a group to drop our luggage off and get ready for the camp's opening ceremony slash dinner. I was the first through the door, so I got the bottom bunk nearest the exit... fat lot of good that it would end up doing me. Some of the other girls changed, or used the restroom; always the sensible type, I did both. I also put on a windbreaker when it started getting chilly, and grabbed the pocket knife my dad had given me. Candy had told us there would be a campfire and s'mores tonight, and I wanted to whittle my own marshmallow roasting stick. Some of the other girls seemed really nice, and looking back I really wish there had been a chance to get to know them better. I'm not sure if I even remember any of their names, anymore.

That evening, the entire population of the camp was gathered in the largest building in the multi-acre site, which the counselors called the "Great Hall". The Great Hall was a massive log cabin style building which housed the kitchens. We were told each of our cabins would take turns rotating through them as helpers, and that this forced labor would start tomorrow. The Great Hall also had a large recreational area with dozens of chairs and couches set in front an enormous fireplace. Most of the room in the building, however, was taken up by the dining area. There were over two dozen tablets, each of them big enough to seat everyone in a cabin.

There was even a small stage, which I guessed was for announcements or something. We were told that excluding the first night, we would get to sit anywhere we wanted during meals, but that tonight we would have to sit with our cabin-mates. I looked around with excitement, wondering what kinds of activities there would be tomorrow. I was also looking forward to those s'mores. Eventually dinner was served, and over two hundred children and their attendant adults dug into the simple yet plentiful food with gusto.

About halfway through dinner the two giant doors that led into the dining hall burst open, banging against the walls on either side with an enormous clatter. Three people stepped inside. I felt my arms and legs begin to tremble when I realized who they were… parahumans; members of the Slaughterhouse 9. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were locked onto the grinning face of Jack Slash himself as the murderer strode into Great Hall as if he owned the place. A little blonde girl and a youngish woman with brown hair trailed behind him; more capes, I thought. I recognized Jack instantly, as he was perhaps the most infamous parahuman in the whole country. I'd watched a documentary on the Slaughterhouse only two months prior, so I knew exactly what he looked like. His grin sickened me, turning the portion of dinner that I'd eaten sour in my stomach.

One of the councilors, obviously not realizing just who the new arrivals were, power walked his way up to the leader of the Slaughterhouse with a frown on his face. A few kids were watching the new arrivals with innocent curiosity; obviously those who had no idea what was going on. The majority, however, looked as as tense as I was… I guess we were all beginning to realize that the fairly ordinary looking people, who were gazing around in interest as they walked inside, would likely be our executioners. I knew that my only option to survive would be to escape, and that I would need to be both clever and lucky to get away with it. There were nine parahumans in the roving murder gang that had invaded my campground, and only a third of them were visible. The rest were likely outside, waiting to pick off anyone unwise enough to try sneaking out before Jack Slash played whatever sick game he planned to inflict on us.

"Can I help you, sir?" Asked the counselor, his eyebrow cocked.

"No." replied Jack. He made a gesture with a tiny knife that I suddenly noticed in his left hand, though he was at least five feet away from the older teenager who had confronted him. The unwise counselor dropped to the ground, gurgling, as a jagged horizontal gash suddenly appeared across his neck. Blood spilled across the floor as the young man thrashed, futilely trying to stem the bleeding from his severed jugular vein. The little girl standing next to Jack Slash giggled, her blond curls bouncing as she laughed merrily.

"Mr. Jack, can I…?" She said, gesturing at the dying man as she trailed off.

"Not just yet, Poppet," he replied. "There is a bit of work to be done before we can get to the fun bits."

Everyone's eyes were locked on the man who had just casually murdered a teenager for no apparent reason at all. Several of the children and even a few of the councilors were crying now, and I could see some of the men and older boys looking grim, like they were ready to attempt something desperate. I watched everything, moving my head minutely from side to side so that I could take it all in. I figured I would only get one chance to escape, and that was only if I was extremely lucky. I would need to pick my moment, and then commit my all to it if I wanted to have any chance at all of getting out of this mess alive. As Jack Slash climbed up on the small platform in front of the tables which served as a stage, I wondered how I could be so calm. I guess it was because I needed to be; losing my shit like some of the other kids were doing wouldn't help me in the slightest.

"Hello, campers!" Said the renowned serial killer, a wide grin stretched across his handsome face. "Welcome to Camp Slaughter. My name is Jackie S. and I am your camp Director. These are two of my head councilors, Riley and Mimi." He gestured to the two other parahumans who had joined him on stage. The blond girl, who I realized must be Bonesaw, one of the Slaughterhouse's two Tinkers, giggled at Jack Slash's words. The brunette, who I thought might be a pyrokinetic called Burnscar, had a blank look on her face. It looked as if she didn't care about anything.

"On the first night of camp, we have a tradition; we're going to play a little game I like to call "Sink or Swim". I'm going to ask some of you a question, and if you get it right, you get to 'Swim' with us sharks," He cupped a hand over his mouth and mock-whispered, "That means you'll live long enough to continue participating in our wonderful camp activities!"

He winked conspiratorially. "If you don't answer correctly, well... " He laughed merrily. "Then you sink! I don't think I have to explain what that means, do I?" The maniac with the goatee chuckled, causing several teenage girls to began wailing.

"Now... who's first, I wonder?" The cape asked rhetorically, jumping down from the stage.

Jack waded through the tables, setting children and adults on edge as he walked by, many of them crying out or flinching as he passed where they sat. No one had yet gotten up the courage to stand up or try to flee; the mere presence of a monster of Jack's stature seemed to cow them. Thankfully, the leader of the Slaughterhouse was nowhere near my table. Candy sobbed uncontrollably under her breath, her glassy, red rimmed eyes pouring out a constant stream of fat tears. I felt contempt for her, and I resolved to keep my cool as long as I could; I didn't want to die weeping like a baby… if I did end of becoming just another one of the Slaughterhouse's victims, then I would do it standing tall, on my terms. I refused to give evil any power over me.

Finally, Jack stopped in front of one of the tables where some of the older campers were sitting. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that Genevieve, the girl I had talked to earlier in the day, was sitting right next to where the villainous cape was standing. The chubby girl's beautiful face was mask of shock, as if she didn't really understand what was going on. I could see from here that her breath was uneven, coming out in shuddering gasps. Jack stepped up behind her chair, placing a hand on the chunky girl's shoulder. The hand holding the small knife, he kept at his side.

"I think we have our first contestant. Now, my dear, what is your name?" His voice sounded kind, but the excited look on his face gave lie to that. My eye flickered over to his first victim's cooling body, and I frowned, worried that soon there would be more to join it.

"I… I…" Genevieve gulped, and then apparently mastered herself. "I'm Genevieve Nelson." She said, her voice shaky, and a little too loud. I could tell from here that she was filled with stark terror.

"Genevieve." Jack said, as if tasting it. "What a positively lovely name. Now, my dear, are you ready to play?" The girl managed a hesitant nod, which appeared to satisfy Jack. "Alright then! Let's start with an easy one. Genevieve, can you please name for me four members of the Slaughterhouse 9? Either past or present members will be fine."

"Uh… You? Jack… Jack Slash." She stuttered out, her face as pale as porcelain.

"That's one!" Said Jack, his voice excited. "Very good! Continue, please."

Genevieve's eyes darted to the stage, where the excited little girl and the bored looking woman still stood. "Bonesaw." She said, with a little more confidence. The blonde waved at her, making the overweight teen blanche.

Jack nodded. "Go on."

"Um… Hatchet Man?" She asked, her voice uncertain.

"Bzzt! Wrong! My colleague's name is actually Hatchet Face, my dear." said Jack politely. "And with that unfortunate guess, I'm afraid that you have sunk."

With a sweep of his left hand, Genevieve's head was lopped off of her neck. There was a look of surprise on her face as the teen's head rolled off of her shoulders and onto the table she had been seated at. Jack and several of the teens at the table were splashed with hot arterial blood, making one of the girls sitting nearby shriek in terror. Bonesaw, who I had been watching from the corner of my eye, was giggling at the savage slaying. I set my jaw, and bit down until my teeth and gums hurt, doing everything I could to hold in the rage and grief I was feeling at seeing my new acquaintance brutally murdered before my eyes.

"Time to find our next contestant," announced the blood drenched psychopath, a wide grin on his lips.

While Jack was looking around for his next victim, one of the boys sitting at the table behind him suddenly leapt to his feet. Before I could even begin to parse what was happening, the burly lad had hefted the heavy oaken chair he had been sitting on over his head. Grunting with exertion and using every ounce of strength he possessed, the teenager swung his improvised bludgeon downward at the villain who had already claimed two lives.

'Oh my God, that's Carlos!' I thought, my mind racing at a million miles an hour. Jack spun around, looking incredibly startled as the chair came down on him. The sturdy piece of oak furniture, which had to weigh at least fifteen pounds, smashed the incredulous murderhobo directly in the face. There was a sickening crack as the metal buttressed oak seat connected with Jack Slash's skull.

A little of the ice in my belly melted when I saw Jack Slash's prominent nose shatter, the bony bridge driven deep into his skull from the force of the mighty blow. The strength Carlos used in his attack should have cracked the villain's skull open like an overripe melon, but for some reason the evil cape's head was still mostly intact when he slammed chin-first into the hardwood floor. Back on stage, Bonesaw was sporting look of shock, like she couldn't conceive of what had just taken place. Mimi still looked bored, though, even as she began lighting people and furniture on fire with her mind in retaliation for the attack on her boss. After making a token effort, killing maybe half a dozen people, the brunette left. Stepping into a column of flame, she simply disappeared.

The Great Hall was suddenly in chaos. Every way I looked there were people leaping up, before rushing off this way or that. When I climbed to my feet I saw Carlos kneeling down over Jack Slash's limp, splayed out form. Rooting around in the man's leather duster for a moment, the hispanic boy's hands emerged with their prize; two of Jack Slash's knives. I was shocked to see the musclebound klutz I had joked with earlier plunge one of the knives, a thin dirk with a long blade, through the leader of the Slaughterhouse's eye, deep into his brain. The villain didn't even twitch as he died. I was already racing out of the dining hall at that point, figuring that going through the kitchens would be my best bet. I'd noticed an exit there when I first arrived at the Great Hall, and I figured that with everyone else using the other two doors or the windows I might have a better chance to get away clean.

I saw a swarm of mechanical spiders pouring in through the windows as I pushed past the swinging door to the kitchens, many of the robots jumping onto people's backs or biting limbs with their sharp, glistening fangs. I shuddered as the door swung closed behind me, but I didn't stop moving. The kitchen staff had all gone to the dining room earlier for dinner and announcements, so the large cooking area was completely empty of other people. I raced to the back door and threw it open. I glanced outside cautiously before darting out into the night, my legs pumping and breath coming out in gasps as I barrelled toward a thicket of trees. I moved as fast as my legs would carry me, my breath coming out in ragged puffs as I sprinted with all of my might.

I could see the main entrance when I glanced back over my shoulder; as I had thought there was a pair of capes standing outside to guard the large doors. There was a mostly black form with white stripes who was tearing through the children and adults who had unwisely chosen to egress that way. I saw her rip off arms and legs as she waded through the shrieking mass of terrified humanity, occasionally pausing to take a bite from someone's still attached limb. I recognized her of course; the Siberian was a complete monster, possibly the most powerful Brute cape in the whole world. A pale, white figure stood opposite from the black and white striped woman, his limbs attached to chains which swung out to impale and trip those unlucky enough to come near him. 'Mannequin,' I thought. Neither of them seemed to be in too much of a hurry; I doubted that they knew yet that their leader had been killed.

When I got far enough away from the lodge that I couldn't see it any longer, I darted off of the trail I'd been running on, and into the woods. I thanked my lucky stars that I was thin; the trees just off the trail grew very close to one another, and if I'd been bigger I would've had to risk traveling down the trail instead. As I slipped between two enormous oaks, I nearly tripped on a huckleberry bush. The stumble made me think of clumsy Carlos... heroic Carlos, slayer of monsters who wore human skin. I really hoped that he had gotten away clean. I ran and ran until my feet and legs began to go numb. My breath began coming out in strained gasps, but I didn't slow down... I couldn't slow down. When it began to grow dark I finally had to stop moving so fast so that I could pick my path more carefully. The light was waning and the woods were getting more dense, making it difficult to traverse the forest. Still, I continued on.

I glanced down at the softly glowing numbers on my Casio wristwatch; it was 7:12 PM. Dinner had started at 6:30, and the Slaughterhouse had barely been there for ten minutes before Carlos's act of heroism had allowed me to escape. That meant that I'd been running now for over half an hour… a much longer period of time than I had ever exerted myself for in my short life, at least to this extent. Adrenaline was still pumping through my body, numbing my sore muscles and making me feel like there were ants crawling through my veins. I knew that I needed to keep moving; if I wanted to be safe then I had to make it as far from the remaining members of the Slaughterhouse 9 as possible. I seriously doubted that they were just going to leave after a regular kid had killed their leader.

It was a little past ten in the evening when my completely exhausted body could take me no further. I had gradually slowed as the night wore on; the dead sprint I'd started out with had given way to a run, then a jog, and finally a fast walk. I was so bone weary that I'd been barely shuffling forward for the last ten minutes while I looked around for somewhere to hide myself for the night. I stumbled toward a large tree with some thick bushes below it. I worked my way between the dense shrubberies, collapsing when I found a spot that was completely concealed. I was so exhausted that I could barely move, and my feet and head were pounding like crazy. I was also incredibly thirsty; the inside of my mouth was caked with sticky, foam-like saliva that held nearly no moisture at all.

I swept some of the debris around me into a rough pile to make a crude bed, and then let my skinny frame collapse upon it. Thankfully the ground was dry, and not too uncomfortable. I had to push a few sharp rocks and stick aside, but after moving so rapidly for so long the uneven ground felt better than the soft bed in my room at home ever had. I zipped my windbreaker up, pulling my arms inside and turning the sleeves inside out to conserve warmth. I curled up in the fetal position, pulling my knees up inside my coat and wrapping my skinny arms around them. I was unconscious as soon as I closed my eyes.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

I forgot to mention that I have quite a bit of this pre-written. Here's chapter two.

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 2: Into the Woods​

I sat under the birch tree that covered the my the spot I'd slept in last night, with my back against the tunk. My eyes were unfocused; I stared into the distance at nothing, trying to decide what I should do next. I'm pretty sure I'd traveled in a mostly straight line when I fled the Slaughterhouse the previous evening, so it would likely be pretty easy to find my way back to camp. If I wanted to, that is. I somehow doubted that the band of roving murder hobos that had attacked camp had left by now. If they actually had gone, then the raggedy pack of murderers had probably set up some truly terrifying 'surprises' for whoever stumbled upon the site of their latest episode of blatantly unnecessary carnage.

According to the documentary I'd seen on them, the Slaughterhouse 9 had a long history of planting lethal booby traps and homicidal creatures in the wake of their activities. This had led to the demise of a surprising number of capes and civilians who had the misfortune to perform search and rescue operations, or merely to stumble upon the grisly remains of their 'work'.

I would probably be best served by going anywhere else besides back the way I'd come. The only problem was that I was currently in the middle of a wilderness area in the mountains, and I had absolutely no clue where to find signs of civilization. If I kept walking in any single direction then eventually I would stumble upon either flowing water, which would eventually lead me to civilization, a road, which would do the same, or perhaps a house or town if I was really lucky. The only thing wrong with that plan was that it was possible I might die of thirst long before I could find any help. I had to be smart about this if I was going to survive. Conventional wisdom said that I should stay put, so that my rescuers could find me... but when the people searching for me might be super powered serial killers trying to finish the job they started in the Great Hall… Well, needless to say, I wasn't particularly keen on that idea.

I tied my hair into a loose ponytail using a scrunchy I'd had in my pocket when I left the cabin last night. I ruthlessly suppressed the wellspring of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me when I thought thought about camp, and the other boys and girls who I'd left behind. I focused instead on my current predicament, and how I might survive it. I decide to take stock of my possessions; in a survival situation, it always helps to know what resources you have on hand. For wearables, I had my clothes, hiking boots, and a medium weight hooded windbreaker. In my pockets I found an unopened pack of orange creamsicle flavored bubblicious bubblegum, my wallet, another scrunchy, and the pocket knife/multitool thing that my dad had presented me with right before I got onto the bus to go to camp.

I remember slipping the knife into my pocket before going to dinner dinner yesterday; I had planned on using it to carve a s'more roasting stick. I chucked ruefully at how monumentally different my life was today compared to what it had been a mere twenty four hours ago; the vast chasm that separated the two was almost surreal. This morning I'd awoken outdoors, my hair glistening with morning dew, wondering if I would be able to survive the coming day. The most pressing concern I'd had before leaving for camp yesterday morning was that I'd have to go a whole two weeks without seeing Emma. I snorted; how childish I'd been. I guess tragedies have a way of bringing things into perspective.

I kissed the pocket knife in my hand, thanking whatever whim or quirk of fate that had made me grab it yesterday. I hadn't yet examined the knife, so I did proceeded to do so. It looked like the standard swiss army knives I'd seen several times before, but instead of a red shell it's outer casing was made of a medium brown hardwood. It was also about twice as long and a lot wider than the little swiss army pocket knives that I was familiar width. There were approximately a million and a half little metal tools and blades folded closed in the knife. I carefully unfolded them one by one, taking stock of the various stainless steel tools I had at my disposal. The knife was so new that it took quite a bit of force to open the first few blades; I chipped a thumbnail right at the start, while I was trying to get the first one open.

For cutting tools, the swiss multitool had a regular non-serrated blade that was about five inches long, as well as a second shorter blade that was half smooth and half-serrated. It also had a corkscrew, can opener, bottle opener, scissors, chisel, tweezers, toothpick, saw, ruler, nail file, magnifying glass, hook thingy, pliers, phillips screwdriver, regular screwdriver, and a fucking kitchen sink. Well, all of them except that last one. Below the fold-out tools sat a tiny cotton bag with some other stuff inside of it. Blinking with surprise, I pulled the little bag out and began inventorying the contents. There was a tiny weird looking pencil, a sharpening stone, a little piece of folded paper, a small piece of cardboard with sewing thread and a length of nylon string wrapped around it, a tiny book of five matches, two safety pins, and a little rectangular mirror that was about half the length of my pinky finger.

I looked back and forth between between the hand containing the bag of survival items and the interior of the completely unfolded knife that's in my other hand, wondering how in the hell it had all fit. Strangely enough, when I packed all of the items into the bag as they were before, it was once more was able to be inserted into the little compartment in my knife. Knowing that I had an actual tool, and a few tiny survival items to boot, made me feel a whole lot better. It didn't do a damned thing for my hunger or thirst though, which were becoming stronger by the minute. I needed to find a source of water at the very least, and preferably before dehydration caused me any health problems.

I remembered reading something about going downhill if you're lost, as that will more often lead you to water. It felt nice that my reading habits were paying dividends in real life. Doing a quick circuit of the general area, I tried to identify which way would lead me down the mountain. After ten minutes, during which I had no luck whatsoever judging the relative elevation of the landscape around me, I finally wised up and decided to climb a tree. I shimmied up nice looking specimen with plenty of conveniently low branches, which I thought might be a maple. When I reached the top, I carefully looked around; I was able to see for miles. I couldn't actually see any landmarks, but there was a plume of smoke coming from the direction I was sure led back to camp. I shuddered briefly after thinking about what that might mean. Soon enough, I spotted the direction that would lead me to a lower elevation. I would be taking nearly the same course I'd traveled when I'd fled camp.

I climbed down the tree carefully and dusted off my hands. Taking the windbreaker off and tying it around my waist, I set off down the mountain. My trusty casio informed me that it was 7:03 AM when I headed out. I walked and walked, staying alert and paying attention to my surroundings at all times, so that I'd hopefully become aware of any sudden changes to the environment around me. I really, really hoped that my flight from camp hadn't been noticed, but there was a chance it had. If any of the slaughterhouse were tracking me, I hoped that my hyper-awareness would help me notice their presence soon enough to make my escape.

I also paid particular attention to low sitting vines and bushes as I walked, hoping to find something edible. Eventually my vigilance paid off when I spotted a truly massive patch of blackberry bushes. Being late June, there were more ripe berries than I could count. I carefully waded into the bushes to claim my prize, carefully avoiding being impaled by the copious amount of thorns present on the vines. I picked the sweet black fruit I found there by the handful, gobbling up juicy little berries one after another until I was completely sated. My hunger was gone, and my thirst had died down quite a bit due to the juices present in the berries.

Not knowing when I'd come across another source of food, I knew that it would be in my best interest to bring along as many blackberries as I could. I took off the long-sleeved shirt I'd been wearing, and then slipped out of the thin tank top I'd had on underneath it. I then put my overshirt back on, freeing the undershirt for my use. I used a pair of long, thin sticks that I found nearby, as well as my scrunchy, to create a frame to hang the tank top in. It took a bit of fiddling to get it work right, but when I was done I'd created a cloth basket with a thin wooden handle. I'd sliced my shirt down both sides on the seams, so the basket was enormous. It took me the better part of an hour to gather enough blackberries to fill it completely, and when I was done there was so much fruit that the basket had to weigh at least four or five pounds.

I placed the long wooden handle on my shoulder, carrying my fruit basket like hobos shown in old movies carried their bindles. Making sure that the load perched on my shoulder was balanced, I once again started moving downhill. I walked for the rest of the day, stopping every hour or two to get a few minutes of rest, and to go through a set of stretches to keep my sore body limber. I still had quite a few aches and pains from my rapid flight the previous evening, and I didn't want the soreness I was experiencing to provoke an injury. At half past noon I stopped to eat some more berries and to use the bathroom. I used a stick to dig a small pit to do my business in before carefully burying all of my waste. I didn't want to leave any obvious signs of my passage in case the remorseless killers who had slaughtered so many of my fellow campers came to track me down.

After my lunch break I set out once more. This time I kept moving, traveling until it was so dark that I couldn't see my feet in front of me. I'd found more fruit during the afternoon; my basket was once more completely full, stuffed to the brim with more blackberries, as well as four or five handfuls of wild blueberries that I'd spotted as the sun was sinking below the horizon. I'd found a bush with what I thought were raspberries just after noon, but I wasn't completely sure so I passed them by. I adore raspberries, but I'd rather make do with what I have then to get poisoned if I'm wrong. I'd actually used my head this evening when it came to finding a place to sleep; I'd been searching for a nice spot to bed down as soon as the sun began going down. I'd been worried that I might have to sleep under a patch of bushes again, when I finally found the perfect place just as it was becoming too dark to see.

I smiled at the scene in front of me; it was a fairly nice spot to park my skinny little rear overnight. I'd spied a pair of trees that were growing together, the sides of their trunks intertwined with one another, so I'd gone over to examine it more closely. The two ash trees had a sort of hollow at the base of their combined trunks, with ample space inside to fit three or four of me comfortably. The ground inside the hollow was covered with gnarled roots, so I spent a good hour filling them in with leaves, grass, and loose soil. After that, I covered the nearly even floor with some nice leafy branches that I removed from a trio of young trees using the little saw on my pocket knife. It was around 9PM when I climbed into the nest I'd built, closing the door behind me. Yes, I'd built a door; I'd propped a couple of large, leaf covered branches against sides of the opening I was sleeping in, to give myself the illusion of security, and more importantly, to preserve some of my body heat in case the night became chilly.

I'd already put on my windbreaker a few hours earlier, when the air outside began getting a little chilly. I repeated the trick from the night before, and pulled arms and legs inside of the coat's warmth, retracting my limbs like a turtle. Tonight I allowed myself to cry. I looked at my casio watch; 9:43 PM it read. I waited until 9:45, and then let myself go. I broke down into silent sobs, tears streaming from my eyes as I held myself tightly, arms wrapped around my torso. I let out all of the anguish I felt at seeing so many of the other kids at camp dying to pointlessly, for no goddamn reason at all except because it amused a pack of feral, sub-human monsters. I alternately raged and despaired, thinking about Genevieve's murder and Carlos's unexpected heroism. I hoped that he was still alive. I needed to believe that he was still alive. After single handedly killing the biggest cape boogeyman in the United States, Jack fucking Slash, the clumsy latin boy deserved so much more than to immediately be murdered by another member of the S9.

I'd pulled the stretchy band of my watch down my arm so that I could still see it while I cried; when the clock struck 10:00 PM I dried my eyes and forced my face to take on a blank look. I'd promised myself back in the Great Hall that I would keep a cool head, and I would keep my word. I was lost in the forest, fleeing murderers who may or may not be tracking down the people who'd fled their little game; I needed every advantage I could get. Honestly, though, I knew that if any member of the Slaughterhouse caught me then I was as good as dead. Regular people just couldn't compete with parahumans.

Capes were faster, smarter, more powerful… just better than ordinary people, at least when it came to projecting force. I used to idolize parahuman heroes, wanting to be like Alexandria… but after my run-in with the notorious gang known as the Slaughterhouse 9 I was starting to hate them. When evil, remorseless people can gain the power to snuff out hundreds or thousands of lives on a whim, then it doesn't ever end well for regular people. And when it all comes down to it, even the best of us are sometimes only one really bad day away from no longer caring about our fellow man… from becoming monsters. I don't even know what I would do if my mother and father were taken away from me. God willing I won't find out, either, until I'm old and gray.

I tossed and turned as I slept that night, wishing that I had the knowledge and power to change the world; wondering how all of the evil assholes out there, like the ones in the Slaughterhouse 9, could be stopped. It was an unsolvable problem but that didn't stop me from dreaming about it all night long. My unconscious mind tortured me with terrible nightmares unceasingly, and only the bone deep fatigue from my ongoing flight kept me from waking. My young mind had been damaged from the trauma of my disastrous trip to camp, and it stubbornly kept trying to figure out how to curb parahuman violence over and over again while I slept. I was subjected to terrible, relentless dreams where I watched, as powerless as a baby, as everyone I ever loved was torn away from me one by one by monstrous, unstoppable superhumans.

. . .

When I woke up the next morning, I felt like shit. My head was pounding like someone had run over my brain with a semi truck and my mouth tasted like spoiled fruit. I stumbled as I exited the hidden sleeping spot I'd created, falling to the ground in the tiny clearing adjacent to the tree hollow I'd spent the night in.Flashes of the nightmares I'd had ran through my mind, making me grimace. My rest hadn't been pleasant in the slightest. In addition to my shaky mental state, I was uncomfortably thirsty; my mouth was sticky, and almost completely dry. I suspected that I was starting to become dangerously dehydrated.

I picked myself up, dusting off my dirty clothes as best I could. I dug a hole and did my business, grimacing when I noticed that my all-berry diet had given me a savage case of diarrhea. I waddled carefully over to a nearby maple tree to procure some of the large leaves on its low-hanging branches; I needed them to clean myself up, as the smaller leaves I'd been using before my case of the runs were not at all sufficient for the task. I stared at my basket of berries, wondering if I should eat more of them. Finally I decided that I would have to; if I didn't eat then I would grow weak, and they were all I had. The berries were also my only current source of hydration. I wished fervently that I knew more about outdoor survival; if I got out of this mess alive, then I promised myself I would learn the basics of outdoors survival so that problems like this wouldn't happen again.

Suddenly I was struck by a thought; if there were green growing things everywhere around me, then surely there must be water to nourish them somewhere. It didn't rain all that often in summer, but the plants here seemed to be doing alright. It stood to reason that it should be reasonably easy to access, as well. The larger plants, like trees, had deep roots to pull water from the ground, but smaller plants didn't; there had to be water closer to the surface, where they could get at it. Excited, I began looking around, trying to find the densest, greenest, most healthy looking patch of vegetation that I could; that should be my best bet for finding a source of water that was close to the surface. It didn't take long to discover a small grouping of trees that was practically overrun with grasses, shrubberies, and other small plants.

I used a large, solid hickory stick that I'd found to pry apart the thickest patch of grass until I could see the earth beneath it, then I began tearing the grasses and weeds in my way out by the roots almost frantically. I took in every detail with wide eyes as I worked fervently; my mind was operating so quickly and clearly that it was like I was on some sort of drug. It felt like the rush I got from coffee or tea... but a thousand times stronger.

When I got down past the roots I saw thick mud rather than normal soil. I giggled in excitement, digging into the ground with my stick while carelessly tossing wet clumps of dirt and torn pieces of plants away from the rapidly growing pit in front of me. I dug and dug, and within half an hour I'd unearthed a big, muddy hole, which contained over a gallon of muddy brown water. I wiped my filthy hands on some nearby grass, my eyes sparkling in glee at my discovery. The water was dirty, but I remembered several bits of information from books I'd read in the past which told me that groundwater like this was usually safe to drink; especially when freshly unearthed, as it wouldn't have had time to become contaminated by animals or insects.

I didn't want to drink muddy water unless I had to; was there some way, perhaps, that I could filter it? My mind flashed to my parents' drip coffee maker at home... and more importantly, its filtration system. It was like I had an incomplete 3D model of the decade old Mr. Coffee burned into my brain. All of the external parts were perfectly reproduced in my mind's eye, as well as all of the internal components I'd seen before. Once, I'd watched disinterestedly as my dad took the old machine apart while I was doing homework at the kitchen table. I think he had been trying to fix something wrong with it, but I hadn't bothered to ask. I knew intuitively that I could adapt the filtration system from the coffee machine to create something that would help me filter the muddy water… if, that is, I could find the right components.

I thought about the problem for a while, eventually coming up with an idea that should work. By utilizing the tank top I'd turned into a basket to carry berries, as well as the folded paper that came with my knife, I could rig up a very simple filter that should be able to eliminate much of the cloudiness in the water. I would need to use my scrunchies as well, but I would be able to recover them afterward, as well as the tank top. The paper might be able to be recovered afterward, but it would no longer be useful for filtration, or for writing on, if I could manage to keep from tearing or dissolving it while I worked.

Coming up with a working design from nothing had been nearly as simple as breathing, and I felt very clever for thinking of it. Sure, it would have been better if I'd had a pair of vessels to pour the water into, so that I could filter it multiple times, but even without them my idea should still work, albeit to a lesser extent. If I placed the filter on a pair of branches that were close together, then I could use my boot to pour the water into the filter while placing my mouth directly below it. The clean(er) water would pour directly into my mouth. I guess I could catch it in my other boot, but then I'd have to drink water that tasted like my sweaty, unwashed feet, without the benefit of filtration to lessen it.

I paused. My boot? What had I been thinking? Well, I guess I would have to use something to pour the water into the filter, and I didn't exactly have a wide array of choices. I could either dirty another article of my clothing to carry the water to the filter, wringing it out to pour it in, or I could use one of my boots. I couldn't use my cupped hands, as I would need one hand to steady the filter. I guess I could use the tiny compartment of my knife, but that would only be able to hold 1.247 fluid ounces, while one of my boots could hold over 23 fluid ounces. Honestly, my first choice had been the correct one. I suddenly realized that I had already gone through all of these choices before I'd decided on using my boot, in the second or two it took me to design the filter. I longed for some sand… I would have been able to create a much better filter if I had access to just a handful or two of the gritty particulate matter.

I paused for a second before falling backwards onto my butt, landing on the muddy ground with a soft splat. Since when could I design a working water filter on the fly? Or compute the volume of my footwear in under a second? How in the hell had I known where to look for water, or for that matter, the exact place to dig, once I'd located the right spot? The answers to these questions were all coming to me just as I thought them, and fast, too. The gears in my mind were turning like greased lightning, and things that I would normally have needed plenty of time and paper and pencil or a calculator to figure out were popping into my head instantly. My brain computed numbers and followed logic chains as I demanded answers of it, deducing things that I wouldn't have stood a snowman's chance in hell of figuring out on my own before today. It took me less than a minute to figure out what was happening, and only that long because I had refused to believe it at first. I went through the information twice more before I accepted what my brain was telling me was the cause of my newfound abilities.

There was no getting around it... I was now a parahuman. Somehow during the night I'd managed to gain superpowers. At first I hadn't thought I'd known a huge amount about how powers worked... but my brain seemed to disagree with me. All of the information I'd ever heard or read concerning parahumans and their powers was suddenly in the forefront of my mind; words and pictures reproduced in perfect quality, all coursing through my neurons at the speed of thought. It seemed that I now possessed a perfect memory, which somehow extended to memories I'd formed before I even got my powers. Thanks to my flawless recollection of books and lectures, television programs and overheard conversations relating to parahumans, I was able to refamiliarize myself with volumes of material that I'd barely understood at the time I acquired it. Even things I'd forgotten months or years before, after I'd initially been exposed to it, were available for my candid perusal now.

It took me only seconds to rekindle this lost knowledge. I then proceeded to combine it into a cohesive whole, allowing me insights into my new status as a member of the small minority of humans who had gained superpowers. I thought I understood how I'd gained powers; I had overheard a group of students at the college my mom worked at when I was much younger, talking about something called a "trigger event". A few books, a TV special, and a dozen remembered conversations explained what a trigger event was; an ordeal so traumatic that it caused latent powers to awaken in those who managed to survive it.

That definitely described what had happened to me during dinner in the Great Hall... though I had actually gained my powers a day and a half after my traumatic event. Unless… maybe the event that had actually caused my trigger wasn't Jack Slash's sick game, but rather the sense of helplessness and terror that had filled my body while I slept last night? That actually made a lot of sense… If I had triggered during the Slaughterhouse's attack, then the power I had no wouldn't made a lot of difference… not really. I would have needed some kind of attack power, or something to make me tougher to survive that mess. But the emotional quagmire I'd been stuck in the night before? I'd mainly been concerned because I couldn't see a way for normals to survive the depredations of parahumans. I'd also been worried about being trapped in the woods, about having no way out.

And now, I understood amidst a flood of comprehension, I knew exactly how to find my way out of the woods. The enormous framed map that had been hanging on the wall just inside the entranceway of the Great Hall lit up in my mind's eye, with every minute detail as clear as day. I'd barely glanced at the damn thing, but that had been enough. And thanks to my perfect visual memory and computational skills, I knew precisely where I was currently standing, too. I turned my head to the side and looked off into the distance; if I walked that way for seven more miles then I'd intersect a major highway that could take me straight down the side of the mountain and back to Brockton Bay.

I turned my head in a different direction; if I went that way for just under two miles, then according to the map I would come across a small stream that carried melted runoff down from the mountain's ice pack. Even though it would add about two hours to the time it would take me to get out of this fucked up forest, I really needed a drink of fresh water. And I needed to wash up a bit, I reflected, looking down at my mud covered hands and clothes. It would likely be harder to hitch a ride down the mountain if I was covered in filth. Discarding my plan to build a filter in favor of finding water that wasn't polluted by dirt, I got moving.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 3: Deeper and Deeper​

About an hour later I was enjoying the most delicious, most refreshing water that I had ever tasted. I knelt down in front of the little stream on all fours, sucking down mouthfuls of the delicious, ice cold liquid from the surface of the tiny brook. I drank and drank, gorging myself on the simple, life giving substance until my stomach was so full that it bulged out. I hissed with pain at the fierce cold headache the nearly freezing water gave me, flopping onto my back and closing my eyes against the needle sharp pain. The pain passed on in moments, as cold headaches always do, and I opened my eyes again.

I lay on the grass beside the stream, looking up at portions of blue sky visible between the treetops. When I had first seen the tiny body of running water through the pine trees that lined it, I had been surprised to see that the shallow stream bed was no more than five feet wide, and maybe three or four feet deep. I was a little chagrinned when I realized that had I visited the stream a little further into Summer it might have dried up for the season. Still, it was running now, which is what mattered. The sound of the babbling brook soothed my as I relaxed, at least some of my worries leaving me for the moment as I listened to the pleasant white noise generated by gently moving water trickling over the rocks.

I lay on the cool grass, resting for several minutes until I could move again without my full belly sloshing around. I stripped off the outer layers of my clothing after making doubly sure that there was no one around to observe me, and then scrubbed the filthy pants and shirt I'd been wearing for going on three days now vigorously against a river rock. I wasn't about to go completely nude, so I didn't take off my underwear or the completely superfluous training bra I had taken to wearing this last year, and I wore my relatively unsullied windbreaker over them. I may not have much of anything going on up top yet, but wearing a brassiere made me feel more grown up. I did wash my socks, however. When they were clean, I used both socks to clean the caked on mud from the outside of my boots and the dirt from my windbreaker, before washing the soggy, discolored foot coverings yet again.

It was just after 9 AM in the morning and the creek was ice cold, so wading into it to bathe was out of the question. The outside temperature definitely wasn't cold, but it wasn't very warm either; maybe sixty-eight or seventy degrees fahrenheit. I was skinny as a rail and I hadn't had a substantial meal in days; stepping into nearly freezing water would not be a good idea. Instead, I used a corner of my shirt to wash up, giving myself a slow, thorough cat's bath. I dipped the edge of the shirt I was using into the stream after cleansing each area, rinsing the stale sweat and grime from my body off of my improvised wash cloth.

Properly hydrated and relatively clean, I felt much better than I had when I first awoke. I hung my shirt with the other clothes I'd washed, which were drying off in a sunny spot I'd found. After a few quick mental calculations to make sure of the string's tensile strength vs. the weight of my clothing, I'd doubled over the length of nylon wire from my survival kit and strung it up between two tree limbs to use as a clothes drying line. I then wrung out my clothes as best I could, and hung them over the wire in the sun. It was rapidly growing warmer, so I figured I my garments would be dry enough to wear without much discomfort in a little under an hour. I didn't have a way to measure the barometric pressure or humidity, so I couldn't tell exactly when they'd be done, so that was only an estimate.

In the meantime, I did something that I'd been dying to do since the moment I first discovered that I had powers. I found a fairly flat rock, pulled out my multi tool, and got to work disassembling my Casio wristwatch. It was a plastic and metal watch that had been a present from Emma's parents on the Christmas before last. Our families always got together on Christmas Eve and had a small party; sometimes a few of Emma's relatives or my dad's friends Kurt and Lacey would attend, but it was usually it was just us and the Barnes. My watch wasn't too fancy, but it had more features than I knew what to do with, including a few odd ones that I had never heard of until I'd read the manual. It had both a calculator function, and oddly enough, an integrated television remote control. Moments after I'd unwrapped the timepiece two years ago, I'd had the remote control function programmed for the Barnes huge television set and I'd been using the tiny buttons to change channels like a pro. It had been incredibly fun for about ten minutes, but I'd not gotten much use out of the unusual feature since then.

Now, I just wanted to understand how the watch functioned. I'd always been a little curious about how Casio had packed so many features into the tiny device, but I had a feeling that I might actually be able to understand how it worked now that I had powers. I figured I was some kind of Tinker, like Armsmaster, or maybe one of those mastermind types, a Thinker. I didn't have a library of advanced technology in my head waiting to be built, or anything like that, but I'd come quickly and easily come up with a design for a primitive water filter earlier just from a partial understanding of how my dad's coffee machine worked. If I could figure out how my watch worked, then who knows what I might be able to build?

It only took me twenty minutes to disassemble my watch and then put it back together. During the entire process, my head had been buzzing with new information as my upgraded brain churned through the data I'd gleaned from viewing my watch's innards. Like I had with the coffee maker, I had a 3D design for the watch in my mind now. Combined with entries from textbooks and manuals that I'd read in the past, as well as several episodes of "how stuff works", a popular learning channel show, I now had ton of insight into how small electronics and integrated circuits worked. I also had a pretty decent idea about how I might go about repairing the watch, if I had the right tools and parts, or how to upgrade or integrate its components into other technology.

What I didn't have was a concrete idea about how to replicate it outright. I was also missing a great deal of basic information about some of my Casio, like how its software worked, or how the insides of the chips on the device's tiny circuit board were laid out. Evidently I would need to actually dissect the chips themselves to figure them out, and I'd somehow need to take a snapshot of the watch's code and then read it to learn how it's programming worked.

Thinking about programming I remembered vividly the "Intro to Computing" class that I took last year, in the 8th grade. There had been a section of the class dedicated to programming, which went over the Visual Basic programming language; I could recall everything about the tiny snippets of code in the book, and from the simple "Hello World" program that we'd coded; from that, and from a few websites I'd looked at with coding information, my overpowered brain was able to extrapolate the entirety of the Visual Basic language. I realized that I could speak it fluently, and that I would be able to make any program I needed in that language on the fly. I gulped; this was crazy!

I pondered for a moment. My power was pretty good... Maybe even really good… but it looked like I'd need to actually apply myself and study quite a bit if I wanted to be able to build power armor or a futuristic weapon like Armsmaster carried. Still, just from the glimpses I'd gotten through a nondestructive disassembly/reassembly, I'd learned a lot about how digital watches worked, and how the disparate components were connected to one another. Enough that I could probably assemble any circuit board that used similar principles, given a PCB, chips, and a soldering iron. I even had a few ideas about how I might increase the available space and decrease power requirements on my watch, given a little time and some resources that I definitely didn't have right now. Not that I felt a burning desire to do modify my watch, or anything like that… Taking it apart had mostly been done to see if I could replicate the phenomenon I'd experienced earlier with new pieces of technology.

When I put the last piece of my watch back together and screwed the case back on, the time piece powered on instantly. I breathed a small sigh of relief; I had been entirely certain that I would have no problem reassembling my watch, but a small part of me had doubted my new instincts, at least a little. While I'd been working, the perfect memory I now sported had given my formally average hands an amazing degree of dexterity and coordination. Between my brain computing distances and angles to guide my limbs perfectly and my mind remembering everything it took in, I literally could not make a mistake.

All of my movements felt so sure now, so perfect. I rotated my wrist and wiggled my fingers, moving them at exact intervals while bending my joints at precise angles… Moving in this way was like a listening to a symphony performed on flesh instead of musical instruments. I picked my watch up off of the rock I'd been using as a work surface, smiling; it was time to test my new coordination and timing out. I held the end of the plastic watch band pinched between my left forefinger and thumb, and then slapped it down onto my right wrist gently, using my new instincts to precisely move the band and angle my arm as it came down. When the band hit my right wrist, it wrapped around it perfectly, in just the right way so the buckle tongue clicked into the correct adjustment hole on the watch band. I threw my head back and giggled; my power was awesome!

I wondered what else I could do with my intuitive understanding of my physical body and the world around me. I decided on trying something a little more physical; I stepped onto the two foot tall rock and then jumped upward hard as I could while curling my body into itself. I spun in the air, landing exactly where I'd been standing in a perfect freestanding flip. I threw my arms out for my imaginary audience, taking a bow while I listened to phantom applause. I'd always wanted to be able to do a flip, but I'd never had the coordination or the flexibility to do that before. Grimacing a bit, I realized that I still didn't have the flexibility or musculature to contort my body like that comfortably. My stomach and leg muscles felt a little tight due to the strain I'd put on them.

I would need to work on that; my powers seemed to have increased the control I had over my body enormously, but I don't think it had actually improved the strength of my muscles much, if any. I'm pretty sure that my flexibility and the speed my nerves had been increased, however; I'd been able to react and move far faster than I'd ever been able to, before today. It said a lot about my mental state that I'd only noticed the changes to how my body works now that I paying attention. The body upgrades were likely a minor, secondary power, or a side effect of having my brain upgraded so massively, I decided. Normal people just couldn't think the way I could, now; I would wager that my neurons had been changed somehow, or that they'd been augmented somehow.

A little bit of self reflection and use of my powers showed me that all of my mental abilities seemed to have increased massively. My thinking speed, memory, creativity, and most of all my ability to learn and innovate. There was also the strange three dimensional visualization thing that my brain had automatically done a few times… it felt like there was more to it. Even if I was missing something about that particular facet of my powers, now was really not the time to play with it. It seemed less and less likely by the moment that the Slaughterhouse 9 was closing in on me, or had even noticed that I was gone; but just in case they were, I figured it would be a better idea to get a handle on the physical side of my powers, now that I knew that component existed.

I spent the rest of the time it took my clothes to dry dredging up memories of kung-fu movies and martial arts themed TV shows, so that I could practicing the moves I'd watched. It was incredibly easy to integrate the recalled movements into my muscle memory instantly. I replicated techniques that the actors in the movies I was copying probably spent years learning, just from my recollections. I was panting before ten minutes were up, forcing me to slow down until I'd regained my breath. I grimaced; I would need to work on my cardiovascular health immediately. If I was going to be an effective hero, then I would need to be able to fight or run for far longer than ten minutes. I would also need to actually attend some martial arts classes, or get some instruction from someone who knew what they were doing; I was certain that it would be much more effective to learn a complete martial art, rather than the bits and pieces of over dozen different systems that I had now. Still, actually knowing how to throw a punch and perform a flying bicycle kick was amazing.

I felt pleasantly sore as I put on my clothing, which was nice, as I'd been quite sore this morning. It usually took me a few days to recover from pulled muscles and the like, so it was a pleasant surprise that I was healing up from my aches and pains so quickly. My mind pinged on that fact instantly, and using data points in my eidetic memory, I was able to extrapolate that I had some form of slow regeneration or enhanced healing. Nothing to write home about, and not something that would help in a fight; I estimated that I was healing around an order of magnitude quicker than I had before I was empowered. It wouldn't stop me from dying if one of my organs was pulped, but it would be a godsend when it came to recovering from any injuries that didn't kill me outright.

When I was all packed up and ready to go, I set off for the highway. I munched berries as I went, feeding the gnawing hunger in my stomach. I'd made sure to keep drinking a much water as I could, as often as I could back at the stream, so my thirst was fully quenched for the first time in days. I'd taken another few gulps right before I'd left, but soon enough my poor tummy was once more empty. I finished the last of the blueberries I'd saved, and then started in on the blackberries again. I was growing sick of fruit; I wished that I had a big, juicy hamburger. I salivated, remembering vividly the delicious texture and taste of the bacon cheeseburgers they had at Fugly Bob's, my favorite burger place back in Brockton Bay. I wiped the blue-colored drool from my chin, wiping my hand off on a patch of tall grass. I wisely kept my mind off of food, and consumed another few handfuls of berries while trying to keep my mind off their sickly sweet flavor.

I had to stop to rest and use the bathroom twice, but already my body seemed to be better at sustaining physical activity than it had yesterday or this morning. I'd estimated that it would take me around three hours and half hours to reach the highway, but I was able to make it there in a little over two hours. A glance at my Casio revealed that it was 12:35 PM. I kept my eyes open as I approached the highway, looking all around me while listening for anything unusual. I stopped when the stretch of concrete was fully in view, crouching behind a small bank of trees that was perhaps a dozen yards from the road. I slowed my breathing and stood as still as a stone as I opened my senses, trying to figure out if anything wasn't right. I could hear birds chirping in the distance, and the other small sounds that indicated I was in the woods, like leaves rustling in the slight breeze.

What I didn't hear or see were any cars. The summer camp I'd gone to was in a fairly remote area of the Appalachian mountains, so I guess it wasn't really that unusual to see a dearth of travelers on the road; still, my tightly wound survival instincts didn't much like it. I frowned, pondering what my next move should be. If I stayed hidden in the woods, then I would miss my chance to bum a ride from drivers traveling the highway… even with my slightly augmented body, I couldn't outrace a car at highway speeds. My options, as I saw them, boiled down to three choices. One: I could go back into the woods, and find another option besides the highway for getting back home. Two: I could parallel the highway while staying hidden, until I came upon someone or something that I was sure could help me. Three: walk down the highway in the open, trying to hitch a ride back to Brockton Bay.

I pondered the problem for a while, trying to decide what to do. Finally, I settled on option two. I would stealthily make my way down the mountain alongside the highway. The other two options were both too risky; for all I know, there might be members of the Slaughterhouse watching the roads, and I was still less than twenty miles from camp. If I headed back into the woods, then even with my knowledge of the area thanks to the map I'd seen, I risked dehydration, hunger, and exposure, if unseasonable weather turned up. I figured that following the road while remaining concealed would offer me the greatest chance for rescue, while still allowing me to travel incognito. After seeing what the monsters wearing human flesh could do, I wanted no chance of an encounter between them and me.

I backed up silently until I could just barely see the road through the trees, and then began carefully picking my way through the forest. The basket I'd made to carry blackberries was under halfway full now, so I unmounted it from the sticks that I'd been using to support and help carry it, before discarding them. I folded the cloth package carefully until my remaining fruit was fully contained, and then tied it to my belt. I gently tucked the sticks under a patch of thick foliage before moving on. I traced my steps carefully, moving like a ghost as I shadowed the highway. The entire time I didn't see a single car; this worried me more than it probably should have, but I chose to follow my instincts and move even more cautiously than I had been previously.

When a far-off noise reached my ears, I crouched down behind the patch of thorny bushes I'd been carefully making my way past. I turned toward the road, where the sound was coming from; a small stretch of asphalt was visible from where I sat, carefully concealed from sight. By now, the sound had increased enough that I'd identified it as a vehicle; hope and fear warred in my chest, but I didn't show myself. A white panel van shot down the road at eighty three miles per hour, and in the tiny window of time I had while it past, I caught a flash of a white, middle aged man in the driver's seat. I thought there might be someone in the passenger's side seat, but I was at the wrong angle to see them.

The vehicle had been moving fast enough that I had to replay and pause the mental picture of my memory to actually make out the man's appearance. He had been headed in the opposite direction that I was going, so I felt a little better about not showing myself. I guess he might have stopped to help me, but how often do drivers offer to pick up hitchhikers traveling the wrong way?

Feeling confused and more than a little worried that I was being unnecessarily cautious, I started walking again. Forty minutes later, I was shown that my caution was entirely justified when I saw the same van coming back down the mountain, traveling toward me in the opposite direction it had been going before. Unlike last time, I had a clear view of the passenger's side seat. I was crouched down again, watching the road from behind a pine tree when I saw the other person in the van. My heart began beating wildly and my brow began to sweat when I realized that the fucking Siberian was riding shotgun. I mastered myself, forcing my trembling to instantly still using my power. I wanted to race off into the bushes, but I stopped my body from doing anything hasty until the van had been out of my hearing range for at least five minutes.

The van had been going really fast again, racing along the road at a cool ninety mph this time. Considering the implications of the striped killer's presence, I realized that due to my completely justifiable paranoia I had just avoided a grisly murder at the hands of the unstoppable killer I'd just identified. I thought about what to do for a moment, before deciding that by necessity, my strategy for escape would have to remain mostly the same. I strongly doubted that the Slaughterhouse 9 even knew that I existed; I figured that the Siberian and her driver, whoever he was, had been either tracking down some known escapees. Either that, or else they were patrolling the area that the S-Class criminals were currently occupying, to make sure they weren't surprised by other capes or law enforcement.

Either situation meant that the authorities were still unaware of the massacre that had taken place the evening before last. The nomadic murderers must be coercing the surviving camp counselors to make their routine calls and communications with the outside world… or else Bonesaw was forcing them to, using her unique brand of biological body horror. I shuddered; I didn't like this situation at all. I was once more in the thick of it, and once again I would be relying on luck or a miracle to get out of this stupid, pointless life or death situation with my mind and body intact.

When I began moving again, I had the needle and thread from my survival kit in one hand, and my windbreaker in another. As I traveled my hands would occasionally dart out, plucking a handful of leaves here, or a long piece of spanish moss there. I gathered loose vines, tall grass; whatever my 3D "building sense" told me would work best. I sewed as I walked, my hands moving precisely as I attached the still-living vegetable matter to my coat in artfully chosen locations. When I was finished, I had my own discount ghillie suit; a camouflage garment that made me look like a shrub or patch of grass when I lied still, rather than a human being. I slipped it on, flipping the hood over my head for better concealment.

A little bit of dirt got on my glasses, so I stopped for a moment to clean them. I realized bemusedly that I'd slept with them on last night, and that I hadn't even removed them when I washed up earlier. I blinked when the lenses left my face, and the blurry world around me snapped into crystal clarity. I blinked rapidly in surprise, as every details I could make out visually was expressed in a level of fidelity that I had scarcely imagined was even possible. I'd been aware that my eyesight was a little better when I'd been wearing my glasses earlier, but now that they were off, the difference was staggering. My glasses had been distorting my vision horribly, rather than enhancing it, and once they were clear of my face, the impediment that had been keeping me from using my now amazing eyesight was gone.

I could see everything. I could see as far as there was empty space to see in, and I could make out minute details on everything I looked at. I stared at a leaf that was a dozen feet away, counting the veins that traveled along its underside. I watched a butterfly land on a flower twenty yards to my left and then carefully unfurl its proboscis so that it could sip nectar. Having a superhuman brain was awesome; amazing, even. But this… being able to see like this was so overtly superhuman that it felt like the world itself had changed. I put my glasses into my pocket, repacked my needle, and what was left of the thread, and started moving again. If I wanted to remain alive long enough to enjoy my new eyesight, then I had to keep going.

I kept sneaking glances at my watch when another thirty minutes had passed since the van had past me; I wanted to time it, to see if the driver was one some kind of set schedule, or if it was more random than that. I also wanted to see if it would be the Siberian in the van this time, or someone else. It was even possible that two different people, or a different vehicle might be patrolling instead. I realized that I'd been able to tell on my own when exactly 30 minutes had gone by, not glancing at my timepiece until after that amount of time had passed. Thinking about keeping time caused a 3D clock to pop up in my mind, with the exact date and time, synced perfectly with my watch.

I frowned, realizing that after I'd put it back together, I'd actually programmed the time on my watch using my mental clock. My body had been practically on autopilot at the time, so I hadn't consciously realized what I'd been doing. Well, I had, but it hadn't been at the forefront of my mind. Being able to tell time made sense, based on what I'd observed of my powers so far; how could I have perfect timing if I couldn't accurately tell time? It was a nice minor power, but not something game changing or incredibly useful. Still, it was cool knowing that I would never again need a piece of technology to tell the time for me. Heck, if I was comparing my power's functions to technology, then I doubt I would need a computer, monitor, printer, or paper and pencil ever again, either.

Taking my latest discovery in stride, I continued on. Roughly fifteen minutes later, I heard the sound of a vehicle again. I melted into the forest floor, laying on my stomach inside of a patch of tall grass. My ghillie suit turned me into just another part of the scenery, rather than anything that stood out from it. Unless one of the parahumans had some kind of sensory power, I would be practically undetectable. I stared intensely at the road, waiting to see if the white van carrying the Siberian would come back into view. The car-sound was subtly different than last time, though, and less than a minute later I watched as an aged pickup truck, carrying an old woman wearing overalls and a straw hat puttered up the road from down-mountain.

She definitely was not a member of the Nine; not one I'd ever seen or heard of, anyway. I guess she could have been a new member, or a helper, or whatever the man driving the white van had been... but looking at her as her ancient truck crawled up the road at a relatively slow forty miles per hour, I sincerely doubted that she was anything other than what she appeared to be. I had a really good view of the road from my current position; I could see about two miles down road, and maybe half a mile up road from where I lay.

I was tense as I stared at the truck, wondering just what in the hell I should do as it approached my position. That's when I heard the second vehicle coming. This time, the sound was terribly, horrifyingly familiar. I clenched my camouflaged fist as the white van rounded a curve, coming into view. The driver spotted the truck heading toward him, and I due to my amazing eyesight I could see his formally bored looking face break out into a wide grin. The Siberian, who had been nowhere to be seen, suddenly popped into existence on the road. The driver of the van pulled over to the side of the road as the black and white striped woman sprinted toward the old truck containing the grandmotherly looking woman, the same savage look on her face as I'd seen on her driver's. The man in the van had pulled his rig off to the far right-hand shoulder of the road, and as I saw him close his eyes, a look of rapturous pleasure coming over his face.

A thunderous bolt of shock struck me as the stark reality of the situation snapped into place. The Siberian wasn't a parahuman at all! She was a power. The man was the cape, and his power was to somehow summon or create the Siberian, to control it remotely like a child's toy robot. I'd heard of Master class capes who could do generate disposable minions, but their constructs were usually crude or weak; nothing like the Siberian. I guess that's why no one had ever discovered his secret before now… or at least lived to tell about it.

I gulped, watching the truck grow ever closer to the savage projection waiting to end the lives of its occupants. I clenched my fists until my fingernails were nearly piercing my skin, wondering if I should get involved, if I should risk my life for someone I didn't even know. My thoughts flew, weighing the pros and cons. An eternity took place in those few seconds. Finally, I made my choice.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

Have another chapter! I only have two and a half more pre-written, so this posting speed will probably not keep happening for long. Let me know what you think!
​

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 4: Out of the Woods​

The need to do something burned within me, and now that I knew the unstoppable juggernaut's secret, I might actually have a chance at defeating it. The truck was still a mile off, and the Siberian had disappeared into the undergrowth on the opposite side of the road from where I was hiding, presumably waiting for the unsuspecting driver to get closer to her position.

I lept to my feet and surged forward as fast as my body would carry me, taking care to keep at least one object between me and the projection's last know position as I raced toward the white van. The driver would have almost looked like he was sleeping, but for the demented grin that flashed across his face as the personification of his power prepared to slaughter a woman for no real reason at all.

As I neared the parked vehicle I pulled my swiss army knife out, my thumb flicking out the largest blade. I sprinted so hard that my lungs burned, and the muscles in my legs felt like they were going to tear themselves apart. My body struggled to meet the furious demands that I was placing upon it. There was a dropoff of about three feet when the forest gave way to the road, and when I got there I leapt, spinning my body silent in the air to generate momentum. When I was twirling as fast as I could, I used my amazing eyes and enhanced brain to compute the perfect trajectory. I launched the bulky, unbalanced swiss army multitool like it was a throwing knife at the target I'd selected.

The blade whistled as it cut through the air. I watched in awe as it flew the thirty feet between where I had thrown it and its target, passing through the open driver's side window of the panel van and burying itself to the hilt in the Master's temple. I landed in the middle of the road, and then darted around the side of the van, hiding myself from view. The Siberian's master died instantly when the knife pierced his brain; he had never even realized I was there in the first place, or that I'd thrown my knife at him. His body still had the incredibly creepy smile on it's face, though it was marred by a thin trickle of red that was leaking from the spot where his head had been perforated.

I slipped into the unlocked passenger's side of the van just as the oblivious woman whose life I'd saved passed by; she didn't even glance at the van sitting on the side of the road; didn't notice that I had just killed a man to protect her from an invincible monster. I was still acting on instinct at that point, still thinking like a hunted animal. I pulled the dead man's body from the driver's seat, dragging it into the back of the van. It was a little easier than I thought it would be to move him, but the weight of what I had just done made the grisly task nearly unbearable. The interior of the full-sized van had most of the amenities of a motorhome; I saw a full sized bed, a tiny shower, and a kitchen complete with tiny fridge and stove. I rummaged about a bit, and found a roll of trash bags under the sink.

"That's the same place we keep them at home," I muttered to myself. It was the first time I'd spoken in two days. I opened the large plastic bag, and pulled it down over the corpse's head, until it was down below his chest. I grabbed my knife through the sack, and then tugged once, sharply. The knife came loose, as I knew it would, and I deftly reached in and removed it, carefully holding it point-down to avoid touching gore. I pulled the plastic strings on the trash sack, sealing it around the dead man's upper body as best I could. I washed my blade off in the sink, and then wiped it down with a pair of paper towels from a roll on a dispenser mounted above the sink. I didn't want to make a mess, so I threw them away in garbage can I'd seen while searching the kitchen a moment earlier. I pocketed my knife--the murder weapon, my mind whispered--and then moved forward to sit in the drivers seat.

I'd seen my mom and dad driving lots of times, so it wasn't any work at all to pilot the large vehicle. I buckled up, and then started down the mountain. I drove quickly, going perhaps a hundred and ten miles an hour. Before ten minutes were up I'd made more progress toward escaping the mountain than I had in the previous two days combined. Driving safely at the enormous speeds I was traveling at was stupidly easy thanks to my enhanced perception and reflexes. Once I realized just how easy it was, I sped up a bit, taking the winding mountain road at over a hundred and twenty miles an hour. After an hour of driving, I saw the first signs of human habitation. I passed a little gravel driveway that had a mailbox shaped like a pig at the end of it.

I slowed down slightly, bringing my speed down to a mere ninety. Soon the driveways started showing up more frequently, and I spied a few homes closer to the road here and there; I slowed further, until I was driving the speed limit. The last thing in the world I wanted was to be pulled over by some country sheriff, or the state highway patrol with a freshly killed murder victim in the back of the stolen van I was driving. I'd been mulling things over as I drove, wondering what I was going to do when I got back home. I knew that every member of the Slaughterhouse 9 had a kill order on their heads… I knew that I had done the right thing by killing the master controlling the Siberian… but how could I prove it to the PRT? Would they listen to me, or would they lock me up for murder with a parahuman ability?

I also felt fucking terrible for not going back to Carlos and the rest of the kids. I didn't know if he, or any of them were still alive... but I suspected that they were. Some of them, at least. Carlos and I had eliminated two of the most dangerous members of the Slaughterhouse 9, and something deep within my mind kept whispering to me that I could take on the rest of them... that if I just turned around and went back the way I came, I could put the rest of those maniacs down for good. Thankfully, it appeared that my ability to lie to myself had been taken from me when my brain was upgraded. Perfect memory, it turns out, is a potent counter to self delusion. Even if I was technically capable of taking down the Nine, I doubted that it would work out that way in real life. On paper the Siberian would have destroyed me, but thanks to a single, unknown detail, I had come out of our confrontation the undisputed victor.

I could probably take out Bonesaw and Burnscar if I caught them by surprise… but even if I was successful there were five more members to contend with afterward. I doubted that anything I could do would harm Mannequin or Crawler... and Hatchet Face could nullify my powers from a distance, turning me into nothing more than an ordinary girl. I also had little to no idea what the last two members could even do… Winter was an enigmatic cape who had been with the Slaughterhouse 9 for years; she was apparently some kind of Shaker, according to the documentary I'd seen, but nobody knew the exact details. The newest member, Skinslip, had only joined up a few months ago, and no one knew exactly what his power was. The news had hinted that he might be some kind of biological manipulator, which was troubling considering his name and the rumors of dozens of flayed bodies being found at the sites of the Slaughterhouse's last few targets.

I was in over my head, and I knew it. And when it came down to it, even though I felt terrible for leaving Carlos and the dozens of other possible survivors to suffer a fate worse than death, I knew that I was making the right choice; the sane choice. The small part of me that had been whispering at me to to go back and fight had gone silent after it became obvious that I wasn't going to turn the van around. As I entered the small town at the base of the mountain I'd been on, I began crying, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably. I cried for the acquaintances I'd made, and for the friendships that had never had a chance to form. I cried for my lost innocence, when I'd had to witness that bloodbath inside and out at the Great Hall, and for my lost childhood when I'd had to become a killer to protect an innocent woman who had no idea how close she'd come to the end of her existence.

I blubbered and wailed as I steered the stolen vehicle perfectly, driving at exactly the speed limit and obeying every posted traffic law. I'd passed three police officers in the little speed-trap town, and none of them had given my vehicle a second glance. When I was all cried out I dried my face on my sleeve and drove in silence, watching miles of pavement and hours on the clock pass by as I headed back to Brockton Bay. I probably should have stopped in that first town and called the PRT, but I had no desire to be locked up so close to where the Slaughterhouse 9 were located... and I had no doubt that I would be imprisoned the very second the body of the Siberian's controller was discovered. I also wanted a hug from my mommy; I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.

It had taken my bus the better part of a day to reach camp when I left home two mornings ago. Thanks to my powers I had known when it was been safe to speed, so I was able to reach Brockton Bay in only six hours. It was just getting dark when I pulled up to the curb outside my house. I didn't go inside right away; I stared at the lighted kitchen window for several minutes, my mind reeling at the differences between the woman I was now and the little girl I had been less than seventy-two hours ago. I thanked God that my parents' flight to Rome wasn't scheduled to leave until the day after tomorrow, and that they hadn't somehow left early like I'd worried they would have on the drive over.

I exited and locked the van, and slowly walked up to my front door. The first porch step squeaked a little bit when I stepped on it; I'd need to tell dad about that later. Opening the door and stepping inside was perhaps the hardest thing I'd ever done; I needed my parents like a heroine junkie needs his next fix, but I was terrified of what they would think of me, how they would look at me when I told them about the things that I gone through and had done. Somehow, I found the courage to walk inside.

Dad was sitting on the couch watching TV when I walked in. He turned his head toward me when I stepped into the living room, his face a mask of confusion.

"Taylor? What are you doing home, sweetheart?" I could tell that he knew something was wrong right away, because before I knew it he had made his way over to where I was standing, just inside the doorway, and he'd wrapped his arms around me. I started bawling into his chest like a baby.

"Annette! Taylor's home! We're in the living room!" he called, holding me against him with one arm and stroking my hair with the other. "Shh, it's alright sweetie. Whatever it is, it's going to be OK." he murmured soothingly.

When my mom entered the room a moment later, I looked up. Even through my watery eyes, I could tell that she had probably just stepped out of the shower; her hair was wet, and the clothes she was wearing were hastily thrown on.

"Taylor? What's going on, honey? What happened to camp?" She threw her arms around me as well, joining my dad and I in a three-way embrace when I began wailing in response to her questions.

All of the agony and indecision, self loathing and uncertainty that I'd been viciously repressing for the past two days exited my body in a singular, soul rending sound. My parents held me so tightly that I could barely breath while I wept, hands stroking my back and hair over and over while they whispered nonsense to try and calm me down. Somehow the three of ended up on the couch, with my lean body snuggled in between the two adults. I tried to stop crying, but I couldn't generate the willpower to use my power-granted perfect control to still my treacherous body.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was waking up on the couch, my head lying against Mom's chest. My dad was nowhere to be seen. Mom was looking down at me with both love and sadness in her eyes. Her beautiful features formed an unreadable expression.

"Oh, Taylor…" she whispered. A single tear traced its way down her cheek. A lightbulb went off in my head, and suddenly I was aware that she knew. She'd discovered the van outside, and seen its terrible, inescapable contents. And now… Now my mother understood at least part of what I'd gone through. I could tell by the lack of pressure on my outer thighs that the keys to the van and my pocket knife were missing. I needed to explain, before they drew the wrong conclusions. I could live with my parents knowing that I was a murderer, but I needed them to understand why I had done it. Why I had to do it. I activated my power, stilling my trembling hands and relaxing my pounding heart. I picked my words carefully, and then spoke.

"The Slaughterhouse 9 came to my camp, during dinner on the first night." I said, my voice steady. Mom had gone still at my words, her eyes wide and face wooden.

"A boy who I rode on the bus with, Carlos, managed to kill Jack Slash shortly after they arrived. I slipped away into the woods during the confusion. I've spent the last two days in the forest, trying to get away from camp without those monsters finding me…" I fought down tears, using my power to control my physical reactions to the events I was telling her about. My emotions raged on inside of me with no outlet for their torment.

"When I woke up this morning, I found out that I have powers." Mom's face had thawed, and she was holding me tight now, her face filled with sympathy and fear for me. "I understand everything now, Mom." I told her, my eyes alight. "I remember everything that I've ever seen, or heard, or read perfectly, and I can make my body do anything that I want it to do."

I looked down. "I remembered a map I'd seen at camp, and I followed it to a highway. The Siberian was there, and she was riding around in a van with this weird guy who I knew wasn't a regular member of the Nine. I stayed way back off the road, and I saw him drive back and forth, once with the Siberian, and once without her." I paused, my words sharp as knives. "Mom, he was the Siberian. She's was a projection, and he was the Master controlling her. I killed him with the pocketknife Dad gave me, because he summoned her out of thin air, and she was able to to kill a lady who was driving down the road."

"Oh my God," whispered Mom. "Taylor, we need to tell the PRT about this as soon as possible." Her eyes widened in shock. "Shit, I need to call your dad right now. We thought something... different... happened, and he's-" she choked out, her face ashen and eyes full of panic.

My mind was a whirlwind as I put facts and supposition together using my power. "You thought that I'd been raped, or that I had a close call." I whispered, my face pale. "And now Dad's gone to disappear the evidence."

"Yes," said my mother; still shaken by my earlier words.

Oh, God. This was not good. The only physical evidence of my story was about to be destroyed by my dad, because he loved me enough to cover up what he and my mother thought had been their daughter killing her rapist in self defense. Unless mom managed to get ahold of Dad, then there was absolutely nothing that I could do.

Thankfully, Dad had taken his cellphone with him, and he'd only left with the Siberian's panel van five minutes before I'd woken up. A harsh, quickly whispered conversation had taken place between my parents, just enough to clear the situation up. Shortly enough Dad was back home, the stolen vehicle once more parked outside. We had no safer place to put it. Mom had been waiting with her cellphone in hand, and as soon as he walked through the door she hit "call", dialing the PRT's emergency hotline.

"Parahuman Response Team; please state the nature of your emergency." said the bass voice of the operator.

A look passed between the three members of the Hebert family as Mom began to speak. I'd briefed her more fully on the situation while Dad was heading back, and she was ready with the details. "My daughter just returned home from summer camp early, after it was attacked by the Slaughterhouse Nine. She triggered-"

Mom stumbled a bit over the familiar word being used in an unfamiliar way, before continuing, "-with a parahuman power, which allowed her to make her escape. She managed to kill one of the members of the Nine while she was getting away, and another was killed by a different camper. We have every reason to believe, however, that the majority of the Nine are still there, along with the surviving children and staff members." Mom's voice was the harsh, icy cold monotone of a pissed off English teacher; a style of speaking she had perfected after more than a decade of shutting down smartass Freshmen who mouthed off in the Writing 121 class she taught.

"Please repeat that." said the operator, his tone incredulous.

"Seven members of the fucking slaughterhouse nine are laying siege to the goddamn summer camp I sent my daughter to. The location is Camp Wanantakka, fifty miles up the mountain from Bardsdale, off of Highway 101. My daughter killed the fucking Siberian, and another camper killed Jack Slash. The rest of them are still there! With children! DO SOMETHING!" she yelled, furious.

"Hold one moment while I connect you with my supervisor, please." said the operator weakly.

"Goddamn bureaucracy," muttered my Dad over the hold music, "Waste of our tax money…" A sharp glare from my mother shut down his rant mid-sentence. Two minutes and thirty one seconds later the phone picked back up. A woman was on the line this time.

"This is PRT East-North-East Director Emily Piggott. I presume that I am speaking to Annette Hebert?" she asked, her voice simmering with barely suppressed anger.

"You presume correctly." answered my mother in a matching tone. "By now you know where I live; I need you to send a team to my home to pick up the vehicle sitting in front of my house, which contains the body of the Siberian."

"Explain." ordered Piggott.

"Three days ago, I sent my fourteen year old daughter off to summer camp. It was attacked by the Slaughterhouse Nine. Jack Slash was killed somehow, and while hundreds of other people were panicking, my little girl got away. She arrived home half starved, and covered in dirt and pine needles from spending the last two days hiking through the woods. Somehow along the way she got powers, and when she reached the highway she had use them to defend herself from the Siberian, who was driving up and down the road, waiting to kill anyone who came close to her latest nest. After killing the Siberian, my daughter drove her way straight home in the vehicle the Siberian had been using. When she got here, she collapsed and was out for over an hour. She woke up to my husband and I freaking out about the dead cape she brought home, and she just finished explaining what happened."

There was silence for a few moments, and after a few moments Piggott spoke. "Do you believe her story?" she asked.

"Yes," replied my mother replied instantly, causing me to feel a surge of love for her in my heart. "The last time she lied to me was when she was four, and that was to protect her best friend." she said.

"Here's what going to happen," explained the Director, her voice all business, "I'm going to dispatch a rapid response team to the site of the alleged attack, at Camp Wanantakka, and I'm going to send a forensics team to your home. If I find out that even a single detail of your daughter's story is a lie, I'm not only going to bill you for all of the man hours involved, I'm going to make it my personal mission to jail both you and your daughter for as long as the law allows." she snarled, her voice furious. "And if the body in that van is not a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine, then you're going down as an accomplice to murder!"

"This is Taylor Hebert. The body in the van belongs to the cape responsible for the Siberian's crimes." I said, speaking up. My voice was a monotone. "But you should be aware that she was a projection. I was able to keep her from killing me by taking out the Master controlling her after I saw him summon her out of thin air and then control her like she was a marionette on a string."

There was a longer pause. "You're telling me that the Siberian is a projection?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"Yes. The reason that she was so unstoppable wasn't because she was a Brute; it was because she was the power itself, given form." I explained. "When I realized that, I knew the only way I was going to survive was if I took out the actual cape…" I paused, swallowing.

It was a strain to get out the next part, but I managed. "I didn't want to kill him, but there wasn't any time, and I couldn't think of anything else that might work. The entire confrontation lasted less than a minute, and I was running for most of that time."

Piggott took a few moments to respond. "I've dispatched a team to your location. I'm sending an officer, as well a member of the Protectorate to take your statement. For what it's worth, I'm sorry you had to go through that, Ms. Hebert." The bureaucrat's voice was considerably gentler than it had been previously.

She actually seemed to believe me. Why did she believe me? I'd been on autopilot until now, just following my parents' lead, but now I used my power to try to figure this out. Based on the mental model I'd generated of the Slaughterhouse Nine situation, I'd thought that I'd be spending at least a day or two locked up while the whole mess was sorted out. It didn't take a genius to realize that my claims would be regarded with extreme suspicion, if not outright disbelief. Now, it looked like that might not happen, which I found strange. I knew that I'd been missing a ton of data that really should have been included in my model; what piece of unknown information had caused this hardened PRT Director to believe my story? Had it been telling her that the Siberian was a projection? It seemed likely.

The gears within my mind spun wildly, until finally things seemed to slip into place. "You already knew the the Siberian was a projection... or suspected, at least." I guessed. My voice had a note of accusation in it.

Piggott chuckled; it was an ugly, humorous thing. "Some of our highest level Thinkers thought that she might be some kind of energy construct or a Tinker creation early on, when we first learned about her in the wake of the Hero incident." she confirmed. "When she continued rampaging for years without a visible controller or need for maintenance, the theory that she was simply a particularly powerful parahuman gained more traction."

"I think I understand. You never fully believed that she was simply a Brute, did you?" I asked. If my explanation meshed with her pet theory, then that might explain why she was showing me a little trust.

"You're a Thinker, aren't you?" she asked, interest clear in her voice as she answered my question with one of her own.

"Maybe," I said, a little put off by her abrupt inquiry.

"No more questions for my daughter, at least until your investigators get here." stated my mom. "I really want to know that you're going to make a serious effort to investigate the camp; there are probably survivors there."

"Mrs. Hebert, I have my deputy investigating the situation as we speak. The Protectorate has several fast response teams that were created specifically for situations like this. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to coordinate the mess that you've just dropped into my lap. I'm sure that we will all be speaking together in person soon enough... one way or another."

The line suddenly went dead. Dad looked back and forth between me and mom with an odd, almost bemused look on his face. "Did that go OK, or not? She was such a bitch that it was hard to tell."

"Daaaad!" I scolded, a cross look flashing briefly across my face, before I burst into a fit of giggles. I felt a bit giddy; I had not only escaped the Slaughterhouse Nine without a single injury, it also looked like there might be a chance that Carlos and the other campers would be rescued. My mind flashed back to Genevieve, and then to Jack Slash's bloody face right after he murdered her. The recollection was as clear and vivid as all of my memories since I triggered. The smile melted from my face, and I suddenly felt incredibly guilty for feeling happy, even if it was only for a moment. Why should I be allowed to laugh at a goofy comment from my dad, when poor Genevieve's parents wouldn't ever get to see her again?

My mom wrapped her arms around me when I went quiet, giving me a reassuring hug. I was able to successfully fight off the urge to break down; there would be time for that later. Soon enough, the PRT and at least one member of the Protectorate would be arriving. I wondered what I would do if it was Armsmaster who showed up.

Armsmaster was the most famous cape in the local cadre of heroes, and one of the top contenders for world's greatest Tinker. He had always been my second favorite Hero, second only to Alexandria. Now that I might be a Tinker as well, or at least have a power that facilitated my understanding of technology, I had absolutely no clue how I should act if I met him.

'Oh well,' I thought. It's not like they're going to send the leader of the local Protectorate just to talk to me. My family settled in to wait, my parents fidgeting nervously while I controlled my physiological reactions using my power. It didn't take the law enforcement agency long at all to arrive.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

Here's chapter five, I hope you enjoy it. Things are going to start moving very fast for a while starting with this chapter.

​

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 5: Out of the Woods

​

Soon enough I got my chance to find out how I would react in the presence of the local Protectorate's Tinker. My family bundled up in our coats and headed outside a few minutes after our telephone call to wait for the PRT officers to arrive. I'd used the bathroom while dad had been driving the van carrying the Siberian's body back home, so I was feeling a little better than I had previously. I'd had time to wash up a bit, but I was aware that I still needed a shower.

​

My parents and I were sitting on our porch when an armored PRT troop carrier rounded the corner and pulled up to the curb in front of our house. It stopped maybe five feet behind the van I'd stolen from the Siberian's Master, parking right behind the nondescript looking vehicle. The armored vehicle was enormous, around the size of a small motorhome, and it looked like it could take a beating as well. The sides were armored with inched-thick steel plating, and there was a large turret on the roof. I assumed the weapon was for dispensing containment foam, a substance that the PRT used to subdue parahumans nonlethally.

​

Less than thirty seconds later, I heard the sound of another loud engine... one that was approaching fast. The armoured personnel carrier had nearly finished disgorging armored PRT soldiers when Armsmaster himself showed up. The Tinker was wearing a suit of blue and silver power armor, which made him look like some kind of futuristic police officer. His motorcycle was clearly Tinkertech as well. It turned out that I could see in the dark extremely well with my enhanced vision; it looked more like day outside than night, and I could make out every detail of my surroundings. When I laid eyes on Armsmaster's armor and motorcycle my brain went nuts. Pictures and principles, designs and information began flooding my mind, sending me nearly insensate due to the amount of data entering my mind. More blueprints and knowledge poured into my head every microsecond, as each tiny, insanely miniaturized component of the Tinker's gear was scanned into my mental repository of technology.

​

When my technology sense had almost finished scanning all of his gear, I caught a side view of the hero, revealing even more miniaturized components and systems in his armor, as well as his weapon. My eyes locked onto his signature weapon; a sort of 'techno-halberd' that had more features and weapons integrated into it than I could have ever imagined. My mind went completely batshit once again, 3D models of every visible piece of the polearm filling my mind. I wanted… no, needed to see the insides of the weapon, and to a lesser extent his armor. The motorcycle was interesting too, but compared to the other two examples of his work it was a little 'meh'.

​

I stood up, and before I even realized what I was doing I had marched my way up to the surprised hero. He stopped on our lawn when he saw me walking toward him, his exposed lower face betraying a surprised expression. Drunk on the data pouring into my mind, I peered at a few components on the outside of his armor that I hadn't been able to see very clearly due to the angle. His mouth twitched as I circled the hero's body, craning my head this way and that. Eventually I stopped directly in front of the Protectorate leader, staring in awe at his helmet. Using my supervision, I was actually able to see inside the cameras in his visor, by looking through the lenses at just the right angle. There was the most fascinating--

​

"What exactly are you doing?" asked Armsmaster, his voice filled with equal parts exasperation and annoyance. I blushed, realizing that I had been walking around him and examining every inch of his body like a butcher looking at a cow at a livestock auction. As the connotations of what he might have thought I'd been doing filtered through my mind, my face went incandescent. I quickly brought my capillaries under control via my power, and then tried to explain why I'd been ogling Armsmaster. Err, Armsmasters technology. Honestly, realizing that he appeared to be pretty well built under his armour had been at most a secondary thought, barely worthy of note compared to the wonders of the technology he'd created.

​

"Your gear is amazing!" I gushed. I was trying to restrain myself, but his armor and weapon were really, incredibly awesome. They were easily the most impressive machines I'd seen since I gained my powers. I longed to strip the armor from his body, to see what was inside of it. Wait, that came out wrong. I wanted to see what was inside of the layers of armor. I definitely didn't want to see the handsome, muscular hero's nude body. Not one bit. Nope. No siree. I was blushing again when I next spoke, still trying to explain why I had been staring at him so intently. Maybe, as a Tinker, he would like it if I asked him about his work? Just from what I'd learned in the last few moments, I knew that he must have spent a truly staggering amount of time and effort building and maintaining his gear.

​

"How is your suit powered?" I asked him eagerly, shooting him a shy smile. "I don't see room for a reactor of any kind, but it's got to take an enormous amount of power to run all of the various components you've integrated… Some kind of super capacitor, or an ultra dense chemical fuel maybe?" I muttered the last part, poking at one of the gyroscopic stabilizers attached to his waist. He half-heartedly swatted at my hand, frowning when I pulled it back quick enough that he couldn't touch it. "And are those hyperspectral cameras in your visor? How did get them so tiny?"

​

"My technology is proprietary, and not something that I'm willing to share with someone whose name I don't even know," he barked at me. I could tell he was annoyed by the way his right eyebrow was twitching behind the mirrored surface of his visor. I guess my eyes operated in a slightly different way than those of normal humans now… While I could tell the Protectorate leader's visor was mirrored, I also had no problem seeing right through it. I fought down the wave of panic I felt when I realized that I knew what Armsmaster's face looked like. This was definitely not good, and I resolved to hide that particular ability; unmasking capes, whether you meant to or not, was a seriously Bad Thing.

​

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. My name is Taylor Hebert and I'm a cape, too. I think I'm a Thinker with Tinker leanings, with a tiny bit of Brute and Mover thrown in for fun. Ever since I triggered, I get this weird feeling when I come across a new piece of technology that I haven't seen before. I get this sort of 3D image in my head, and I can kind of understand how things work afterward, even if I haven't studied the science behind whatever I'm looking at. When I 'scan in' things that I do know something about, then the level of information and detail I get from it rises exponentially." The leader of the local Protectorate was looking at me with interest in his eyes now, and I hastened my explanation.

​

"Like, I can tell right off the bat that the outermost layer of your armor is made primarily out of carbon, probably some kind of nanotube mesh or something." I told him, figuring that it would be good to show him some of my capabilities. "And your Halberd is amazing! How did you even get a fire extinguisher in there, anyway? You must've had to come up with a different chemical mix, since there's no room for any of the standard fire suppressants. Unless… you don't have a compressed space in there, do you? Like, a pocket dimension, or something? That would be badass!"

​

Armsmaster stared at me for a moment, his eyebrow still twitching. I could see lines of backwards text on the inside of his visor, overlaying what he could see. Holy crap, he had a real live HUD in his visor! I had to stop myself from squealing in glee using my power. The text was mostly composed of a transcript of what I'd just said, as well as sensor reading that he'd taken of… my body. I frowned. Why was he scanning my body? I could see that he'd taken measurements of my heart rate, perspiration, eye movements, respiration, stance, and facial expression. He was darting back and forth between the readings and the words I'd said quickly; it looked like he was searching for correlations between the state of my physical body, and the… things… I'd said…

​

"Wow! That's really cool!" I blurted out, startling him. He looked back down at me, the text on his HUD shuffling itself off to the side. "You have some sort of a polygraph in there, don't you?" I asked. I guess it was OK that he was taking pictures and stuff, as long as he wasn't doing anything with it except trying to figure out if I was lying. Armsmaster's posture stiffened at my words.

​

"How did you know that?" he asked intensely, his eyebrow twitching away once more. This guy really needed to work on his tells. It's too bad I couldn't even let him know about it, or else I'd likely be arrested for exposing a government cape's civilian identity. Well, either that, or forced to sign a lot of paperwork. Neither of those possibilities sounded very fun to me, so I abstained from revealing that particular facet of my abilities.

​

"Well, most of your sensors are visible, and you were looking at me really intently while I was speaking, and then pausing afterward like you were going over what I was saying. You were also making micro-gestures with your neck and shoulder muscles, as well as your chin; I wouldn't be surprised if you have a heads up display in your helmet and you were looking at collected sensor information to try and tell if I was serious when I told you about my powers." I explained, not mentioning that I could actually read his HUD. Still, nothing that I'd just told him had been untrue, and even without being able to see direct proof of his lie detector I would have reached the same conclusion anyway... though it probably would have taken me a little longer to do so.

​

"You're actually telling the truth, aren't you?" he said, a note of disbelief in his voice. "You've got a pretty good power, there," he admitted begrudgingly. "Have you considered joining the Wards? You would receive top-notch training that would allow you to use your power to its fullest. And if you're capable of actually building advanced technology, then you would receive the standard Wards Tinker budget, as well as whatever workspace and tools that you require... within reason, of course. You would also receive help and mentoring from myself, as well as other Protectorate Tinkers."

​

The armor clad Hero's words had been a bit stilted, but I could tell that he actually believed in his cause, and that he really did want to recruit me. I imagined that getting the cape who killed the Siberian to join your organization would probably carry at least a little prestige, so there was that as well. At this point, though, they didn't even know if I had been honest about my claims or not. For all Armsmaster knew, I could be a crazy person, or simply a run of the mill murderer at this point. I guess the uncertainty of my situation, from his point of view, made Armsmaster's invitation seem more genuine to me, more appealing than it otherwise might have been received under ideal conditions.

​

"I think I'd like that," I answered shyly. "But I would need to talk to my parents first, to see what they think I should do." Where were my parents, anyway?

​

"I think joining the Wards is probably our best option, but of course we'll need to do some research first, before making any commitments," said my mom, who had been standing right behind me for God knows how long. I guess I had been pretty intent on checking out the other Tinker's hardware. I blushed a little; that had sounded wrong as well. Armsmaster was almost double my age, for crap's sake! I covered over my embarrassment by looking around, to see what had been happening while I'd been occupied.

​

Evidently I'd been really out of it, because a second and third PRT crew had joined the first, each arriving in their own personnel carrier. The new officers were wearing dress outfits instead of the goon squad battle armor the first responders on site had been equipped with. Studying them intently revealed that several of them had a sort of academic look, rather than the 'fighty' feel that the first troopers who had come onsite had possessed.

​

Half a dozen of the PRT guy from the second crew, tech probably, were going over the van I'd stolen with a fine toothed comb, while the third team appeared to have just finished up cordoning off the block I lived on. A couple of armored stormtroopers were walking over to onlookers, instructing my neighbors to head back inside their homes. Two of the armored PRT guys appeared to be confiscating something, possibly a smartphone, from Mrs. Johnson's grandson, a boy who lived a little ways down the block. A trio of older girls who I know didn't live on my street were evidently being told to leave the area. As I watched, three more armored officers, the ones guarding the cordon, waved yet another PRT vehicle past the blockade, allowing it come onto my street. The troopers near the van were beginning to erect a plastic frame around it, which I could tell would hold some sort of polymer sheeting. My power told me that it was a kind of tent, meant to block outside viewers from observing the van while they were investigating it. It figured that the PRT didn't want anyone to see the body. I guess I wouldn't either, in their place.

​

I turned back to Mom and Armsmaster, who were apparently chatting quietly about the Wards. My mother was asking questions about healthcare benefits and the rate of casualties in the field for the underaged members of the Protectorate. Armsmaster was answering her inquiries haltingly, as his eye-motion and gesture controlled HUD fed him information over some kind of integrated wireless Internet or network connection. My dad was standing in the driveway, talking to a trio of unarmored PRT agents. He was waving his hands around emphatically, and I could tell that he had somehow gotten on the subject of his work rather than the situation at hand; the only time I saw him gesture like that was when he was talking about things related to his job. I fought down a small surge of embarrassment. Parents, ugh!

​

I noticed that a youngish looking woman in a PRT uniform was walking in my direction. I turned to stare at her, and the woman flashed me a small smile. She had just exited the fourth APC that had appeared, though this one was a bit lighter on the armor and had a lot more seating than the last few. At her side was an older gentleman with silver hair and a friendly looking face; he was looking around my yard with interest on his face, a particular gleam in his intelligent looking eyes. Unlike the others, he was clearly not a part of the Parahuman Response Team; he had on a black suit with a slim black tie instead of a military looking uniform like all the others did, including his companion. I also noticed a pair of faint, easily missed bulges under his suit jacket and the bottom of his pants leg; concealed weapons, likely handguns.

​

I guessed that the suited man must be with some form of law enforcement than the PRT. As I looked the two of them over, the unlikely pair reached where I had been standing. I studied the officer intently as she introduced herself to me… something felt off about her smile according to my power. My mother broke off her conversation with Armsmaster, and came over to stand at my side. She was clearly unwilling to let me speak with any of these people alone, which I was glad of.

​

"Hello, I'm Agent Sheila Leek with the PRT." She held out her hand and I shook it, glad for the courtesy; many adults didn't treat teenagers like they were real people. I hated it when they did that. Despite her oddness of her smile, she was off to a good start.

​

"I'm Taylor Hebert." I told her, as if she didn't already know who I was. Leek shook Mom's hand as well, before gesturing to the man who had been standing next to her silently. The gentleman shot me a smile as he was introduced.

​

"This is my colleague, Special Agent Samson Cole of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We would like to ask you some questions about the incident that you were involved in, so that we can get an idea of the events leading up to your return home from summer camp." I nodded. Mom gestured toward the house.

​

"Why don't we go inside? Talking while standing out here wouldn't exactly be comfortable." The agents nodded, and followed us to the house.

​

Armsmaster's metal clad form tromped away silently, heading toward the Siberian's van. I was getting an idea that he wasn't exactly sociable; he didn't seem that accustomed to basic courtesies like introductions and goodbyes. Once we were all inside and seated, mom made the offer of drinks and snacks; the agents politely declined. I grabbed a Coke from the fridge, and a bran muffin that I saw lying on the counter. I had eaten a pair of thick bologna sandwiches earlier, before the PRT had arrived, but I was still incredibly hungry. Ravenous, in fact, to the point that I had to use my power to control it. I was starting to get thirsty again as well, hence the soda. Hopefully this snack would hold me over until I could get another real meal.

​

Leek and Cole asked me if I minded being recorded; mom nodded yes, so I told them to go ahead. They had to restart the tiny digital recorder they were using when I stared at it blankly for a moment or two, enthralled as elements of its design partially wrote themselves into my brainspace. I told the two officers my entire story from start to finish, omitting nothing. I described faces, events, and dialog perfectly, giving extremely accurate answers to the questions that they asked me. I provided them with the everything from the size of Jack Slash's shoes (US Men's 11) to the license plate number of the woman I'd killed to protect. I had even given them the serial number stamped on the swiss army knife I'd used to kill the Siberian's controller.

​

The two agents occasionally looked back and forth between each other with bafflement or incredulity as I spoke. I could tell that they didn't really believe that I had perfect recall... at least not at first. After I'd answered the same obscure, incredibly detailed question five or six times with the exact same answer, however, I could see that they began to take my claim of having an eidetic memory a little more seriously.

​

After that the hard questions started coming; the type of Tinkertech attachments Mannequin had been using to kill the children fleeing the Great Hall… the number of stripes on the front of the Siberian's body… the location of Jack Slash's facial mole. I could tell they were trying to get me to slip up, that they didn't actually believe that I'd actually gone through the events that I'd told them about... I wasn't too upset with them; it was a fairly unbelievable series of events. Still, I would have expected better, considering that their boss had been willing to extend me the benefit of the doubt. A niggling thought began worming itself through my mind… 'Unless Piggot doesn't actually believe you…' my traitorous brain whispered.

​

Finally, I grew annoyed, refusing to answer any more of their stupid questions. I didn't know why they asked me to recount the events that took place in the Great Hall during my first night at camp for the fifteenth time, but I wasn't having any more of it. The intense memories that assaulted me each time were overwhelming, forcing me to relive the horrendous incident wholesale every time they asked about it. The scene always replayed in my head as if it was the first time it happened, opening up the mental wounds that I'd been trying to keep closed since I'd actually been there. I wasn't about to go through that any more. Not without a good reason, at least.

​

Instead, I asked the agents for a sketch pad, knowing from shows like 'CSI' that law enforcement used them occasionally. One of the PRT lab guys working out in the Siberian's van had a few extra sketch pads in his kit, and he kindly gave me one, along with a small case of art pencils and charcoals. I proceeded to draw a still of the scene they had asked me to describe, my hand blurring as I transferred my memory to the blank page in front of me. Hopefully with this the pair of jumped up cops would stop asking me the same stupid crap over and over again, and maybe move on to talking to me about something a little more useful.

​

The memory I used for my drawing was of the Great Hall, during the encounter that led to Jack Slash's death. I picked the moment just after he'd been hit by the chair, when he was on the ground out cold. I drew Carlos standing triumphant over the madman's body, which lay collapsed to the floor. Off to the side, the incredible look of shock on Bonesaw's face warred with complete and utter apathy on Mimi's. I couldn't help but shed a few tears when I added in Genevieve's body. On the dining room table, just behind Jack and Carlos, sat the chubby girl's severed head. Her pretty face, still contorted in terror, was partially obstructed from view due to the angle it had been resting at.

​

I clutched the sketchpad tightly until I was completely finished, wishing the entire time that I had a superior mean of sharing what I had witnessed. Pencil was just so limited; I couldn't add any of the really small details, which made me feel like I was doing a subrate job. Finally, after five minutes of drawing and shading with the charcoals, I had done all I could. I tossed the pad onto the table in disgust, just before breaking down into a series of light sobs as control over my physiological responses lapsed.

​

Mom wrapped her left arm around my shoulders, holding me close until I managed to get my emotions under control once again. Without the power to control my body the interrogation would have been impossible. Had been a normal girl, I suspect it would have taken me days to get to the point where I would have been able to talk about what happened to me at all, even to my parents. I dried my eyes before looking up to see what Leek and Cole had made of my drawing.

​

They were upset, it seemed. The two agents were pale, and Sheila Leek's hand was trembling a little. Going pale was quite a feat for the PRT woman, as she was a very dark skinned black woman… she must have been incredibly shocked. I frowned; shouldn't someone like her, who was paid to deal with parahuman crime on a daily basis, be practically immune to stuff like this by now? I looked at the other agent, wondering if he would turn out to be just as squeamish.

​

Samson Cole's formerly friendly expression had transformed into one of great sadness. As I watched, he ran his thumb over my rendition of Genevieve's partially visible face, his frown deepening as he did so. Mom caught a glimpse of the picture, and I could see her fighting down panic and nausea at the awful tableau depicted there in black and white. Finally, Cole closed the pad and set it down on the coffee table.

​

"Jesus Christ, Ms. Hebert," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "I'm sorry, I just…" he looked at Leek, who was avoiding his gaze, her eyes locked on the closed pad. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his prominent nose. "I'm going to be straight with you. We didn't think that you were telling us the truth, or at least not the whole truth. Director Piggot," he said, spitting the name out like it tasted bad, "told Agent Leek here that she thought you were lying outright about the presence of the Slaughterhouse Nine, possibly trying to cover up a crime. That you were a new Thinker who was trying to pull one over on the PRT for some reason. She asked us to try and get the 'real story out' of you." He sighed, rubbing his face.

​

"As you know, I'm not a member of the PRT. My job involves tracking the movements of people like the Nine; groups, parahuman or otherwise, who habitually commit felonies while traveling nomadically across state lines. I was sent here to represent the Bureau's interests in this investigation, in the event it actually did involve the Slaughterhouse Nine."

​

He gave me a serious look. "I believe that you're telling the truth," he said. "I have seen both Jack Slash and Burnscar in person, and I've studied pictures and video of Bonesaw extensively." He shuddered. "I've seen that exact expression on Burnscar's face before, right before she started barbecuing my teammates. I had a front-row seat when that bored, apathetic look turned into unholy glee, just before everything in sight turned into fire." He looked over at Leek, who had picked up the pad again. She was staring at my drawing intently; had she been a pyrokinetic, I have not doubt that the inconvenient picture would already be alight. "I'll never forget that day," finished Agent Cole, a far off look in his eyes.

​

Cole turned his gaze to Leek, an expectant look on his face. Leek frowned at him, her expression unreadable; suddenly, though, she stood up and jogged out of the room. I guess that I didn't quite understand everything that was happening here, despite the shortcuts my power afforded me… or maybe I did, and I just didn't want to believe that the PRT would be that shortsighted, that stupid. I clenched my fists as when my power informed me that yes, Piggot had been that stupid. I had just two more questions that I needed to ask. I stared at Cole, my face completely serious. My fists were clenched so hard that my hands ached.

​

"Piggot didn't actually send a Protectorate team to Camp Wanantakka, did she?" My voice was like ice.

​

"No." he said, a waver in his voice. "No, she did not. She had her Deputy Director call the office at your summer camp. When the head councilor answered, she assured Deputy Director Rennick that everything was alright, and that there had been no incidents. When they asked about you, the Deputy Director was told that you had never arrived at camp. After that, Piggot was convinced that you were lying."

​

Oh, no. No no, no! Carlos... I started to shake, rage and despair fighting for the top spot on my current list of overwhelming emotions. Before anything could come of it, however, I pushed it all down with my powers, restoring my body to a calm state. The suppressed emotions shrieked at me, but I ignored them completely. Cole looked down at the pad in his hands, once again staring at my drawing. He wasn't saying anything, anymore. I could practically feel the shame radiating off of his body.

​

"I take it Leek is going to tell her boss that she just royally fucked up," said Mom, her voice filled with anger. It's strange; before tonight, I'd heard her curse maybe a dozen times in my whole life, but since I'd come home she'd been dropping swears like they were going out of style. My mother continued, her voice rising in pitch, but not volume.

​

"Because she was too lazy and suspicious to actually do her job, and actually fucking check what was going on, she just let the most dangerous group of serial killers in the country get away clean." she paused, her face becoming horrified as she realized the worst part of it. "The children! Oh, God, the Slaughterhouse probably killed all of the children who were still alive when they left the camp!" Mom was silent for a moment. I could see her fighting back tears.
"Why aren't you doing anything?" she cried, jumping to her feet.

​

Samson Cole looked tired. "I just did. As we speak, Agent Leek is informing Piggot of her extremely bad lapse of judgement. In just a few minutes, there will be boots on the ground at the campground. You're right, though… at this point it probably won't do any good."

​

Mom was pacing back and forth, looking frantic, "But the kids! The children! My God, if it was someone other than my daughter who managed to escape, then Taylor might still be there." My mother's eyes were wild, like a trapped animal trying to escape its cage. She paced incessantly. I understood what was happening, why she was acting this was, due to something my father had told me years ago.

​

Mom had taught grade school, once upon a time. She'd had to go back to university so that she could get the credentials necessary to teach college after after an incident with one of her third graders, way back when I'd been a toddler. Mom had seen the mother of one of her students slap the little boy's face so hard that he'd fallen over backward and hit his head on the pavement, while the parent had been picking up her son after school.

​

Evidently Mom had sprinted from her classroom, where she'd been when she saw the abuse take place, and had tackled the woman to the ground in a fit of rage. It had taken three burly men to pull mom off of the shrieking parent. My mother had broken the woman's arm in three places when she tackled her, and her fingernails had torn the left side of the abusive parent's face to shreds. Mom adored kids, you see... maybe a little too much. Seeing a child get hurt by an adult would either send her into a blind rage, if she could do something about it, or cause her to burst into tears. It happened every time, though the incident Dad had recounted was easily the worst.

​

Mom looked like she was ready to kill someone. Cole averted his eyes as the frightfully intense look of rage and despair on my mother's face grew and grew, until she barely resembled the kind woman I'd known all my life. I stood up from the couch to comfort her, tears beginning to fall from my eyes when my mother didn't even notice my presence as I walked up to her.

​

Out of the blue, she started running toward the front door, mumbling something incoherent. Terrible thoughts filled my mind… Nightmare scenarios of might happen to my mom if a bunch of jumpy law enforcement officers saw her running around frantically and acting crazy. I couldn't, wouldn't let anything happen to her. I sprinted toward my mother, Samson Cole watching us with wide eyes, moving quickly to catch up to the panicking woman. Thank God for my enhanced speed. I managed to catch up to her before she could open the front door. I reached out and grabbed her shoulder, trying to stop Mom from turning the handle and getting outside.

​

When she felt me touch her, Mom screamed. Suddenly, the world shifted, and I was no longer in my house. Instead, I appeared to be floating in a black void.

​

'I'm in space,' I realized. It wasn't like the view of space on seen on television or the Internet, though; this space was filled by millions, billions of strange objects... maybe even more than that. They looked like enormous pieces of crystal, or glittering gemstones. Each of the objects was enormous, ranging from the size of skyscrapers to nearly as large as a continent.

​

Far in the distance, I saw two enormous creatures orbiting each other, both of them made up of quadrillions of the giant crystals. The gemstones were fragments of the creatures, I realized, just as the cells in my body were fragments of me.

​

One of the fragments was growing closer, the huge fractal object glowing an incandescent blue as it moved through the ether under its own power. I could tell using my power that it wasn't moving toward me, but rather toward a point which was very close to where I hovered in the void. I looked around, trying to find its destination… there! I zoomed in with my superhuman vision, and was terrified to see my mom floating alone in space, a horrified look on her face as the continent sized object approached her at a significant fraction of light speed.

​

"MOM!" I cried, my voice somehow reverberating through the airless void.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 6: A Rose, by any Other Name​

The fragment of the large creature hit my mother, and the world turned white. I felt the sensation of movement, though I couldn't see, or hear, or taste; all of my senses were were gone. Almost as soon as I realized they were gone, my senses suddenly returned amidst a jarring blur of movement and sensation. I realized immediately that I was falling. I flailed, struggling to turn around so that I could see what was going on, but for some reason I could barely make my body move.

Turning my head a little revealed that my arms and legs were tangled together with my mother's, and we were both falling toward the ground from midair. A glance at the ground told me that we were at least a dozen feet up, and that we definitely weren't at home any longer. In the split-second I had before we landed, I placed my body between my mother's and the ground; I suspected that my durability was a little greater than it had been before my trigger, and I knew that I healed really fast; to the best of my knowledge my mom had neither of those advantages.

I felt a strong impact, and the wind was driven from my lungs when my back collided with a warm, pliant mound of something undefinable. Whatever it was that I had landed on had broken my fall without breaking me. Poling my body revealed that the thing I'd landed on was sufficiently soft that all I had suffered were some bumps and bruises, nothing too serious. Mom had somehow become disentangled from me between our arrival in the air and our landing; a quick look in her direction showed that and she hadn't gotten off as lightly as I had. Her head and upper body had landed on the same thing that had broken my fall, her left foot and right leg had hit the grassy ground hard.

She was moaning in pain as I scrambled off of the odd thing that had saved my life. My brain and senses were still adjusting to the riotous variety of sensations and transitions that had happened in the last moment, since I'd tried to stop my mom from inadvertently suicide by cop. The fragments of the giant creatures in space, arriving in mid air, the fall; even with my bullshit Thinker powers and super senses, it took me a few seconds to pull myself back together. I used the time it took to climb off of the thing I'd landed on to get my mind and powers in order.

Once I'd climbed down, I took a better look at the pillow-thing that had saved my life. I was instantly sorry that I had done so; I had to fight down my gorge just to look at it. It wasn't a pillow, or mattress, or anything else like that; it was one of Bonesaw's creations. I stared at the slightly undulating pile of twisted male and female torsos, belly buttons and breasts visible across its entire surface. It was rooted to the ground by dozens of legs, which had been planted in the earth like the roots of a plant. I helped my mother down, wincing as she cried out in pain when I accidentally bumped her broken leg against the torso tree.

I looked around, taking in my surroundings. I finally realized where we were; my mother and I had somehow been transported back to Camp Wanantakka. We were just outside the Great Hall, which looked as if it had been gutted by an intense fire. I took in the ruined, burnt down structure and the mostly intact landscape around it, my power suppressing my body's desire to go into shock at being back here. I spotted two more of Bonesaw's creatures. The wretched, still living abominations were similar to the torso tree, but made up of different body parts. One of them was made up of pelvises, necks and hands, and the third was composed of unidentifiable stalks of flesh which supported human heads. The poor bastards, which were still alive, looked like they were moaning and crying piteously, but no sounds emerged from their mouths. To a one their expressions were miserable… most of them appeared to be experiencing either intense fear or unadulterated loathing, though a few were simple staring ahead with glassy, unseeing eyes.

The three creatures had been built out of perhaps two dozen people, all of them teenagers. An inventory revealed that Carlos was not among them. I picked up my mother gingerly, trying to avoid further injuring her. I found it much easier than I had expected to carry her; it wasn't quite a walk in the park, but walking with her lying in my arms bridal style was about as difficult as carrying my fully-loaded backpack in my outstretched arms had been before I'd become a cape.

Mom was 5'9 and around 120lbs; I figured my backpack, loaded down with books and school supplies, had been perhaps 40 lbs. That meant I could comfortably lift and carry roughly three times more than I had been able to previously. I'd noticed earlier that moving the body of the Siberian Master had been a little too easy, but I'd thought it was because I was under the influence of adrenaline at the time... Evidently my physical enhancements were more extensive than I'd first thought. I'd have to do some testing, once I wasn't under the eminent threat of physical danger.

I walked my mother and I over to a gazebo that was mostly intact, laying her down on its wooden floor carefully. Mom hissed as the leg that was the most injured gently touched the ground. Her leg didn't have a compound fracture, but I was fairly certain that it was broken. I propped her up against the somewhat intact wooden siding on the inside of the gazebo so that she didn't have lay flat on her back. I needed some time to think, to figure out what had just happened. I had some theories, but if I we were going to survive this then I needed more information... and I needed it fast. Now that Mom was secure for the moment, I engaged my Thinker power at its highest level, rapidly sorting through the events of the last few minutes.

"Mom, listen to me." She turned her head to look at me, some of the glazed look in her eyes leaving her. I could tell that she was in a lot of pain... I didn't know how lucid she was; enough, I hoped. "We're at my summer camp. I think that you triggered back at home, when you freaked out. I'm almost positive that you somehow teleported us here." Her face was a mask of shock as she looked at me, her pupils pinpricks. "We need to figure out if you can use your power to get us back home." The dumfounded expression was beginning to disappear, and I could see her pupils returning to a reasonable size. She looked around us, not appearing to see anything. I frowned; why could she see?

Wincing, I gently slapped my palm against my face at my mistake. It was night right now, almost midnight, and the moon wasn't full enough to see by. I could see in the dark now, and she couldn't. It was really dark outside; I doubted she could make out more than a rough outline of my form at best. "I know it's dark mom, but don't worry about someone sneaking up on us; I can see in the dark perfectly now." I tried to use my words to reassure her.

"Taylor... honey… what happened?" she asked me, her voice wavering. I grabbed my mom's hand, holding it firmly.

"Mom, I'm about 90% certain that you triggered; you're a cape now, just like I am. I think you're some kind of teleporter." I didn't mention our little sojourn into space; I doubt that we were actually there at all… I'd run it through my mind several times, and I figured the scene had been some kind of metaphorical thing, some kind of side effect of getting powers that was either uncommon, or that no one talked about. Regardless of what it had been, it simply didn't matter right now. If I survived the night I'd have all the time in the world to figure it out.

"I… teleported us here? To Camp Wanantakka?" she asked, her voice firmer now. "I remember being so sad… so angry… I needed to get out of there, to leave, to go somewhere so that I could help. All of those poor children…" she sniffed.

"Yeah, I think you did. When we got here, we were about fifteen or twenty feet in the air… I didn't get a good enough look to figure out our exact height. I angled us so that we fell on a, uh, bush. I tried to shield you, since I'm a little tougher now that I have powers, but your left leg and right foot both hit the ground pretty hard. Don't try to get up, or to walk… I'm pretty sure they're broken in multiple places." I explained, grimacing. Mom was doing her best to bear with the pain, but I could tell that she was both shocked by her trigger, and also in a huge amount of pain. I'd need to get us moving soon… If the bad guys were still hanging around they would be much more likely to find us if we stayed in one spot for too long.

"I want to try helping you to your feet in a moment, and then I want you to try teleporting us back home." I told my mother, hoping that she'd be able to use her powers instinctively. It was my understanding that most parahumans had some kind of instincts that came with their powers. Mine had certainly been easy enough to use.

"Alright," she replied weakly. I slipped my arms underneath Mom's body while crouched down, and then used my legs to rise smoothly to my feet, pulling Mom up with me. She rose easily alongside me as I held her. I grinned; this 'being strong' thing was pretty handy, all things considered. Mom held back a moan of pain when her leg was jostled slightly, causing me to wince.

"Mom, do you think you can teleport us home now? There were a lot of people in our house, and there may be even more after we pulled off a disappearing act. Try teleporting us a foot above your bed, so that we don't… overlap anyone or anything. I'm not sure what would happen if we did... but I don't think it would be good." Emma had always told me that I had a gift for understatement.

"OK, sweetheart... I'm going to try taking us home now." Her voice was stronger now, filled with conviction. My mood lifted again, as Mom returned to some semblance of her normal self . "I'm so sorry for getting us into this mess, baby. I'm sorry that your father and I sent you to this terrible camp in the first place." She sniffed softly. I could see that she was doing her best to hold back tears. I squeezed my mother's shoulder gently.

"It's OK, mom. You didn't know. Let's just go home." There was nothing more than that to be said. This was not the time, and certainly not the place for either a pity party, or some kind of touching mother-daughter bonding moment.

Mom concentrated for a moment; her brow furrowed as she tried to get a handle on her powers. She wiggled a bit in my arms, trying different things, mental and physical, to jumpstart her power. Something changed, and a beatific smile spread across my mother's face. Had she figured out how to use her power? For no apparent reason, Mom's body began dissolving into light. It was the same warm, blue glow of the crystalline shard that had impacted her her in the dream we had shared when she triggered. I held in my fear and uncertainty, trusting that this was a normal part of her parahuman ability. I studied her glowing form for a moment. Her transformation was starting to make sense, now. My power started connected the dots, and I became aware that the crystal we'd seen in the dream was the source of her powers.

Even though the glowing shard was actually located elsewhere in the physical universe, Mom appeared to have some kind of ethereal connection to it. It looked like her link to the glowing blue shard was allowing her to pull forth the energy she used to teleport. I was equally sure that my powers were the result of a similar fragment, which provided me with whatever energy or computational power I needed to use them effectively. Those giant, serpentine creatures… they were where powers came from. Something about looking at the shards pinged my power, giving me the impression that they were some form of technology that I might be able to study and understand. I decided to use my memories of them to study that later… Right now, I was busy, apparently turning into blue light alongside my mother.

We were both enveloped in light in less than ten seconds, first Mom, and then me. Once were were surrounded by the power, we actually became the light. I felt my body dissolve, as bits and pieces of the matter I'd been composed of were replaced with an equal amount of an unknown type of energy. It was an extremely quick process, but I was able to somehow slow my perception, allowing me to experience the transformation more fully with my senses and power. It didn't hurt or feel uncomfortable, and my continuity of consciousness was preserved throughout the experience. I was unharmed, and still me… not some energy-based copy. I assumed my mother's transformation was at least as easy; she was the one controlling it, after all. When 9.64 seconds had passed, we had both been completely changed into beings of pure energy. I felt my feet leave the ground involuntarily, causing mom and me to hover a few inches above the floor.

I felt a tugging sensation, and before I could make sense of what was happening, we were elsewhere. I quick look revealed that we were hovering above my Mom and Dad's bed, floating in the air. My mother steered our weightless bodies toward the carpeted floor, until we settled down. The girl-shaped being of light holding the woman-shaped being of light were motionless for a moment as Mom concentrated.

The light quickly receded, changing the both of us back into creatures of mere flesh and blood once more. The reverse process had been far quicker than our initial transformation, at less than half a second from start to stop. I suspected that it was because Mom had used her powers tentatively at first while she was getting a feel for them. I had a feeling that once she was more comfortable with the process of changing back and forth between her normal and altered forms, she would be able to switch to light and back almost instantly.

Mom was smiling when her face reappeared, and I smiled right back at her. Her power was amazing! Doubly so, when I saw that the damage to her legs was simply gone, as if it had never happened in the first place. My own aches and pains were also absent; it appeared that she, and anyone who transformed alongside her, were somehow healed in the process. I was so totally jelly! Mom began to laugh uncontrollably, rolling out of my arms and falling on her bed as she let out all of her pent up emotions in an enormous outpouring of levity. I giggled as well, the relief at not being trapped back in that hellhole with a cripple parent sweet beyond imagining.

I fell backward onto the bed, laughter giving way to tears when I remembered the three flesh trees, the creatures that had been cobbled together from over two dozen terrified children. They were still alive, I thought… There's still a chance. I looked at my mother, who had gone silent. I imagined her thoughts were moving in a similar direction as my own. She was staring upward, looking at the textured white ceiling while lying completely still. She slowly got up, and then walked around the side of the bed until she was standing right next to me. Annette Rose Hebert looked at me oddly, her face filled with melancholy.

"Sweetheart, now that I know how to teleport back and forth, I have to go back to look for the survivors. I don't know if there are any children left alive, but if there are, they're probably terrified and in pain. I need to find them," she said vehemently. I looked at her oddly; it was like she thought I'd disagree with her decision or something. I nodded, causing her to look at me oddly.

"I know that we need to go back, Mom." I said slowly, "It was a different story when you were injured, but now that you're OK, we need to get back there as soon as we can." I looked at her with haunted eyes; this next part was going to be difficult. "Mom, we didn't land on a bush… We landed on one of Bonesaw's projects… she cobbled together the torsos and legs of at least two dozen kids, and then planted it in the ground like a tree." Her mouth opened in shock at my words, and I could tell that my mom was about to lose her shit.

"Mom, please. We can't help them unless you calm down," I said soothingly, stroking her arm. She managed to pull herself out of it, though she still appeared to be quite shaken.

"Honey, how could we possibly help them?" Her voice was small and desperate when she asked her question, as if she were the child, and I the adult.

"There were two more things near the first, made out of the rest of the body parts of the people Bonesaw made them out of. All of them were out in the open, right next to each other. One of the creatures had all of their heads… they were looking around and crying, and I think some of them were trying to talk to each other. They're still alive… and if I'm right, you have a really good healing power. I understand how your power works, Mom… at least somewhat. I was able to put it together using my power while you were teleporting us back home." Mom started at me in rapt attention, the beginnings of hope stirring in her features.

"How does it work, Taylor?" she asked me, her tone deadly serious.

"Your power transforms matter to energy in order to teleport people and objects, and then energy to matter once you've teleported… It pulls whatever extra energy it needs from elsewhere. I don't know how the power is generated or how much is stored, if it has some kind of battery, but I get the idea that your capacity for drawing energy is beyond enormous." She looked at me blankly, so I continued to explain.

"Your shirt had a hole in it, right there," I pointed, "and now it's gone. I seriously doubt you even noticed it, but your power fixed the damage." She looked thoughtful. "I'm feeling really good right now, Mom, better than ever. Before you transported me I had muscle aches and my belly hurt from eating nothing but blackberries for two days… and now I'm completely healed. Your power automatically fixes anything that gets turned into energy and then transported… I think your power has some component that scans people and objects for damage after transport, and then uses energy to fix any problems that crop up during the teleport. Only the sensitivity of whatever detects the accrued damage is either broken, or cranked up to eleven… It doesn't just fix damage from the teleportation process itself, it fixes all damage!"

Mom eyes were filled with shock, her mouth hanging wide open. "Holy shit." she said, summing up what I had told her nicely.

"If you can turn all three of Bonesaw's monsters into energy, and then somehow teleport them elsewhere, all at the same time…" I trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

"Then when we arrive, they should all be back to normal!" she exclaimed. "Taylor, honey... your power is amazing!" she exclaimed, wrapping me up in a tight hug. I giggled.

"No Mom, your power is the awesome one. Freaking blind intercity teleportation and full, automatic healing and repair… that is total bullshit." I mock-griped, making her chuckle.

"If you're right, we need to get back there and give your idea a try before the Protectorate arrives… they might do something regrettable if they think there's no way to help those poor kids. Are you ready to leave now, sweetheart?" Mom asked, looking worried. I was extremely glad that she hadn't tried to argue that I shouldn't come because I was a kid, or something stupid like that. I guess my mom understood that she needed me. While time was of the essence, I didn't want to rush back blindly, without at least a little bit of preparation.

"Mom, do you or dad have any weapons in here? If we run into trouble, then I'll be able to defend us much better if I'm armed. We could also use a flashlight, so you can actually see." Honestly, when it came down to it, I couldn't really hit much harder than a grown man unless I had the advantage of some kind of force multiplier. Mom looked pensive for a moment before nodding once sharply.

"Yeah… I think I have something that'll work. Just give me a minute, sweetie." She walked over to Dad's side of the bed, and rummaged through his nightstand for a moment. She shoved a couple of items into her pocket before walking back to the other side of the room where I was waiting for her. While mom was looking around, I'd grabbed a pair of bandanas out dad's dresser. He liked to tie a bandana around his head when he did physical labor, to keep his face sweat free. I tied the bright yellow square cloth I picked up over the lower half of my face, covering everything from the nose down. I handed the other bandana, this one neon green, to mom, who fixed hers in place the same way I had.

"Here you go, honey. Please…" she looked at me imploringly, "please be careful with them." Mom surprised me by pulling a gun out of her pocket; some type of snub nose revolver. I flicked open the cylinder one-handed, as I'd seen cowboys do on several movies and TV shows in the past. I counted the chambers in the cylinder; there were six of them, and each of them was loaded with a cartridge. Mom's other pocket contained a nearly full box of ammunition for the gun, which I placed in the left pocket of my jeans. I don't know how I'd missed it up til now, but she'd been carrying had a huge fixed blade knife in her left hand. I searched my infallible memory, trying to remember what type of knife it was; it was a 'Bowie knife', I recalled.

I studied the weapon as Mom reluctantly passed it over. The blade alone was a hair over fourteen inches long. With the crossguard, handle, and pommel included, it was nearly two feet of well-honed death. A part of me that I never knew existed before that moment felt an intense burst of pleasure at the sight and feel of the weapon, causing me to smile ferally as I strapped the knife's thick leather sheathe to my hip. While I'd been examining the knife, Mom was rummaging through the junk drawer in her ensuite bathroom. She came back in with a old-fashioned flashlight, the kind with an incandescent bulb. She turned it on and off a few times to make sure it worked, and then placed it in the pocket of her sweatpants. I nodded to my mom to let her know I was ready, and then swept her up into a bridal carry again. She let out a tiny yelp, and I strained my ears to see if we had been detected; when I didn't hear anyone rushing up the stairs, I figured we were safe. I knew that if the Protectorate learned we were back something terrible would happen. At the very least, we would be prevented from returning to Camp Wanantakka.

This time, it took Mom less than a second to convert the both of us into blue light. Once again, we lifted off the ground and hovered in the air. I deduced that this was a limitation of her power; we had to be under the effects of her flight or levitation before the teleportation component would work. Without any sound at all, we were gone. This time, when we arrived Mom didn't accidentally turn off her power as she'd done our first trip, just after she'd triggered.

'Was that only fifteen minutes ago?' I wondered. It felt like it had been hours since I'd been talking to the bitch Leek. We appeared at the same place as before; we hovered around fifteen feet in the air, directly above the torso creature. Somehow manipulating her energy state, Mom moved us through the air slowly so that we could get a good view of the ground below us. Even though I was currently composed of energy, I was to see somehow, and even use my enhanced senses. That didn't make much sense, but I guess powers were weird. Was some part of my mother's power somehow emulating our normal senses? If so, could it be exploited in some manner, to grant Mom or I better senses? My thoughts spun round and round as Mom zipped through the air quickly, studying the three flesh things with her flashlight. A moment later she landing near the creature that contained all the heads.

Mom switched off her power, and we resumed forms of flesh. I noticed that the two small dots of rust that had previously marred the revolver's finish were gone now, and the leather of the knife's sheath was newer looking and more supple. Mom switched on the flashlight, and several of the heads on Bonesaw's monstrosity blinked, their eyes staring at us in surprise. A few of them tried to talk, but no sound emerged when they opened their mouths. One of female heads looked at me with a forlorn expression, her eyes watering as if she was trying to cry, but unable to. Looking at her closely, I was shocked to realized the head belonged to Candy, the counselor for the cabin I'd been assigned. I'd thought all of the people attached to the flesh creature were young teens like me, but evidently I'd missed a few when I looked at it earlier. I fought down tears at the hopeless look on the older teen's face; crying wouldn't help me, and it certainly wouldn't help these poor bastards.

"I know you're scared, but we're going to do our best to help all of you." I said, looking back and forth between the doubtful eyes of people who'd had their lives toyed with, and nearly ended, by a psychotic child with too much power and too few morals. "My… partner here is a healer, and she is going to try and fix you all up. Her healing power works by teleporting, so we're going to try to teleport all of you at once. Hopefully that will unseperate you and fix your bodies up." A few of heads looked nervous, so I did my best to reassure them.

"If everything goes as expected, then you'll be in Brockton Bay, the city we're based out of... and back to normal. If it doesn't go as expected, then you'll no worse off than you are now, and you'll have escaped this terrible place. Brockton Bay also has a new healer... a cape called Panacea who has never failed to heal any of her patients. If we can't help you, then I swear that I'll do everything in my power to convince her to help each and every one of you, even if I have to follow her around for a week." A few of the heads were crying silently as I finished speaking, and one of the boys was mouthing the words "Thank you" over and over. Candy looked hopeful. I really, really hoped that Mom's power could help them.

"Let's get started, Mo..ntague." Shit, I had nearly slipped up there and called her "Mom"; only my insane thinking speed and reflexes had allowed me to fix my mistake by coming up with a plausible sounding cape name. Mom eyebrows raised in surprise, and I elbowed her in the side lightly. Man, lower face masks sure made it hard to send covert signals using facial expressions.

"I'm ready to go when you are, 'Capulet'." she replied seamlessly, a smile in her voice. I rolled my eyes; trust an English teacher to get on board with Shakespearean names. I guess I didn't need to worry about picking a cape name now.

I picked up Mom again, and we walked over to the flesh monster. I didn't know how far the 'repair' component of her power could compensate for a lack of mass, so ideally we would need to teleport all three of the abominations at the same time. I hoped my mother's power was flexible enough to actually do that. I whispered my thoughts into her ear as we approached the creature that contained the teenagers' heads, giving Mom my power-assisted ideas on how to transport all three of the conglomerates at once. Smiling, Mom successfully turned just her arm into energy, and then reached out to grab the compound organism just below one of the surprised looking faces. Mom held onto it using a bony protrusion on the side of the creature, just below one of the heads. In less than a second, the entire thing was converted into blue light.

She was able to lift the transformed abomination up above her head easily, and then carry it with a single hand. After a few seconds of observation, I realized that people and objects had no mass or inertia while transformed into energy. I marveled at mom's power; if she could do this much with it right off the bat, then it was both versatile and powerful… incredibly so, in fact.

The only cape that I could think of with a similar power to Mom's was Legend, who could turn himself into energy, fly, and heal himself, just like Mom could. He could also shoot an incredible variety of lasers, with a seemingly unlimited array of special effects. Mom couldn't do that, as far as I knew, but Legend couldn't teleport, either. When you find yourself comparing your mother to a member of the Triumvirate, then you know something has gone terribly right. I really looked forward to training with her after this crisis, to find out the limits of her power.

We carried the transformed head-monster over to the torso tree, which Mom picked up with her other hand after converting it to energy as well. I watched Mom stare at me intently, and suddenly my left hand had turned to energy. She handed me the newly transformed flesh monster, and we I walked us over to the last one. It was quickly transformed and lifted up as well. I could see a intense look of concentration on my mother's face, like she was trying to do calculus in her head. It appeared there was some kind of mental component to her power, or that a degree of concentration was needed to use it in this way. I knew that we would need to finish this up as quickly as possible.

"Mom, when we're fully transformed I want you to hold onto all three of the creatures at once, so that they're all touching one another," I told her. She nodded, and then we were blue light. It took a little juggling, but shortly my mother had all three of the giant abomination in her arms, the three of them all in contact with each other. Mom lifted a few inches off of the ground, and then we were gone.

We snapped into existence a few feet above the front lawn of Brockton Bay General Hospital, hovering just under five feet above ground level. Mom was holding a huge, amorphous blob of energy, which looked nothing like the flesh monsters' energy forms had before we teleported.

Worried that something had gone incredibly wrong, Mom lowered the indistinct shape in her arms until it was less than an inch above the grass. I watched as she cut the power to the both of us, as well as the misshapen ball she'd been carrying. A rush of displaced air erupted around us as the air shot out, being displaced by the combined mass that had been pure energy picoseconds before. I closed my eyes against the short, incredibly intense burst of wind.

When I opened my eyes, mom and I were flesh again... and two dozen naked teenagers were lying to the ground, creating an incredibly embarrassed pile of perfectly normal people. Due to my power, I could tell that the teenagers' bodies were now composed of 12.6% pure awkwardness by volume. Squeals of dismay and cries of broken-voiced protest were music to my ears as I watched boys and girls scramble to cover up their exposed bodies with nothing more than their hands.

Candy pulled herself free of the trio of girls who had been lying on top of her body, and unsteadily rose to her feet. She wobbled over to Mom and I, her eyes shining in the harsh light from the fluorescent hospital sign in the nearby parking lot.

"God bless you." said Candy, her chin quivering. "Thank you… Just... thank you so much…" the nineteen year old girl broke down, beginning to sob uncontrollably. I wiped away the few tears I'd shed before mastering myself, watching as my mom wrapped her arms around the buxom college girl and gently patting her back.

I smiled, my heart soaring. Now I wasn't the only one who'd made it out.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

I got chapters 7-9 done, finishing the first arc of this story. I'll probably post chapter 8 tomorrow or the next day after cleaning it up, but chapter 9, such as it is, isn't going up until I re-write parts of it, and then complete Interlude 1. Please let me know what you think!
​

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 7: Once More Into the Breach​

Our appearance on the Hospital lawn attracted a lot of attention. Two security guards had emerged from the closest door to the lawn, the emergency room entrance, as well as several orderlies and a nurse. I walked forward to meet the group of unhappy looking hospital workers, hands raised to show them that I meant no harm. The nurse eyed my improvised mask and the giant knife on my belt warily, but she didn't say anything or walk away. There was a fierceness to her gaze, and a I knew intuitively that despite the hell I'd gone through over the last few days, the middle aged woman in front of me had seen and dealt with worse in her time.

"What's going on out here? Do these people need medical attention?" she asked, gesturing to the crowd of children and counselors that Mom had healed with her power. Her voice and manner was abrupt, impatient; I could tell that she was pissed off and a little bit scared. Burly orderlies flanker her on each side, though the security guards hung back. One of them talking quietly into his radio, while the other one watched Mom and I intently, his hand hovering above the still-holstered pistol on his hip.

"These kids are all victims of the latest Slaughterhouse Nine attack... those bastards hit a summer camp. They could definitely use some clothing and probably some grief counseling, but they no longer need medical attention, thank God. Bonesaw had sewn them all together into some kind of giant flesh monster, and my partner over there healed them." I explained, doing my best to summarize while sticking to the bare essentials… I didn't have time to do more than that. There was still work to be done tonight. I continued, speaking a bit faster this time so that I could finish up and get back to work.

"Montague's a teleporter and a healer... she heals by teleporting. We didn't know if her power would work on a group of two dozen at once, especially when they were all fused together like that. She brought us here in case they still needed medical help afterward." I finished, gesturing to the embarrassed campers that my mother and I had rescued. A few of them were hiding behind the array of shrubberies on the hospital lawn by now, but the majority were simply sitting on the grass, shell shocked. Most of Bonesaw's victims were either looking around blankly or opening sobbing.

"Jesus!" hissed one of the orderlies. I didn't know if the comment was inspired by my words or by the scene in front of his eyes. The nurse shot him a dirty look, and the chastised man quietened down almost instantly. I fought down the urge to grin at almost comical display of the hardened nurse exerting her authority. My desire to smile made me feel sick; I shouldn't be allowed to experience humor, not when there were people who still needed my help.

"We'll take care of them," said the Nurse. "What do I call when I make my report?" she asked.

"I'm Capulet, I guess." I said, scratching the back of my head. It wasn't a bad name, but definitely not what I would have chosen had I my druthers.

I looked over at Mom… Montague, I guess, while she was in costume, trying to put together our next move. Obviously we needed to go back to the campground. I sincerely hoped that the flesh creatures weren't all there was left of the several hundred campers and counselors. I wouldn't be content until I had searched the entire camp, checked everywhere for survivors with my own eyes.

"Montague," I said, calling my mother over. She had given her coat to Candy, and the two of them were helping children to their feet and giving them words of encouragement. Several hospital workers had rushed out, presumably called by one of the security guards' radios. These new arrivals were busy passing out blankets and hospital gowns.

"Just a minute, Capulet," she said slowly, turning toward me after wrapping a blanket around a teenage girl's shoulders. She stared at the Nurse and her entourage as they walked away, the majority of them heading over to the group of older and younger teens. The medical workers helped the kids bundle up and, and then started carting them off into the hospital. Candy, still wearing Mom's jacket, was doing her level best to assist them. I turned to look at Mom, a serious look on my face; I was a bit surprised to find a matching expression on hers.

"I know we have to go back, sweetheart. Do you have any idea of how many more survivors might be there?" I blinked in surprise at her words. Good enough. I thought furiously, linking the memories from the evening I arrived at camp with the images of the slaughter in and out of the Great Hall that same night. There had been 417 campers that I'd observed in the Great Hall before the attack, and maybe 60-70 counselors, administrators, and support personnel… I don't think I'd seen all of them, so the number was an educated guess. I'd observed a staggering 67 people being killed that night, and we'd rescued 26 that had been melded together into the three flesh monsters; twenty-three campers and three of the teenaged cabin counselors. That meant…

"There could be as many as 390 people remaining, if the Slaughterhouse didn't kill any more people than the ones I saw die on the first night. I find that extremely unlikely, though, with the group's propensity for violence... so I'd guess fewer than that made it. Still, there might still be a lot of possible survivors." I said, rattling off information as my power went over memories and ran the numbers. Mom nodded at me, her face grim.

"Let's go find them." she said, holding out her hand. I took it, and seconds later we had become light. This time I kept my eyes open, trying to speed up my rate of perception so that I could figure out exactly how her teleportation worked. I made sure to command my eyelids not to close until I manually let them, so that I wouldn't miss anything. Oh, I had a rough idea of how her power worked, thanks to my glimpse of the incandescent shard Mom was connected to, but I wanted to see exactly how it operated if possible. The need to understand everything burned within me, like an unquenchable fire.

We became the blue light, and then hovered in the air. The next part happened in a split second, and I barely recognized that anything visible had occurred. Replaying the memories, I gasped, startled at the mechanism that my mother's power used to transport us. In front of the two of us, a round portal in space had appeared, with Camp Wanantakka visible on the other side. The two of us were sucked into it in a bare fraction of a second, the blue light flaring brightly as the portal closed.

To any outside observer, it looked as though we had simply disappeared. Even with my altered nervous system and heavily augmented eyes, I'd barely caught a glimpse of the portal. My mind was spinning due to the new information and its implications, wondering what else Mom might be able to do with her power, if she could somehow learn to manipulate the portals she created directly. I intended to talk to her in-depth about her power later, once this terrible fucking day was finally over and done with.

Mom had teleported us to the same spot we'd arrived at on our previous two trips, in the air above and to the side of the burnt out shell of the Great Hall. This time we didn't land; Mom proved that she could fly, and not merely hover, by setting out through the air across the campground. She pulled out her flashlight, tracing a path along the ground as we went. I flew beside her, connected to her only by our held hands… It was a little disconcerting to be in the air with no way to control my own body, but I trusted my mother enough that I wasn't worried. We must have looked like a pair of bright blue shooting stars as we streaked through the air. I was a little scared that someone from the Slaughterhouse Nine would find us, due to how visible we were... but they would have to be idiots to still be hanging around at this point.

I used gestures to direct Mom across the grounds in a search pattern that I hastily came up with, using my power to come up with an optimal way to search for survivors without missing anything. We'd covered maybe a quarter of the grounds, when something terrible happened. Without any action on Mom's part, we suddenly became flesh again, our unsupported bodies falling toward the ground. We were only a dozen feet above the forest floor, if that, which meant that we weren't going to die, even if we hit the ground, unless one of us landed very badly. Mom screamed as we fell, her eyes opened wide in panic.

My mind was going crazy, as if something vital had abruptly been removed from my brain. Thankfully, my massively enhanced reflexes remained, as well as my ability to compute vectors and angles. We'd been moving over a patch of trees when Mom's power failed her; I shot out my hand when I was close enough to one of them, grabbing the branch of the pine tree. Using my legs and core muscles, I swung my mother and I at just the right angle to land us on the branch below the one I'd grabbed. My arm burned from the strain I'd placed on it, but it didn't feel like I'd injured anything severely, merely overused my muscles.

Mom's body bounced off the trunk of the tree when we landed, nearly causing her to fall off of the branch. I grabbed her tightly from behind, circling my arms around her torso just under her arms while wrapping my legs around the branch I was sitting on, stabilizing the both of us. Mom whimpered softly; a glance down revealed that she had a small gouge wound from a sharp little protrusion on the trunk of the tree, right where she'd hit when she landed. The wound on her left side was quite small, and it was hardly bleeding at all. Still, it looked fairly painful. I was glad to see that it wasn't anything terribly serious. Besides the wound, Mom had been banged up quite a bit by the fall and her impact with the trunk. Her torso, butt, and legs had to be a mass of bruises where she'd impacted. One things was for sure; she wasn't going to be of any use in a fight, at least until she could teleport again and heal herself.

All of this took place in just a few seconds, though I was startled to realize that I didn't know exactly how many of them had passed. A quick mental inventory revealed that I couldn't bring up my 3D sense, or access my perfect sense of timing either. My memory was also on the friz… I thought I could recall things a little better than I'd been able to before my trigger, but the crystal clarity of my previously perfect recall was gone. My eyes, enhanced reflexes, and ability to compute distances and angles were still all there, thankfully.

'Just what in the hell is going on, here?' I wondered. I learned that I could still think extremely quickly, too, because it didn't take me long at all to guess out what had happened. Mom's powers had been turned off wholesale, and mine had been partially disabled… that meant someone or something had cancelled our powers.

Hatchet Face must be nearby. He had a power suppressing ability that worked at range, though I didn't know the specifics of how it operated. He was also a basic Brute, though not an extremely powerful one, if I recalled correctly. It was scary not to be completely sure of my memories… like something important, irreplaceable, really, had been stolen from me. I scanned the ground below, my eyes still giving me perfect night vision, looking for the source of my most recent near-death experience. Unless he had some kind of automatic area of effect power, he had to have seen us flying over the stand of trees in order to have disabled our powers. I hoped with all my might that the pieces of my power that remained wouldn't suddenly turn off like the rest of it had.

"Mom, I think your powers were turned off by Hatchet Face," I whispered into her ear. She became quiet, her body stiffening. "Some of my powers were disabled too, but not all of them. I think that either my power altered my body and that some of my abilities are actually part of my physiology now, or that Hatchet Face somehow messed up when he disabled my parahuman abilities… I didn't know which, though." I grimaced, hoping that he hadn't seen where we had landed… If he was watching us right now, then Mom and I didn't have much of a chance. I needed to get moving, get the drop on the killer before he came after me and Mom. I checked my pockets, feeling reassured to discover that none of their contents were missing. Thank god for tight jeans!

"Mom, I want you grab the trunk of the tree and hold on," I whispered softly, "I'm going to let go of you so that I can move to a different branch. I still have the gun you gave me, and the knife; if I can find Hatchet Face then I should be able to take him out." I paused. "If he spots me, I want you to run… when your power comes back, teleport out and go for help. Armsmaster, or enough regular guys with weapons should be able to beat him."

"It's too dangerous, Taylor!" she hissed. "Let me distract him, while you run-"

"No!" I whisper-yelled. "That's stupid! You're the teleporter, and I'm the one who can fight! If you go down there, then we're both dead!" I paused, my voice taking on a pleading tone. Mom, listen to me."

She turned her body and neck as much as she could, wincing when it upset her injuries. Enough of my hypercognition remained that I could tell that she'd been trying to enter her energy form for a while now with no success. Her power was still being interfered with. She caught my eye from the corner of hers, looking at me frankly. There was a frown on Moms face as she stared at me for a moment. Finally, she lowered her eyes, nodding sharply once.

"Go," she whispered, her voice filled with sadness. "But don't take any unnecessary risks, Taylor. When you see Hatchet Face, take him out as quickly as you can. If you can't hurt him, then you run!"

"I will," I said. My mother grabbed onto the trunk of the tree, and I stood up on the branch. It was a little more difficult keeping my balance without my perfect memory and timing, but it was still pretty easy.

I tiptoed softly through the tree, going around Mom's body. I slithered onto a different branch on the other side of the trunk, one with a better view of the ground. I glanced downward, looking all around for any sign of my quarry. Hatchet Face had enhanced durability, but I didn't know how enhanced it was… Would a .38 round like the ones in my revolver penetrate his skin? If not, then I would need to aim for his soft tissues, which would increase the difficulty of killing him enormously. I had no doubt that I would need to kill him in order to survive this encounter… With Mom's injury, and the diminished state of my own power, I doubted that I would be able to get my mother down from the tree she was stuck in as I was now. We would need to get her power working again if we expected to escape this mess intact.

Sweeping my eyes across another patch of bushes revealed an oddity; beneath the leaves on the far side of the shrubbery, I saw the pointed tip of a boot sticking out. The rest of the body it belonged to wasn't visible from where I was crouched in the treetops, but it was safe to say that I'd found what I'd been looking for. I hopped nimbly between half a dozen tree tops, thanking the universe that I'd taken the time to commit all of those graceful martial arts moves to my muscle memory this morning… they were the only reason I could move like this. My reflexes were still really good, but without perfect recall and timing, I sincerely doubt that I'd have been been able to move through the tree branches as smoothly and quietly as I did.

I slowly circled around my prey until the Slaughterhouse member came fully into view. He was stealthily creeping through the bushes while looking carefully around him. Hatchet Face wore no mask or costume, just regular clothes under a huge oilskin duster. His face was incredibly ugly, with an enormous, beak-like nose dominating his features. In his right hand he carried a large hand axe, and several others hung from his belt. I realized that he must have some way to see in the dark, because the black, cloudy night didn't seem to hinder his search appreciably. His movements were nearly silent, and he took care not to disturb the plant life around him as he crept through the thicket where Mom and I had come down. He didn't completely rely on his terrifying powers, I realized, he augmented them with a healthy dose of skill as well. If my powers had been taken from me wholesale, I realized abruptly, then I my mother and I would have already been dead.

I drew my pistol and moved through the trees until I was was in the perfect spot, one which had good footing and an ideal firing angle. I'd reviewed a few westens mentally this morning while practicing fighting moves, so I had a good idea of how to operate a pistol. Absent several of my mental abilities, I was worried that I'd botch my first shot. I didn't know how much recoil the gun would generate, and I didn't have a way to completely control my body anymore… Using my advanced reflexes, I should be able to compensate for any recoil or other problems that cropped up, starting with my second shot… but Hatchet Face had a ranged weapon as well, not to mention the full use of his powers. I would need to act quickly and decisively once the fight started, or else I was as good as dead.

I waited until the hawk-nosed villain raised his head to look around before firing. My back was pressed up against the trunk of the tree I crouched in, and my feet planted securely on the wide branch. The gun was held in my outstretched hands, my arms and body arranged so that the tree behind me should absorb most of the recoil from the gun. I held my breath and took aim, picking the perfect angle of attack to shoot the power suppressor directly through his left eye. Slowly exhaling, I gently pulled back the trigger of my weapon. I flinched as the gun went off; explosions from the primer and powder going off were much louder than I'd thought they would be. Hatchet Face staggered as he was hit, dropping to one knee. I stared at him in horror, my mouth agape; I'd missed his head entirely, instead shooting him in the side of the neck, just above his collarbone.

The villain slowly began rising to his feet, a nasty looking but ultimately non threatening wound visible on the side of his throat where the bullet had done nothing more than graze him. I didn't waste time staring, instead correcting for the mistake I'd made with the first shot and firing at the Brute three more times in rapid succession. This time the villain fell to the ground and didn't stir as I nailed him in both eyes and through the mouth when he opened it up to cry out. I frowned when my powers didn't immediately return, wondering what--

The world slammed back into focus so abruptly that I nearly fell out of the tree I was still crouched in. Everything around and inside of me began making sense again, and once more I understood the world on a level that had been completely unimaginable to me seconds earlier. My timing and 3D senses sprang back into existence, and my mind, which had still been fantastic even while depowered, rose to a whole new level of functionality. I looked down at Hatchet Face's corpse dispassionately, my brain recording everything about him for later review. I paused, startled, when I noticed a slight movement beneath his collapsed form.

I darted to the side, gun still drawn, as the ugly Brute flipped over onto his back, hatchet in hand. He threw it powerfully in my direction, the axe blade burying itself to the hilt in the trunk of the tree I'd been on a second earlier, exactly where I'd been standing. I aimed, snapping off the last two shots from my gun as I closed in on him. I felt my powers fade in and out as I drew closer to the dying villain. Both of the bullets from the final pair of shots had buried themselves deep inside Hatchet Face's brain, entering through his bloody, gaping eye sockets to join the first two pieces of lead I'd put there. He lay still after that, and my fluctuating power snapped fully into place. I had to make sure that he was really dead; the last thing I needed at this point was to leave a living enemy at my back. I didn't have a death wish, and any mercy I once had for the homicidal villains had been destroyed days ago, when the Nine had first attacked.

I hopped from branch to branch until I was directly above the Slaughterhouse member's prone body. I drew Dad's bowie knife and pocketing the gun, positing my body just so. I dropped the dozen feet to the ground, the hardwood handle of the knife held in both hands. Using the kinetic energy from my descent, I slammed the thick, razor sharp blade through the cape's wide open mouth and directly into his spine. I utilized the slight paunch around the Brute's belly to break my fall, my knees slamming into his stomach with enough force to bruise them and send a spray of vaporized blood flying out of his mouth and nostrils. Wiping the viscous red liquid from my face with my sleeve, I gingerly stood up. My knees ached as I rose to my feet, making me grimace… I wouldn't be using Brute class capes to cushion a fall again if I could help it. I looked down at the second man I'd killed today, wondering if or when the pointless violence would finally come to an end.

I had to use all of my enhanced strength and find the perfect angle to dislodge the bowie knife from Hatchet Face's reinforced skeleton. Crouching down, I grabbed the bladed weapon in both hands. Holding onto the handle of the knife with all of my strength, I lept up and twisted. A wet popping sound emerged from the cape's broken, blood-flecked mouth as I wrenched the blade free that'd been embedded in his spinal column free. I spun around when I heard a noise, my recently reacquired knife raised in a defensive position. I watched as mom's light based alternate form floated to the forest floor before transforming back into flesh. She immediately bent over at the waist and began throwing up at the grisly sight of Hatchet Face's body. My mind filled with worry and fear when I realized that she had probably seen the last moment or so of Hatchet Face's grisly killing. I hung my head, hoping desperately that she wouldn't hate me for what I'd had to do to protect us both from the murderous power nullifier.

When Mom's stomach was empty she wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. She stumbled over to where I was standing stock-still, and pulled me into a hug. Hot tears slid down her cheeks as she cried, holding me so tightly that it hurt. I hugged her back desperately, only my power keeping me from totally losing my composure. We were still in hostile territory, though, and I needed to protect Mom. I refused to weaken myself by showing emotion right now... even if I really, really wanted to cry with my mother.

Mom pulled herself back together, but she didn't let me go. We became blue light again, and she teleported us to the other side of the thicket of trees we'd been standing in. My knees instantly felt better, and the muscle strains and bruises from the fall cleared themselves up. Mom turned off her powers, causing us to revert to our normal forms once again. She looked down at me, her face no longer red and puffy, her body no longer wounded.

"Taylor… I'm so sorry that you had to do that, sweetie." She paused, stroking my hair. "I think we should go home, and try to get some help. We're in over our heads here." There was fear in her eyes as she stared at me, and I realized that she was terrified that we would run into another cape; terrified that I'd have to kill again, or that I'd be the one to die. The problem was I couldn't bring myself to leave. Not when there might be other kids like me still alive. Not when we'd come this far. Not when I still had a chance to find Carlos… They deserved every effort I could give and more after I'd run out on them that first night like a coward. If the authorities had given up on them, then I would have to be the one to come to their rescue.

"Mom... I don't think the Protectorate is coming. It's been over and hour and a half since we spoke to Piggot, and someone should have been here by now. They have teleporters who could be here in seconds if they wanted to... I'm guessing that Piggot either still believes I'm lying, or that she's so invested in her fuck-up that she has no intention of letting anyone else in the PRT know what's going on, even if she does know the truth at this point." I was calm throughout my explanation, trying to make her see that we were the only hope for the people trapped by the monsters here.

Mom wouldn't meet my eyes. A lightbulb went off in my head, and I wrenched myself from her arms, darting backward less than a second before she transformed into blue light. She reverted to her human form when she realized I'd gotten away, a mix of anger and terror coloring her face.

"Taylor Hebert, you come over here right now! We are going home!" Mom voice nearly broke as she spoke, and I could see in her eyes that she was fighting down panic. I didn't think there was any way she could catch me, not unless she could fly a lot faster than I'd seen her move before. That meant the ball was in my court. I knew I'd catch hell for it later, but I had no intention of leaving the rest of the surviving campers and staff to whatever fate awaited them to placate my mom's protective instincts.

"Mom, I am not leaving until we find the rest of the survivors." I spoke with conviction, my stare as hard as diamonds. "You can go home if you want, but I'd much rather have you with me here. There aren't any other power nullifiers in the Nine, so we can use your powers to bug out at any time, if things get bad." My expression softened. "Please, Mom. I have to do this! What's the point of having powers if we can't use them to save people from monsters like the Nine?" I could tell that Mom was furious with me, but there was never any chance that she was going to leave her daughter alone in a dangerous place like this. Mom gave me a cold look, her eyes narrowed.

"You know I won't ever leave you here. When we get home, we are having a serious discussion, young lady." Mom's voice was terrifying, sending shivers down my spine. I refused to show any emotion, though, and gave her a single sharp nod. Turning around, I headed toward the area of the campground that we hadn't covered yet. We had yet to search the area of the grounds which contained the cabins the campers stayed in, as well as a few other buildings. By unspoken agreement we walked, neither of us wanting to attract any more attention with Mom's glowing blue light form. I was a bit chagrinned when I realized that I had no clue what parahumans with energy forms were called… I would need to look that up when I had a chance. 'That and a million other things,' I thought. Now that I had a perfect memory, I intended to become a walking encyclopedia as soon as I had the time to do so.

As we moved, I kept my eyes peeled, my super senses taking in everything. Mom had lost her flashlight during the fall so she walked close behind me, following my lead. Eventually we reached the little stand of cabins that served as dormitories. The little rustic houses were laid out in a rough circle. In the middle of the ring of cabins lay a much larger log building; I recalled that a few of the returning campers had called it "The Hangout". I plumbed my infallible memory for information on the structure, but other than its name I had nothing. I guessed that it was exactly what the name implied; a place for campers to hang out and socialize. Mom and I stared at the building, our eyes meeting afterward as we shared a concerned look.

There were lights on in The Hangout.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

I've finished the first drafts of chapter 9 and Interlude 1, so here's Chapter 8! I have to re-write chapter 9 and then edit it, so it'll probably a few days before I post the next one. The Interlude marks the end of Arc One of this story, bringing the journey of miserableness that our heroine's had to go through to a close. Poor Taylor... most people's trigger event is the worst days of their lives, but hers was smack-dab in the middle of the worst three days of her life. Please ready and review!

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 8: Coming Full Circle​

Mom and I watched the building for a few more moments, our bodies crouched behind a row of short bushes. We were hiding around two hundred feet from The Hangout and the rest of the cabins; I hoped that our distance and stealth would prevent anyone down there from detecting us.. Besides the camp cabins and the Great Hall, the building we were observing was the only structure of note on the entire campus… at least that I knew of. It would make sense if the rest of the nine were holed up here.

Walking a little ways around the circle of buildings revealed that two of the smaller cabins had lights on inside of them as well… clearly someone or something was here. Either that, or someone wanted us to think that the lit structures were inhabited. I frowned; would the Nine be obvious enough to turn the lights on in the middle of the night? Was this some kind of trap? I really needed more information before Mom and I acted.

"Mom, how does the targeting for your teleportation work?" I asked. Ideas swirled through my head like a maelstorm.

"I…" she paused, a look of frustration coming over her face. "Sorry honey, I'm not sure how to explain it. I guess I just think about where I want to teleport to, and I can sort of 'feel' if it's safe to go there. I don't really get any information about where I'm trying to teleport to, I can just kind of tell if it's a good idea to transport over or not." As my mother struggled to explain her innate ability, a plan of action began to coalesce in my mind.

"Do you think you can teleport into the big building, the one that's in the middle of those other cabins? I have a strong suspicious that when you're in your blue light form, there's not much that can harm you. If you can get in and out of the building in less than five seconds, I don't think any of the Slaughterhouse members would be able to hurt you." I frowned, my mind bending in strange directions as my power worked furiously. "Maybe Winter could do something, but according to all the information I have on her, her Shaker power is supposed to take time to build up before it's really effective."

Mom looked startled, concentrating for a moment as she mulled over my plan. Her next words revealed that she'd used whatever supersensory power that she possessed to see if my idea was viable.

"Yeah, there's enough space inside of that building to teleport inside. Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetheart?" Mom was clearly nervous about the idea of possibly coming face to face with more Slaughterhouse Nine members. I didn't blame her for the caution; the two that I'd faced had been terrifying, even if I did win on both occasions.

"I think it's the only chance we have of finding out if that," I said, pointing at the group of buildings below, "is a trap… at least without dying," I told her grimly. My mother winced, her face paler than normal in the wan moonlight. She nodded.

"What should I do?" she asked, ceding control of the situation to me.

"I can see through the windows right there," I said pointing, "The second floor is a loft, and there doesn't appear to be much up there; it looks like the entire building has a completely open floor plan. I can make out a railing that overlooks the first floor, right next to a set of stairs there. I think your best chance of getting in and out without being seen is to appear in the loft area, right next to the railing. When you transport in, don't land or change out of your light form… Just take a quick peek, and then pop right back over here so you can share what's going on. You should be completely immune to any biological agents or physical injuries while in your alternate state, so there's not much of anything the remaining members of the Nine can do to hurt you." Mom nodded along as I explained my plan, indicating that she understood what to do.

"Wish me luck," she said. I mumbled and agreement before giving my mother a quick hug. She switched to her alternate form, and then disappeared. I watched through the windows in The Hangout as Mom reappeared a fraction of a second after she winked out. She was hovering a few inches off the ground, exactly where I'd asked her to teleport to. I saw her disappear again after observing the interior of the building for 6.53 seconds, before reappearing beside me once again. Mom lowered herself to the ground, her body transitioning back to normal as she landed. She looked shaken.

"Bonesaw's inside." She practically barked out her words. "And she's working on something… on someone." Her eyes were wild. "I had a clear view of nearly the entire interior, and there weren't any other parahumans that I could see... " She hesitated before continuing. "There were more things in there, Taylor. Smaller ones, and quite a few of them… maybe ten or twenty. It looks like she turned some of the campers into monsters." My power cranked away furiously as I formulated a plan, trying to come up with the safest way possible of rescuing the poor souls that Bonesaw had twisted using her prodigious Tinker power.

"There's more, sweetheart," said Mom quietly. I looked back up at her, surprised. "I think the person Bonesaw's working on is Jack Slash." I paled; could Bonesaw actually bring people back from the dead!? Jack Slash coming back to life was a nightmare scenario.

"We've got to move quickly," I bit out. I knew on some level that if Bonesaw managed to resurrect Jack, that nothing my mother or I could do would be enough to take him out. He'd survived too many encounters with powerful heroes, gotten away clear from so many traps… His blade projection didn't sound like a very powerful parahuman power, but Jack Slash had survived having a kill order on his head for almost twenty years for a reason. He was slippery, and by all accounts luckier than the devil himself. Besides the evil that he would do, there was an even more important reason that I couldn't let him be revived… I didn't want Carlos's achievement to be meaningless. The boy I'd barely known, who I thought could have been a friend shortly, had done something amazing when he defeated a monstrous cape without even possessing a power of his own. I wanted to preserve that achievement, to make sure that it continued to mean something. I was ready to do whatever it took to make sure that Jack Slash remained dead and gone. Mom interrupted my thoughts with a simple statement.

"Taylor, we are not going in there until you've come up with a damned good plan. There's over a dozen monsters, and I'm sure several of those spiders things you told me about are lurking somewhere as well." I could tell that she was completely serious; unless I had a way to level the playing field there was no way she was going to let me get close to The Hangout. It's a good thing for me that I already knew what to do. I gave my mother a dangerous smile.

"I've already got a plan," I told her. "Help me gather some branches." I began searching the ground underneath a nearby stand of hardwood trees. "Long thin ones," I told my mother, holding up a long, thin one that I had found as an example. A collection of broken branches began to accumulate in my arms as Mom joined me in my search. Soon enough we had nearly as much kindling as we could carry. I took off my coat and zipped it up, tying the sleeves just so to form a holster for the sticks.

"Mom, I want you to convert one of the sticks into blue light and throw it at that tree," I said, pointing at the trunk I wanted her to target. Mom's power might be similar to Legend's… but she just didn't have the firepower that the famous Blaster did. Despite the astounding level of utility her power brought to the table, it was a little light on 'out of the box' offensive ability. If things worked out as expected, though, my idea should make up for her lack of lasers… at least to a degree. If I have my way, then with my help Mom will eventually be stronger than Legend.

"Alright honey," she said, not even bothering to argue. Mom shifted just her hand to blue light this time, and then converted the stick that she was holding. She threw the glowing blue stick at the tree I'd indicated. I smiled when her eyes opened wide in astonishment as the stick punched through the pine tree's trunk like it wasn't even there. Under the effects of Mom's power the piece of wood she'd thrown bored a hole through the tree and flew out the other side. It hadn't been slowed down in the slightest. I had a feeling that they would be able to punch through anything, no matter what material impediments were made up of.

The projectile continued to travel in a straight line through the air for exactly 2.78 seconds from the moment she'd thrown it. While it flew, the mostly straight stick had ignored gravity and inertia, mass and friction. When mom's power faded from the piece of wood the small branch was passing through yet another tree. We both rushed over to see what had happened. We found the broken piece of a tree branch stuck tight, apparently melded with the tree it had been passing through. I walked over to examine the curious sight; it looked like the matter composing the stick had merged perfectly with the trunk perfectly, causing the two separate objects to form a new, denser material than either of the originals. 'Now doesn't that have applications!' I thought gleefully. I couldn't wait to study Mom's power further.

I was pretty sure that Mom's power had a component that allowed her to avoid destructive interactions herself when she touched people or objects in her light form. My own power had informed me that a thrown or otherwise launched object might have allowed her to bypass that restriction, thus the test we'd just performed. I'd smiled grimly when my power was proven correct.

I pulled out my revolver, which I had reloaded during our walk from the thicket to the ring of cabins. I had mom phase phase me for the next test. I looked back and forth between my weapon and the perforated tree trunk that we'd used previously, before lining up the shot and firing my revolver. The bullet shot from my pistol noiselessly, as everything was under my mom's power, before going straight through the trunk. The round continued on a completely straight course through the air without dipping or slowing visibly for exactly 2.78 seconds, just like the stick had.

The tiny bit of lead went through everything in its path like the objects weren't even there, and much faster and more precisely than Mom's through piece of wood had. I grinned ferally, my canine teeth shining in the nearly nonexistent moonlight. Suddenly, the enemies in The Hangout didn't seem like that much of an obstacle. I reloaded the gun while Mom and I talked strategy for a moment, getting our plan completely straight. Four minutes and forty-one seconds after she'd returned from scouting, we winked out of existence.

We reappeared five feet behind Bonesaw, who was working on the body in front of her feverishly. I looked at her work, my eyes widening when I realized that it really was Jack Slash on her operating table. The tiny Tinker didn't notice our presence, didn't slow down her work at all. My roving eyes noticed something else… Next to where she was working, invisible from the angle my mom had observed Bonesaw from earlier, was a second body. I looked into the glassy, pain filled eyes of Carlos, my mind filled with shock. His head wasn't attached to his body. It was mated to a Tinkertech device, with the rest of his body parts being stored in a glass aquarium that had yet another piece of Bonesaw's work attached to it.

The hispanic boy's body appeared to have been messily disassembled. His head was alive, connected to a crude Tinkertech device which I my power told me was a life support machine. It also appeared to do something else, something that reminded me of the crystalline shards I'd seen in space earlier in the evening when Mom triggered. Something to do with powers? Carlos's eyes stared at my glowing blue face, both of them opening wide in surprise. A vicious grin erupted across his face, and I nodded at him, letting him know that we were here to help.

One of the people-things in the room, a misshapen two-headed creature that might have been a pair of teenage girls at one point, let out a horrendous screech when it spotted the two of us hovering in the air. The tiny Tinker spun around, her eyes darting wildly around the room until they landed on Mom and I. Were were still in Mom's energy from, floating in the air together, connected to one another by our held hands. I barely needed my power at all to realize how dangerous fighting Bonesaw would have been, had we been susceptible her cadre of biological tricks. My power informed me that Mom's power should be proof against biological agents and standard physical attacks.

I was surprised to see the sorry looking state the golden haired parahuman was in. The Tinker's eyes were bloodshot, and there were huge, dark bags underneath them. Her face was way too pale, and I could see a plethora of cuts and bruises on the exposed portions of her hands and arms. The body she'd been working on was a mess as well… Between the bio-spider mechs I'd seen three days ago and the work I was looking at now, my power had a pretty good grasps on Bonesaw's Tinkertech. Enough, at least, to recognize that Jack Slash's body was nearly unsalvageable. It looked like she'd performed at least a dozen operations on it; there were seventeen separate devices keeping his brain oxygenated and the tissues fresh… All the things necessary to resurrect him, like some kind of Frankenstein's monster. The problem, it appeared, was not his body, which should be able to sustain life, but his brain.

Jack Slash's exposed brain, which had been run through by Carlos using the psycho's own knife, had tissue from at least a dozen different sources grafted onto it. I learned in that moment that my eyes were sensitive enough to notice details like that… The slightly different coloration, grain, and patterns on the various sections of hastily connected neural tissue was enough for my power to inform me that they'd come from several different individuals. It made my blood boil when I realized that this disgusting parody of a child had killed at least twelve people to try to bring her piece of shit, murderer of a boss back to life. I nearly killed her right there, but I held myself back.

I'd been smart enough to realize that Bonesaw's had probably set up some kind of biological booby trap that would go off when she died. I was counting on Mom's power to fix that… Once the Tinker been teleported, any viruses, bacteria, or other harmful organisms on or around her body should be neutralized... as well as any implants she had in her body. A useful byproduct of restoring her body to 'optimal' health. We'd have to be careful going forward when transporting Tinkers and the like… anything they'd implanted in their own bodies would probably be removed when they were reintegrated from energy to matter.

Mom and I each drew a stick, preparing for the onslaught of Bonesaw's creatures. Under the effects of my mother's power, we must have looked like glowing angels with fiery blue swords. I didn't want to kill the creatures, as we might be able to revert them to human with Mom's power. If it came down to it, though, Mom and I had agreed that even that would be preferable to having Jack Slash brought back to life. We hovered in the air in front of the murderous little girl and her pack of twisted creations, waiting for the inevitable attack. Over a minute passed without anything at all happening; a lifetime in battle. I was ready to start the fight myself, only wariness of some kind trap or hidden surprise holding me back. Mom and I continued to stare down at the little Tinker warily.

The fight never came. The dozen ogre-like creatures didn't attack. Bonesaw just stared up at us with her jaw quivering, looking so, so tired. I noticed that she was using the edge of the table that contained Jack's body to support herself, her short legs trembling like they could barely support her megre weight. The dress she wore was absolutely filthy, it and the apron she had over it caked in oil and gore. Finally, the preteen cape broke the strange deadlock.

"You're not Lengend," she accused, her speech slightly slurred. "Who are you? Why haven't you killed me yet?" She let go of the table, dropping onto her butt on the blood splattered floor. Under my incredulous gaze she actually began to cry. I had no clue what to do.

"I wish Mr. Jack was here," the blond girl sobbed, fat tears rolling down her pale cheeks. "But I can't get his brain working! Not even when I connected his body to that mean regenerator guy who killed him…" she stared at the floor, as she sniveled, her little hands twisting and pulling on the hem of her disgusting apron. I had no trouble believing that she'd been trying to resurrect the leader of her gang since the very moment he'd been killed… The little girl was so bone weary that I doubt she properly understood what was going on around her.

Mom looked at me, my power helping me read her expression through the obfuscation caused by her energy state. I shook my head no, grief and hatred warring with simple human compassion in my heart as I took in the piteous form on the tiny monster in front of me which wore the disguise of a sad little girl. Mom cocked her head, the parts of her face which were usually eyes and mouth shifting slightly. I nodded 'no' again, more vehemently this time. Mom shrugged her shoulders, and then blatantly ignored our previous plan as she disobeyed the instructions I'd just given her. I had no way to stop her, no way to disagree; my body only had as much freedom as she allowed it to while under the influence of her power.

Mom drifted over to Bonesaw and bent down. She lifted the unresisting child using her free arm, converting the Tinker into blue light as she picked her up. When she hugged the tiny blonde girl to her chest, I was shocked to see a look of contentment come across the child's face when my mother embraced her, just before she was converted fully into energy. Bonesaw clung to Mom as if her life depended on it, the outline of her small body completely still. I fumed in silence, as I had to, shocked and worried at my mom's actions.

Mom gestured to Carlos's severed head and detached body with her head; I nodded 'yes'. I was absolutely furious at her over her betrayal, but I wasn't about to leave him behind. I slowly picked up the pieces of Carlos' body, which had been kept fresh, if not alive, by a type of Tinkertech invigoration field. I tucked each piece of his body under my arm, thankful for their lack of mass as they were converted into blue light. I picked up his bewildered looking head last, holding it in such a way that it was kept in contact with all the other sections of his body. I hadn't missed the significance of Bonesaw's words; evidently my acquaintance had triggered as well, as some kind of regenerator. I guess the device that had been keeping his head alive had also suppressed his powers; either that, or his regeneration was limited enough that it couldn't cope with the loss of the rest of his body. We hadn't used Mom's power to heal someone whose body was dead before… I hoped Carlos's living head would allow the other parts of his body to re-integrate with it successfully, despite their non-living state.

When I was done collecting my friend, I signaled Mom. I slowed down my perception of time again, finding it slightly easier this time to view her portal forming. I actually caught a glimpse of the event horizon of the circular opening before we were sucked in and spat out on the other side. I replayed my memory of the event, delighting in the extra information I'd gleaned this time. As we landed, this time in a small park that was a mile or two from my house, I combined my knowledge of Mom's power with several pieces of Armsmaster and Bonesaw's technology using my 3D technology power, trying to see if I could use my store of information to creating a machine to replicate Mom's power. I put the thought exercise on hold when we returned to flesh. I prepared body and mind once more for a fight, not sure if Bonesaw was planning to attack us once we were vulnerable.

As Carlos's repaired body tumbled to the ground, I drew my revolver and pointed it at Bonesaw. I was hoping that the murderous little girl would give me an excuse to kill her… After all of the terrible things she'd done, she simply didn't deserve to live. Carlos climbed to his feet, looking at the sleeping blonde girl with contempt in his eyes as my mom cradled her limp body to her chest. Mom glared at the gun I was pointing at the little girl's head until I put it away. I snorted in derision; I didn't like killing, but as far as I was concerned Bonesaw had it coming to her, due to her evil actions. I should have realized what would happen when she eventually came across Bonesaw, knowing how Mom felt about kids… It still hurt, though, knowing that my mother was willing to let the villain live, even after she'd seen the horrifying things she'd done to all those people.

"Not that I'm ungrateful for the rescue and the healing, but I'd really like to know what's going on here." said Carlos. He kept looking down at his body, which by all measures was perfectly intact and working once again. He was flexing his arms and legs and twitching his fingers between giving my mother and I searching looks. He studiously ignored Bonesaw, taking pains not to set eyes directly on her unconscious form. I was surprised that he hadn't attacked her, or even Mom, after what had been done to him. I know that I would have in his place. I was a little unsure of what to say to the boy who I'd thought killed over two days ago, but I had a good idea where to start. Pulling down the bandanna covering my lower face and tossing back the hood or my jacket, I turned to smile at the surprised looking boy.

"Hi Carlos." I said shyly. "It's me, Ta-" I didn't get to finish, because the wide-eyed teen rushed forward, moving so quickly that his form blurred. I braced myself for a punch or a kick, figuring that he would rightly be furious at me for abandoning everyone that first night. No attack came. Instead, strong arms wrapped around my body, and the tall latin boy pressed his face into my shoulder as he began to sob.

"Taylor…" he whispered, pulling back after a moment. His eyes were still wet. "You came back for me." he said, his words filled with significance. I managed a timid nod. I was pleased to note that he kept his arms around my waist after the initial embrace. So many different emotions and thoughts were going through my head that I didn't know what to do or think. Mom cleared her throat loudly, reminding the two of us that she was still present. Carlos let go of me and took a step back, his face a little red. He gave me a quick smile, which I returned, before the two of us turned to see what my mother wanted.

"We still have some unfinished business," she said. "I'd like to get some information from this one," she said, gesturing down to the little girl in her arms. "Once we know whether or not there are more members of the Nine back at camp, we need to either head back and finish rescuing the survivors, or call in reinforcements." she said.

"I'm really grateful to you both, but where in the world was the Protectorate?" asked Carlos. He had a baffled look on his face. I felt a sudden surge of anger.

"When I finally escaped that hellhole earlier today, I contacted the PRT first thing. The bitch Director here in Brockton Bay didn't believe that the Slaughterhouse really attacked camp," I spat. Carlos looked incredulous.

"Seriously? They didn't even send someone up there to take a look?" he looked sick as he finished his sentence, like he couldn't believe what I was saying. I nodded, staring at the ground. It hurt to meet his eyes afterward. Mom piped in.

"As soon as we've done all we can back at the camp, I'll be having words with the PRT," she said. Her tone was venomous enough to cause Carlos to stiffen slightly.

"So, you triggered too, I take it?" I asked the young man beside me casually. He'd taken a seat on a nearby park bench that the three of us had drifted over to. The well built young man was flexing his legs while running his hands over his calves. A strange look came over Carlos's face at my question, his eyes appearing to look through me.

"Yeah." He said, chuckling humorlessly. "I can regenerate from anything, and I'm really strong and fast. I can also jump really well…" He paused for a second, his tone going flat. "It seems like every time I regenerate from an injury, I get a little faster or stronger… and I can jump a little higher, or further," he finished slowly. I winced; there was no good way to find that out.

Carlos was bending his toes now, flexing each individual joint as he did so. I was very glad Bonesaw had left the tattered remnants of his clothing on his body; having the boy I was crushing on appear naked in my arms on top of everything else would have been beyond embarrassing. His shirt and pants had been repaired just as thoroughly as his body had. His feet had been bare, hence the lack of shoes.

"I'm mainly a Thinker, though I got a handful of other little powers as well." I told him, reciprocating. Carlos looked at me curiously; apparently he wasn't acquainted with the PRT shorthand for superpowers. Heck, the only reason that I knew the little that I did was due to the bits and pieces of information I'd heard or seen over the years being put together into usable information using my power-given perfect memory.

"Thinkers have mostly mental powers, or enhanced senses." I explained to him. "I can see really well, even in the dark. Thanks to my powers, I'm also smarter than I ever imagined a human being could be. My reflexes are ridiculous, and I'm a lot stronger than a normal girl my age has any right to be, though my strength isn't really 'superhuman'." I took a breath, and then continued explaining.

"I have a perfect memory, and I can easily pick up new skills and fighting moves in seconds. Also…" I paused… wondering if I should I tell him about my 3D technology power. Would Carlos dislike me if he knew that I had something in common with Bonesaw? After a long second II decided to go for it; he had been truthful with me about his own powers, after all.

"I also think that I might be a Tinker, like Armsmaster… Every time I see a machine or a piece of Tinkertech, all the parts of it I can see sort of get scanned into my head in the form of a three dimensional blueprint. Afterward, I can understand what the machine's purpose is, and how it was built. I think that with enough information I should be able to actually construct the machines I've scanned in… but I haven't really had time to build anything yet."

Carlos looked at me appraisingly. "That sounds like a really cool power, Taylor. I sounds a lot more interesting than mine." The handsome boy grinned at me while scratching the back of his head sheepishly. I shot him a quick smile in return, before shifting back into business mode. I turned to Mom and asked her an important question that had been weighing on my mind since we'd captured the little Tinker that she was holding.

"What are we going to do with Bonesaw after she answers your questions?" I asked Mom. She looked down at the little girl thoughtfully for a moment, a frown on her face. She didn't give me an answer right away… I didn't know if she had one. Carlos scowled, turning his head away.

"That monster pretending to be little girl killed most of the people at camp, you know." He spoke casually, refusing to meet my eyes. "Either that, or turned them into those things that you saw back there in her workshop. Her and Crawler are the one who made me get powers." He scowled, angrily continuing his story.

"I was able to get away after I killed Jack Slash…" His eyes were distant; I could tell that Carlos was reliving the memories of what had happened to him as he spoke. "I was running through the woods when Crawler and about a dozen of those spiders of hers started chasing after me. They were playing with me, running me down like some kind of fucking animal. I tripped, and I thought I was done. I was laying there, praying to Jesus," he said, pronouncing it 'hey-soos'. "Suddenly I'm climbing to my feet again, and this time I could really move. I was running faster than I could go on my bike, maybe as fast as a car." Carlos appeared a little excited as he recounted the details of discovering his powers for the first time, but eventually excitement gave way to anger and fear.

"There was a patch of bushes were in my way, and I jumped clear over them! I cleared ten feet of air, easy, and like... twenty, twenty-five feet of distance in one jump." He continued to stare down at his legs, going quiet for a few seconds. "That's when Crawler quit playing with me. He'd been laying down for some reason, but he got to his feet quick. He was a lot faster than me... caught up to me in about a second and tore off both of my legs." He shuddered at the horrific experience he'd gone through. I gave him a small smile and squeezed the tall boy's shoulder reassuringly.

"The fucker ate em'." Carlos said softly while wiggled his toes, as if to reassure himself that they were still there. "Bonesaw's spiders were all over me about a second after that. One of them injected me with some kinda drug, but it didn't do nothing to me. The spider started picked me up and started hauling me back to camp… only my legs grew back in like a minute or two. I hit the spider once, hard, and the fucking thing shattered to pieces." He smacked a fist into his palm, generating a surprisingly loud sound. "There was a human head inside of it. Every one of those spiders is a person that she killed, and that little bitch has dozens of them." He was staring right at my mom when he recounted the last part, his face hard.

"They kept playing with me for hours. Crawler would run me down, or a spider would tear off a piece of me, maybe a finger, maybe a foot… They'd let me grow it back, and then they'd be after me again. When they were finally finished with their little game, Crawler ate my whole body, everything from the neck down. Fucker bit my head right off, but it didn't kill me. Then little bitch had one of her spiders do something to me, hooked me up to some kind of machine that kept my regeneration from working." The anger drained from his face, replaced by fear and revulsion.

"She'd been taking apart the other kids and the adults from camp… Trying to put that puta I killed back together using pieces of their bodies. When Crawler brought me to her, I realized she hadn't even been there when her spiders were chasing me… she'd been remote controlling them while she was working. Like tearing me apart and chasing me all over the woods was some kind of fucking up video game." He seemed angrier about Bonesaw's absence than Crawler's cannibalism… I guess that the casual inhumanity she'd displayed really pushed his buttons for some reason. I sat down on the park bench next to Carlos and put and arms around him. He leaned into me, putting his head on my shoulder. He kept speaking, needing to tell us what had been done to him. Carlos' voice was softer than before when he continued his tale.

"When Bonesaw got her hands on me she stopped killing the others for parts, at least. She did something to make it so that I couldn't move, and then cut pieces of my body off, making me re-grow them over and over… Little bitch was farming me for body parts. It was really bad, but I think I'm immune to pain now or something, because it didn't really hurt. That's something, at least. After a while, she hooked me up to her puta boss with some wires and shit. I think she was trying to get my regeneration to work on him." Carlos stared through me, an odd look etched onto his face.

"She had the phones at camp set to ring in her workshop. A couple hours ago there was a phone call, and after that Crawler and the others all bugged out... all of them except little bitch and Hatchet Face… I think she has some kind of control over him… I saw her giving him orders like she did to her spiders and the monsters she had in her workshop. She had him fetching and carrying for her, shit like that. When the rest of the Nine took off, little Bitch wouldn't leave. I think she was scared that her boss-man, or daddy, or whatever he was to her, would've died for good."

Done telling his story, Carlos deflated, pushing his face further into the space between my neck and shoulder. I held him a tight as I could, hugging the boy with my full strength now that I knew he was a more powerful Brute than I was. I wanted to let him feel something other than the fucked up emotions I knew were running through his head… I'd felt the same way just after I got home. He needed to know that he wasn't alone anymore; that there was someone who cared about him and wanted him to feel better.

Mom stared down at the little girl in her arms as I held Carlos, her face inscrutable. I could tell by the little girl's heart rate and respiration that Bonesaw was still unconscious... or else she was doing an amazing job of faking it. I was glad to note that there were no overt signs of Tinker technology or artificial enhancements present in her body. There had been quite a bit of internal Tinkertech integrated into her body back at camp. It looked my power-assisted conclusion had been correct, and that Mom's teleportation had removed any implants or upgrades that Bonesaw had built into herself. I don't know if it would've even been possible to safely contain her, had her upgrade still existed. Maybe after I'd spent a while studying them, but definitely not on short notice. On the other hand, if she'd been a ticking time bomb, then Mom might have been forced to kill her, rather than to treat her like an ordinary child, and not the mass-murdering supervillain that she actually was.

I wanted to end Bonesaw even more than I had previously, now that I'd heard the details of what she'd done to so many innocent people. The problem with that was the my traitorous mind kept replaying the memory of a sad little girl sobbing on the floor, looking so incredibly broken. At that moment, I desperately wished that my power had some way of helping decide what the moral thing to do in my situation was. Was Bonesaw beyond truly redemption? I didn't know. What I did know was that giving her the benefit of the doubt could potentially result in hundreds or thousands of innocent people dying in agony and terror.

According to the government Bonesaw's life was already forfeit; the 'kill order' on her head meant that legally, for all intents and purposes, the child was already dead. All that was left was for her execution to take place; afterward her killer would not only be praised for the deed, but would also be given a fat bounty for doing what law enforcement could not. I stared at her. Bonesaw's heinous actions were completely at odds with the image she presented now, as she lay sleeping peacefully in my mother's arms. Mom cradled the curly, blonde haired child like she was actually a normal little girl, and not someone who the entire country feared and wanted dead. I stared at the peaceful expression on her face, uncertainty filling me from head to toe.

Carlos ended our embrace and rose to his feet, his face looking unsteady despite the fact that the formally clumsy boy's balance was now picture perfect. The young cape looked around the night-time landscape of the small park we were currently resided, his eyes roaming around the dimly lit playground equipment standing in a pit of bark chips nearby. He looked downward for a moment, once more staring at his hands. Clenching his fists tightly, he lifted up his head. His chocolate eyes bored into my own, before moving on to meet Mom's.

"I want to go home so bad I can taste it... but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we didn't rescue the other people who are still back at camp. You said earlier that you were going back… I want to come with you." The well muscled teen continued to stare at Mom while he made his request, knowing that she'd been the one to teleport us here. There was no getting back with her, I knew, at least not in an actionable timeframe. I remembered my mother's earlier words about us needing help, and the way I had bullied her into continuing our self-appointed mission after I'd had to kill Hatchet Face. I honestly didn't know how she was going to respond. To my surprise, Mom immediately nodded to him in affirmation.

"You're sure the rest of the Slaughterhouse has gone, Carlos?" Mom asked her question in a no-nonsense tone. I was surprised that my mother was handling the rapid, life-altering changes that had happened to her as well as she was. The poor woman had just triggered a few hours before, after having some kind of terrible, fucked up breakdown. Since then, the events that had taken place had been nothing short of violent and chaotic, any one of them enough to send most people into a bout of depression or existential quandary.

I built a mental model of my mother's mind using the staggering amount of information I had on her, using my power-granted hypercognition. According to my power, she should not be doing nearly as well as she was. I thought about her power, and it's ability to restore her body to perfect health every time she teleported… Was that the reason why she she seemed to be so mentally and emotionally stable? Mom had made several reckless, sub-par decisions that night, but that was nothing at all compared to the mental problems that should have been cropping up from the traumatic experiences that she'd experienced.

I added everything I'd observed about the matter repairing function of Mom's power to my mental model of the situation. Of course! Her power was probably fixing any chemical imbalances that it found. Every time her body reintegrated from an energy state her powers were likely removing stress hormones and restoring instabilities in her serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine levels. I blinked; if it was restoring her chemical levels back to normal, then there was no reason to think that her power wasn't likewise 'fixing' errors and problems on the cellular level as well… The ramifications of that were pretty crazy, especially if telomere deterioration counted as an error that needed to be fixed. 'That is something to think about later,' I told myself. The long and the short of the situation was, if Mom hadn't been using her power so much, then she'd likely be back at home in bed, crying her eyes out or having a panic attack.

I was once more incredibly grateful to have a Thinker power that allowed me to understand so much, and the ability to completely control my own bodily functions. 'My power is basically an amazingly effective coping mechanism,' I realized. I guess Mom's power was too, at least to an extent.

'None of the people that Mom teleported had been quite as upset as they probably should have been,' I realized in retrospect. Perfect healing is an utterly bullshit power. I hoped that Carlos was able to hold it together as well; the trauma he'd been through sounded even worse than what Mom and I had experienced. Hopefully his regeneration would turn out to be just as broken as mine and my mother's' powers. Still, he should be alright for tonight at least; thanks to the healing aspect of Mom's power, he would experience the same mood-balancing effects as we did.

"I'm pretty sure most of the Slaughterhouse members are gone. A couple of those psychos tried to get Bonesaw to go with them, especially that freak Mannequin, but she wouldn't budge. I haven't seen the Siberian in awhile though, not since yesterday… That means she's either still at camp or that she left even before the others did. I know for a fact that Hatchet Face is still hanging around somewhere. That means the only two we have to worry about are him, and maybe the Siberian."

"We don't have to worry about either of them." I told Carlos haltingly. "Hatchet Face and the Siberian are both dead." Shame and regret burned through my mind and heart at the confession. Remembering the terrible, bloody way I'd had had to end the pair of Slaughterhouse members made me feel sick to my stomach. The only comfort that I had was that they'd both deserved it, and that both times I had at least been acting to save a life other than my own. I wasn't like them; I hadn't toyed with either of the villains, or made them needlessly suffer. I was never going to be like them. I intended to be a Hero, and nothing would stand in my way of achieving that goal.

"No shit?" Carlos asked, appearing impressed. "You'll have to tell me all about that at some point. If they're both dead, then little bitch there was the last member of the Nine still at camp," He explained, gesturing toward Bonesaw. He suddenly looked unsure. "What are we supposed to do with her, anyway? We can't really take her back there, and she might be able to escape if we try to stash her somewhere."

"Should we turn her over to the PRT?" I found myself asking. Fifteen minutes earlier I'd wanted to put a bullet through her brain, but after a little contemplation and self reflection I was no longer completely sure. I knew that turning her into the authorities would be tantamount to murdering her ourselves, thanks to the pre-signed kill order on her head. Evidently Mom had known about that as well, because she began shaking her head 'no' as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

"We are not handing her over to those incompetent bunglers." said the older woman definitively. My mouth was set in a grim line when I next spoke. I was struggling to make sense of the moral dilemma the three of us faced, but I was incapable of forgetting the terrible things she'd done. I hoped that my mother wasn't so caught up with the fact that Bonesaw was a young child that she was forgetting the atrocities the diminutive Tinker had committed.

"What do you think you're doing, Mom?" I asked her. Carlos blinked, looking back and forth between us. Confusion evident on his face, he idly scratched the back of his head. I blinked, realizing what I'd just revealed. Oops. I guess Mom hadn't actually introduced herself to the teenaged boy, or even taken off her ad-hoc mask. Before my hasty comment, the only thing that might have given away our relationship was the similarity in our hair. My mother and I both had long dark hair that was cascaded it's wavy way down our backs. Had Mom been trying to keep her identity secret from Carlos? Well, it wasn't like the boy was some unsuspecting member of the public or a villain. Carlos had also had his own identity exposed to the both of us… it seemed only fair that he knew our identities, really.

"Tu madre?" the latin teen muttered quietly under his breath. Bits and pieces of the Spanish language that I'd seen and heard over the years started coming together in my mind. Information that I didn't even know that I had flowed together, quickly snapping into place to form cohesive whole. Thanks to the Spanish classes I'd taken in the sixth and seventh grades, as well as Mrs. Barnes' penchant for Telemundo soap operas, I was able to gain a moderate understanding of the Spanish language in seconds. And all of it was set into motion just so that I could translate two lousy words. 'My power is totally bullshit.' I thought while blinking in surprise at my new multilingualism.

"Yeah," I said, replying to his semi-rhetorical question, "This is my Mom, Annette Hebert. Mom has a thing about hurting kids… I don't think she's going to let us do anything that'll cause the little monster over there to come to harm." The instant the words left my mouth I regretted them. I didn't want to hurt my mom... I was just pissed off that she was treating Bonesaw like she was some kind of victim, and not the incredibly dangerous cape that she so obviously was. It didn't take a Thinker to imagine all of the horrifying way things might go wrong if Mom tried to 'rehabilitate' her, or something along those lines. Bonesaw wasn't merely some poor, misguided kid who'd been led down the wrong path; the little psycho murdered people for spare parts, for Christ's sake. Doing anything but turning her over to the PRT, or killing her ourselves invited all sorts of risks.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, young lady," snapped Mom. I winced. "This little girls is maybe ten years old. Have you stopped to think about what kinds of things the other members of the Nine must have done to her to make her like this? Do you see other parahuman children lining up to join the Slaughterhouse Nine?" Mom looked at me searchingly for a moment, causing me to lower my eyes. I felt bad for the way I'd been acting, but I don't think there was anything that my mother could say that would cause me to trust Bonesaw. Mom continued speaking, her voice full of passion.

"I've read quite a few news stories, and even a few crime novels about the Nine, Taylor. They kidnapped this child, and slowly twisted her into what she is now. The minute Jack Slash had his hands on her she never had a chance. I'm not going to kill her, or be a party to murdering her for the crime of being mentally abused until she was so broken that she thought doing all of those terrible things was right." I blinked, my mind sorting through what Mom had just said. She did have a point, but I doubted reforming Bonesaw would be as simple as showing her a little compassion. Based on what I'd witnessed, I honestly doubted that Bonesaw had any value at all for human life. 'How do you even interact with someone like that?' I wondered.

"What happens the first time she kills again?" asked Carlos. I could tell that he was holding back his anger, trying to converse civilly with my mother. "How many people are you let her dissect before you turn her in? One? Ten?" The teenage boy's voice had a note of panic in it, but he was able to keep his hotly burning emotions under control. Mom stared down at the small child's sleeping face, which was partially obscured by a strand of curly blonde hair. She looked up and met Carlos's angry expression with a look of determination.

"I am not going to let that happen," she stated. Her voice was like steel. I didn't know what to think at that point. I didn't know what was right or wrong when it came to dealing with Bonesaw. The only thing I did know, was that we needed Mom's help to transport the rest of Nine's prisoners back from Camp. We definitely needed Mom to help the people Bonesaw had turned into ogre-like monsters, if they could be helped. Now was not the time to get into a pointless debate, or to discuss what the long term plan for Bonesaw should be. All of that could be settled later.

"I know how we can secure her for a few hours," I said, addressing the both of them. "We can settle this after we've rescued the rest of the survivors at Camp Wanantakka." Mom and Carlos looked at me for a moment, and then back at each other. Mom gave the handsome teenager a nod, which he returned. At least we all agreed about one thing. I took a moment to explain to Carlos how Mom's teleportation worked. The three of us joined hands to form a circle, and Mom activated her power. We slowly rose into the air, until we hovered three feet from the pavement walkway we had been standing on. A completely silent flash of blue light heralded our departure as we teleported away.

It was the work of only a few minutes to lock up the tiny BioTinker. I'd had Mom teleport us to her her office at the college, which I figured would be a good place to hold the little girl for a few hours.
I judged it highly unlikely that the PRT or the police would show up at my mother's workplace for any reason at this point. The three of us secured Bonesaw as best I could using our various abilities. I tied her up using a roll of duct tape to start with.

I then asked Carlos to tear the legs off of an old steel-frame chair and twist the steel bars into a set of heavy manacles. Next, I walked Mom through using her power to merge the solid-looking manacles with the cement subfloor. When the manacles transformed from energy back to regular matter, the restraints, and Bonesaw, were solidly attached to the floor of her office. Studying the still sleeping child with my power, I estimated that it would take at least a mid-level Brute to break her loose. I decided that she was imprisoned well enough for the moment.

After a quick talk, Mom popped into a closed corner store and grabbed a package of Tylenol PM's. She left a twenty dollar bill on the little shop's counter, near the register, with a note detailing what she had taken. I crushed two of the sleeping pills before dissolving the resultant white powder into a coffee mug that I'd poured a little water into. Pinching the unconscious girl's nose while dripping the medicinal slurry into her mouth caused Bonesaw to swallow it down reflexively. My deft reflexes and precise fingers did their job so quickly and gently that the little girl didn't even stir.

At Mom's insistence, I had made up a soft bed on the floor using couch cushions from the sofa in her office before laying Bonesaw down on it. Her right arms hung just over the edge of the middle cushion, her wrist bolted to the floor by one of the steel manacles. Her left leg was similarly restrained. The young child drooled a bit as she slept peacefully; I had an idea that she'd been under an enormous amount of stress for the last three days, and that she wasn't going to wake up any time soon. The Tylenol PM's were for peace of mind more than anything else, though they might keep her asleep if it took longer than normal for us to come back for the little bio-Tinker we had captured.

Once the drugs hit her, I figured the benedryl in the pills should keep the little kid knocked out for at least six hours, possibly even longer than that. Without her little Tinker tricks, Bonesaw should be just as vulnerable to sedatives as any other ten year old. With the villain was adequately restrained, it was time to finally finish the job back at camp. In seconds the sole occupant of the English teacher's office was an unconscious ten year old girl.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 9: Endings and Beginnings​

Without parahuman opposition, it wasn't all that difficult to rescue everyone who was still alive. After capturing Bonesaw, it only took a couple of hours to finish our self-appointed mission. We learned that two camper cabins were where the majority of the survivors were located. All told, the Nine had forced ninety-three people into the two tiny structures.Thankfully, none of them were suffering from anything more than minor injuries injuries. As we returned them to Brockton Bay in small, manageable groups, my mother's teleportation handily took care of whatever scrapes and bruises the trapped people had accumulated when they were manhandled by Bonesaw's minions or the other members of the Nine.

The worst injury that we saw belonged to a girl who I thought might had been in my cabin; she had a badly sprained ankle. I later learned that the people who had suffered greater injuries had been either Tinkered on by Bonesaw or used as 'entertainment' by other members of the Slaughterhouse Nine when they were feeling bored. I promised myself at that moment that eventually, when I was ready, I would hunt down the other members of the Nine and and either end them myself or turn them into the PRT. I discluded Bonesaw from my vow, as I didn't know where she fitted into things yet. Was she just as much as victim as the people we had just rescued? 'Only time will tell,' I thought to myself.

Mom dropped the survivors off back at the hospital in groups of twenty to twenty-five at a time. It hadn't taken much to drive off the creatures guarding the survivors. An even dozen of Bonesaw's spiders had proven less than able to fight off three pissed off parahumans; the little cyborgs had scurried off at the first display of our powers, moving so quickly and stealthily that we were unable to capture any of them, unless we were prepared to chase the terrifying little abominations around camp all night. After a quick discussion we decided to leave them for law enforcement to clean up when we could get someone to actually check out the camp.

When Carlos tore the lock off of the first cabin's door, the terrified children and adults inside had nearly attacked us on first sight. After a little cajoling and a short explanation they'd backed down, thankfully. Mom and Carlos had taken pains to act friendly and approachable as I explained that were were heroes, and that each and every member of the Slaughterhouse Nine was either dead, or had left camp hours ago. The last thing I had wanted to do was to harm people who'd been through the same thing Carlos and I had, without even the benefit of superpowers. Once the survivors understood that were were there to rescue them, we were quickly able to effect their rescue.

The revelation that they were not going to die terrible, pointless deaths had caused nearly the entire group to break down in joy, many of them crying relieved tears and thanking the three of us profusely. Chaining arms, Mom was able to transport them all back to Brockton Bay General Hospital in only four trips. Each time she transported a group of nearly two dozen people, she complained of a strain of some kind being placed on her body, or her power… possibly both. It was a good thing that her healing ability seemed to clear up the strain each time she reintegrated her body from its energy state. Carlos and I alternated staying behind to guard the remainder of the survivors each time Mom teleported a group; even without the Nine present, there were still Bonesaw's spiders and Ogres to contend with.

After the final load of people was dropped off, we went back for Hatchet Face's body. He was exactly where I remembered leaving him, and a quick teleport had him safely stored in Mom's office. A glance at the Tinker reassured me that Bonesaw was still asleep. Despite my worries to the contrary, Mom's teleportation did not bring the power nullifier back to life. It did, however, repair the damage I'd done to the villain's body, leaving his corpse sparkling fresh and completely undamaged. I felt a little silly for teleporting the body with the muzzle of my gun pressed right up against his ruined eye socket, but I suppose the only bad precaution is the one that you don't take. We decided to turn in Hatchet Face and Jack Slash's bodies after everything else was done, as that was sure to garner a large amount of attention, countering any trumped-up charges or accusations the PRT might try to level against Mom or me.

My power hadn't been able to tell me conclusively if the healing/repair function of Mom's power could bring the dead back to life before we moved Hatchet Face… I just hadn't had enough information. After transporting his body, though, I was able to get a better handle on how her ability differentiated between animate and inanimate matter. It seemed to use energy as a measure of whether or not something was alive. I was mostly sure that it was neural energy that was used as a measure of life in the case of humans and other mammals. When we'd transported Carlos's head, Mom's power hadn't cared that the rest of his body was effectively dead, because his brain was still alive, busily transmitting electrical impulses between its neurons.

I had a pretty good feeling that a freshly dead person, one whose brain still had a good amount of electrical activity, might result in a different outcome altogether. Mom would need to work fast, though… I had no idea what the threshold was for her power to consider a brain either living or nonliving. I was also curious what would have happened if I'd run a low-voltage current through Hatchet Face's brain before we moved him… Would that have caused Mom's power to see him as alive enough to 'heal', and not just to clean up and 'repair'? If so, would the portions of his brain that had been ruined by bullets have had the information stored on it restored somehow, or would they have regenerated 'blank', with no stored memories? So many questions.

I also wondered about people who had been dead for a while. If Mom first 'repaired' a body and then we somehow re-energized their brain, would a subsequent teleportation bring them fully back to life? I had a lot of thinking to do before I brought up these thoughts with Mom… I didn't want her to completely freak out if it turned out that she could bring people who were unequivocally dead back to life. The first question I planned to think on would have to be 'Should I go down this road at all?'. Would it be a good idea to tell Mom that she might have the capacity for resurrection?

Now that it looked like I was both going to survive the night and be able to avoid being imprisoned I was really starting to Think about my future. The next few months should be incredibly interesting.

With the relatively unharmed civilians evacuated, we moved on to more difficult tasks. Things started to go wrong when we arrived back at Bonesaw's hastily assembled workshop in The Hangout. To my shock and horror, Jack Slash's body was gone. Carlos, Mom, and I looked everywhere in the building, thinking that one of Bonesaw's Ogres or spiders might have carried the corpse off for some reason. It didn't matter where we looked; neither hide or hair of the criminal's body could be found. I closely examined the ground near the workbench that the body had rested on, looking for clues. I was able to discern absolutely no trace of footprints that matched Jack Slash's shoe type or size, or even his bare feet; impressions of Bonesaw's tiny mary janes were everywhere. If Jack Slash had somehow returned to life, then he hadn't gotten away by walking out. Rather than making a special trip to locate the Blaster's body, we resolved to look for him as searched the rest of Camp Wanantakka for any additional survivors.

The next problem arose when we tried healing the first Ogre. The Tinkertech monstrosity was surprisingly docile, letting us direct and manhandle it without a fight. The problem arose when Mom's teleportation failed to heal or separate the two bodies that the monster was comprised of. I had carlos carry one of them over to the empty workbench, where I closely examined the patchwork creature using some of Bonesaw's own instruments. It was much easier than I thought it would be to use her Tinkertech tools after scanning them into my mind.

My examination of the poor wretch revealed that both of its twins heads were technically braindead. That is to say, there was no living brain matter inside of them. The monstrosity's dual heads were filled with Tinkertech implants rather than their original living brains, creating a sort of cyborg that had none of the memories or personality of the people that had died to create it. With none of the original brain matter left intact, there was no way to save the people that had been used to create the Ogres. I used a Tinkertech scanning tool that I picked up to take readings from each of the creatures, just in case the one I'd examined had been atypical. Now that I knew what to look for, it took only a few moments to confirm that they all shared the same design.

The three of us rounded up the docile cybernetic creatures and led them into the basement storage area of The Hangout.. The PRT would know how to handle them when we could finally convince them to come here and do their damn jobs. Talking to Carlos afterward, I learned that the Ogres had been created from the bodies of the two dozen or so children and adults that Bonesaw had killed to try and repair Jack's brain. She had apparently recycled the dead bodies of her victims, using their brainless shells to create a kind of fleshy robot. Since the creatures didn't have any brain activity at all, Mom's power treated them as non-living. They had simply been cleaned and repaired them rather than having their brain matter regenerated. I doubted that it would have helped them if her power had regenerated their brains; it beggared belief that my mother's power would have the information on hand to recreate their memories… At best, we would have ended up with a bunch of mental infants with brains completely empty of knowledge. Depending on whether that included the information normally hard coded into the human brain, they might not even have had autonomic functions. If they couldn't breath or regulate their own heartbeats, it would have led to the immediate deaths of the regenerated people.

We were all pretty depressed after that, but that didn't stop me from grabbing every single piece of Bonesaw's Tinkertech that I could. Mom teleported it all over to an abandoned warehouse near Dad's workplace in the docks so that we could retrieve it later. We left behind all of the gory bits and human remains for the forensic investigators who would inevitably turn up, once we made our report to a branch of the PRT that actually gave a shit about people's lives. I was feeling a bit bitter about the PRT and Protectorate completely failing us, and it showed.

I had a feeling that it would be a very long time before I would be able to trust anyone from either of the sister organizations. Later conversations would reveal that Carlos and Mom felt the same way. Once we were done helping everyone we could, and looting every piece of Tinkertech that was fit to steal, we headed back to the hospital with Hatchet Face's corpse to check on the people we'd dropped off throughout the night. After that, Mom planned to try to talk to the Brockton Bay PRT one more time. She was looking pretty angry when she told me that we were going to give them one more chance to do the right thing, but I think she understood how long it would take to get law enforcement from out of town to help and take statements from the dozens of people we had rescued. The last thing any of us wanted to do was to make things harder for the Slaughterhouse's victims.

The last time we'd been back to Brockton Bay General, there hadn't been a big law enforcement presence. It was incredibly odd that no one from the PRT seemed to care that we'd dropped off over a hundred people over the course of the night. Transporting them via teleportation, no less. A pair of police officers had been sitting in their squad car in the parking lot of the hospital, but that was it. The two officers hadn't approached us, hadn't even exited their car. I'd seen one of them talking on his radio, but neither of them seemed to be too concerned. I shook my head. 'What brand of insanity has taken over Brockton Bay?' I wondered. Our last drop off had been around an hour ago, just before our failed healing of the Ogres and my appropriation of Bonesaw's Tinkertech... before we'd found Jack Slash missing and spent much of the remaining time searching for him.

Our search was a failure, of course. Someone had spirited the killer's body away, someone who knew when it was just the right time to do it. I shook my head; hopefully it was just a precog, or some other type of Thinker, looking to cash in on his bounty. I couldn't lie to myself any more; I did not believe that the body's theft had so benign a purpose. I fully expected to confront a living Jack Slash at some point in the future, even if I didn't immediately share my dark thoughts with Mom and Carlos. There would be time enough to talk to them about it later.

Having done everything we could, and having found no other survivors, we gathered up Hatchet Face's body and teleported back to the hospital.

. . .

Mom, Carlos, and I arrived in the air, floating twenty feet above the hospital's lawn, just as we had on our previous arrivals. This time, however, everything was different. High in the air, half a dozen helicopters circled, stenciled with the logos of new stations from all over the eastern seaboard. NWWC in New York, KRBT in Boston, even Channel 5 from right here in Brockton Bay… all of those and more were in the air, just waiting for us to come back so they could videotape the three of us.

As we landed, I spotted a police cordon around the lawn below our slowly descending forms. There were over a dozen police and PRT officers holding back an enormous crowd. Reporters and civilians jockeyed for position behind the barricade, each of them trying to get closer, to get a better look or picture. Many of the civilians had cell phones or digital cameras out, their lenses pointed in our direction. The three of us shared a look as we touched down, just as Mom cut off her power. The sun was rising in the eastern sky, the red light of dawn shining over the busy hospital grounds. The new light illuminated the spectacle, as well as the people who had evidently been tasked to meet us. I stared at the people inside of the cordon, my eyes narrowed in anger.

In the middle of the lawn stood Armsmaster and Legend of the Protectorate. There were also a trio of uniformed PRT officers standing behind the two heroes, seemingly guarding their backs. Ground-based reporters and cameramen swung their long-range parabolic microphones in our direction, trying to pick up the first words out of our mouths. My 3D sense chewed on the designs of all the technology around me as I tried to figure out what exactly was going on here. The PRT must have been busy before now, I realized, too busy to respond to our actions throughout the night. They'd tried to contain the situation once they had gotten a handle on whatever problem had tied up the majority of their officers and resources, but they had been far too late to do anything truly effective.

The side of the police cordon that faced the staff parking lot of the hospital was lightly peopled compared to the rest. It looked like it was a spot set aside for the media, as most of the cameras were located there. I could tell that several of the reporters there were already recording, and several were broadcasting directly. 'We're on live TV.' I realized. I stopped my body from trembling, kept my face from turning red from the embarrassment I felt. I was suddenly extremely glad that we'd found a tattered dinosaur mask made of cardboard in The Hangout to cover Carlos's face; if we hadn't thought of that little detail then his identity would have already been blown wide open.

Legend and Armsmaster started walking toward us, neither of them looking very happy. I was suddenly filled with rage; where in the hell had they been all night? Why hadn't the PRT or the Protectorate showed up at camp to help? Even counting whatever problem that the Brockton Bay branch of the PRT was going through, there were still innumerable other branches of the organization that could have helped. I clenched my fists until my knuckles popped; they had better have a damn good explanation.

Three days ago, I would have given anything to meet Armsmaster or Legend… now, however, I wanted nothing more to punch the both of them square in the eye. A glance in Mom's direction revealed that if anything, she was even angrier than I was. Mom stepped forward quickly, rushing to meet the heroes closer to where the cameramen were stationed then I think they'd wanted to be. My mother spoke first, not letting either of the heroes, or the PRT officers behind them, get a word in edgewise. I winced at her tone; this was going to be bad.

"You had better have a damned good reason for the PRT and Protectorate ignoring an attack on a summer camp by the Slaughterhouse Nine!" she said loudly, well within earshot of the waiting reporters. Oh, yeah; she was pissed. Legend looked bewildered at her words and I saw Armsmaster go pale. On the ground maybe a dozen meters behind us, Hatchet Face's body lay in full view. I had no doubt that his famously ugly visage would have already been identified by one of the observers or news reporters. Legend turned to stare at Armsmaster, his face filled with incredulity. I processed that for a second; it would seem that the local leader of the Protectorate hadn't told him boss everything that had happened last night. I smirked under the bandanna acting as my mask; this should be interesting. Armsmaster snapped off a quick reply to his superior's question.

"Earlier this evening, the PRT received a report about a possible Slaughterhouse Nine sighting from a newly triggered cape. At the time, we thought that it was a false report. The PRT investigated, though I don't know the exact details, and--" he said gesturing toward me. I bristled, about to respond to the accusation, when my mom beat me to the punch.

"Don't you DARE!" she snarled, causing Armsmaster to flinch and rock back on his heels. "We gave a comprehensive statement, and showed you proof of their attack! We gave you the fucking Siberian's body, for christ's sake!" Legend stared at my mother in shock. His exposed lower face was filled with surprise. The leader of the Protectorate turned to look at Armsmaster, a severe frown appearing on his normally jovial face.

"Armsmaster… Just what in the hell is going on here?" he asked, whispering furiously. "I was called to Brockton Bay by the head of the PRT herself, to evaluate a possible Master/Stranger scenario, and only now are you telling me that earlier tonight a Slaughterhouse Nine attack was reported? I find myself wondering if perhaps my team wasn't too hasty when they assured me that you were clear of any influence, earlier." Legend didn't get loud, but his voice carried a raw, primal intensity that nearly made me shiver. He was always depicted as such a nice guy, but right now he was terrifying. Armsmaster paused, and then by all signs made to continue defending himself.

"I didn't-" he began, before Legend cut him off.

"Not right here, and definitely not right now, Armsmaster. We will discuss this back at PRT building." The famous hero turned toward us, a smile on his face. "Would you folks mind coming to the PRT building to discuss this matter with me there? I give you my word that I will listen to your story, and deal fairly with whatever complaints that you may have." I studied Legend intently; I still couldn't read people perfectly, but I was pretty sure that he was telling the truth.

"I think that we should talk with him." I told my mom.

"I don't know…" she replied, giving Legend an assessing look. "I have a lot of respect for the Triumvirate, you especially," she said coolly, "but tonight the PRT and Protectorate both have demonstrated a level of incompetence that was truly staggering." She turned to face the cameras, projecting her voice as if she were addressing one of her classes.

"The three of us all triggered within the last seventy-two hours... we were definitely not ready for the horrible things we just had to go through. Because no one in the PRT or Protectorate could be bothered to actually investigate our reports of the Slaughterhouse Nine murdering children at a summer camp, the three of us, two teenagers and a school teacher, were forced to fight and kill three members of the Slaughterhouse Nine. We were ones who had to rescue over a hundred people people from a truly terrible fate, because you," she said, pointing at Armsmaster, "refused to!" Armsmaster stopped in his tracks, a look of rage passing over the exposed portion of his face. The PRT people standing behind the heroes looked shaken. Legend grimaced at her words, though I thought that I detected a hint of shame in his demeanor.

I stared at Mom as she proceeded to do worse than merely giving the pair of heroes a black eye, by recounting what had happened to us in a manner that cast the Protectorate in the worst possible light. I was a little awed by her speech; I don't think I could have done any better if I'd had an hour to prepare, and I have a Thinker rating. People were always saying that Tinkers were bullshit, but I'll bet that's only because they'd forgotten about English teachers.

. . .

Eventually we did end up going to the PRT building, where we were met by a Lawyer that my dad had called on our behalf; he told us later that he had been in the crowd at the hospital. After mom's little speech, he'd been concerned that the Protectorate was going to try and arrest us, or something crazy like that. The lawyer, some up and comer named Quin Calle, made sure to not only be present for our little talk with the PRT (the term 'interrogation' was not used), but he recorded it as well. Dad had given him a rundown of what had happened earlier in the evening, and he'd already served some kind of papers to the PRT on our behalf, which had caused the officers still lingering at our house clean up their gear and depart.

Mr. Calle made sure to get a list of all the officers and heroes who had been involved in the 'investigation' that happened before the PRT sent their teams to my house. He said that he wanted to know who to blame if the PRT continued to ignore the terrorist situation that they had wantonly ignored. There was talk of congressional hearings, and checking to see if the US Attorney General wanted to prosecute any of them for gross incompetence. If the PRT had dislike Mr. Calle when he first arrived, then they outright hated him by the time he left.

Thanks to Mr. Calle, we learned that each of the Slaughterhouse Nine members carried an enormous bounty. Thanks to the terrible publicity they had suffered, the PRT was practically forced to pay us for the members of the Nine we'd killed, even without Jack Slash's body. I was aghast to learn that for killing the Siberian and Hatchet Face, I was due a staggering eighty-six million dollars. Carlos was elated when he was told that he would be cut a check for fifty-two million for killing Jack Slash. We had to wait for verification of the kills, but it wouldn't be too long before we were given our money; Mr. Calle assured us of that.

We had originally thought that without a body, the PRT would have given Carlos trouble over Jack Slash's bounty. Mr. Calle assured us that with over a hundred witnesses to the kill, that wouldn't be a problem. None of us mentioned that Bonesaw had been trying to resurrect Jack Slash. None of us mentioned Bonesaw at all. It was assumed by the PRT that she had fled with the rest of the Nine, and that only Hatchet Face had chosen to remain behind.

There was one last thing; I never got and chance to tell the PRT my cape name. I assumed they'd already gotten it from one of the people we had saved, so I didn't bother bringing it up when they didn't bother asking me. They had a name all right, but it wasn't one that I'd picked out. It wouldn't be until later in the day that I'd discover what the world had been calling me.

Before we left the hospital parking lot, we'd been accosted by a mob of reporters. Mom and Carlos had acquitted themselves just fine, taking care to ignore both cameras and questions. I hadn't done so well, unfortunately. When a friendly looking female reporter had asked me my name, I'd panicked. Not really wanting to be saddled with something ridiculous like 'Capulet', I had answered her question vaguely.

"I'm just a hero," I'd told the woman. I thought the line I gave her sounded cool, and that it would give me a chance to come up with a better name eventually. Later that evening I was in for a surprise when my parents and I settled in to watch the news coverage of our escapades. I don't know if the reporter had edited the footage, or if some other sound had overpowered part of my quiet reply to her question... but the sound bite that played was definitely not what I had said.

"I'm... Hero," I heard my own voice say. I gulped as my parents shared an inscrutable look with one another. Bonesaw grinned gleefully from her place on my mother's lap; Dad and I eyed her warily.

It seemed I had some big shoes to fill.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

With Interlude 1 posted, Arc One of 'Immortals' is officially brought to a close. This chapter should clear up at a few of the mysteries from the last few chapters, but not all of them. Some things are being intentionally left vague or unsolved for now. This is done on purpose... for reasons. Hopefully you will enjoy this Interlude. Please let me know what you think.

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Interlude 1: Various​

Emily Piggot​

Emily Piggot awoke at dawn, as always, feeling terrible. She'd been forced by the PRT's chief medical officer to go through dialysis the night before, after having to push the necessary treatment back two days in a row due to an ongoing war between the new Asian gang and the Empire 88. For a third night in a row, yet another crisis had fallen into her lap when some teenage punk with a two-bit Thinker power had claimed that her summer camp had been attacked by the Slaughterhouse Nine. After her treatment she'd been so tired she could barely stand up. She'd had her personal assistant drive her home, and the fatigued woman had almost immediately collapsed in bed.

The worst part of last night's interruption was Emily had actually believed the girl's claims... at least at first. She still felt a bit like an idiot for falling for the girl's story, but she took comfort in the fact that soon enough Taylor Hebert, and possibly her mother Annette, would be behind bars. Emily looked forward to discovering the details of the investigation she'd set into motion the night before from her dialysis chair in the PRT building's medical bay. She hadn't been able to see it through to the end, but she trusted the competence of her people to finish the work in her absence.

She'd been furious at being fooled, after a little digging by her second in command had revealed that the Nine had last been spotted near Boise, Idaho, only a day before the Hebert girl had claimed they made their attack on her summer camp. Experience had taught Emily Piggot that a group like the Nine didn't cross thousands of miles without attacking someone, somewhere… It was rare that the Slaughterhouse Nine crossed a hundred miles without going on some kind of murder spree. She'd had her deputy dispatch a quick-response team to the summer camp just in case, wanting to cover all of their bases. She already knew what they would have found, however; nothing. There had been no call last night, no follow up from her subordinates. That meant the Hebert girl was lying, and that she was already in custody, either for filing a false report, or for murder. Maybe if the girl's power was valuable enough, she would offer her a place in the Wards; she couldn't wait to read Armsmaster and Renick's reports.

Emily had also added a young PRT officer that she'd been training personally to the investigation, to try and ferret out what the girl's game really was. Parahumans always had an agenda, and the PRT Director was curious to find out what the Hebert girl's plan had been. Personally, she figured it was money; the Siberian's bounty was almost as large as that of Jack Slash. If she had actually believed her story, then the PRT would have been obligated to pay her a lot of money. Agent Leek was a real up and comer, someone that Pigot thought might go places in the future; someone who would be sure to make sense of the recently triggered girl's tall tales. The PRT ENE's FBI liaison, Samson Cole, had also tagged along with her. She wasn't exactly happy about that, but he was a long-serving law enforcement officer; the rotund woman figured his presence might help to balance out some of Leek's inexperience.

Emily didn't dislike Cole, per se, but he had a way of getting under her skin. He often ignored protocol in favor of 'being nice', and he was distressingly informal with her subordinates. If he'd been one of hers, then Piggot would have demoted or fired him long ago. She sat down with the watered down, decaffeinated swill that her doctor insisted she drink as she turned on her Smartphone, eager to find out what the investigation last night had turned up. The heavyset blonde woman frowned when the phone wouldn't turn on.

The unhappy Director tried holding the power button down, and then plugged the phone into it's charger when that didn't work. The little battery symbol didn't come up on the screen when it was on the charger, causing her to conclude that something was definitely wrong with the device. She shrugged; she'd have the tech department look at it when she went into the office in a few hours. Idly, she flipped on the TV. The morning news appeared to be showing a live view of Brockton Bay General; the cameraman had his camera pointed into the air for some reason, centered on a spot a little ways above the hospitals lawn, which looked like it had seen better days. The grass appeared to have been trampled, muddy patches of footprints tracked through it untidily. Emily snorted; the hospital really needed to get a better groundskeeping staff.

As she watched, a blue blob of light popped into existence above the lawn, the camera immediately correcting its angle to focus on the new arrival. Emily frowned; what in the hell was going on? This was clearly something to do with parahumans, but she had no idea who the individuals slowly heading toward the ground were. She could make out a quartet of shapes now, as she stared at the screen. It looked like whoever this new cape was, he had some kind of non-Manton limited Breaker power; an extreme rarity among parahumans.

The blue light disappeared under her thoughtful eyes, revealing a woman and two youngsters, all of them wearing handkerchiefs or scarves in place of actual masks. Whoever they were, these capes were extremely new, or else they would have something better than that. Capes had a near-religious fetish for their costume; even the lowest parahuman wouldn't be caught dead in a getup like that if they had any other choice available. The fourth form was lowered to the ground by the male teen, who she immediately pegged as having a Brute power; he handled the larger body far too easily. She frowned; the fourth figure wasn't moving, and now that she thought about it, he looked quite familiar. She racked her memory, trying to put a name to the face.

Emily paled, her face becoming ashen when she realized that the fourth figure was a fucking corpse, and that it belonged to one of the cape community's biggest boogeymen; Hatchet Face, late of Slaughterhouse Nine. She paled even further, when she realized the implications of his body being present, and the news focusing on this event. She'd been wrong about the Slaughterhouse Nine's attack, and for some reason no one from the PRT had contacted her last night to let her know what was going on.

Emily Piggot didn't exactly know what Taylor Hebert looked like, but she would bet anything that she was the teenage girl on the television screen in front of her. That the girl with the shitty, thrown together disguise (there was no way Piggot would ever call something like that a costume) was the source of what she had thought was a hoax the night before. Scrambling to her feet, she raced over to the landline phone she kept for emergencies. She pulled the cordless handset from its charger, and attempted to call her Deputy Director's private line. Renick should be able to give her a quick sitrep. The bottom dropped out of her stomach when she realized that like her cell phone, the handset wouldn't turn on.

'Had there been a power surge the night before?' wondered Emily, as she scrambled to put on her clothes and shoes. That was probably what had caused the two phones to fail, but she couldn't rule out sabotage just yet. She'd made a lot of enemies over the years, and there were several people who'd like nothing more than to see her get embroiled in a scandal like the one that was sure to follow the events she'd seen happening on TV. She picked up her worthless cellphone, putting it into the pocket of her suit jacket as she ran toward her car as fast as her crippled body would allow her. She had to get to the PRT building as soon as possible so that she could find out just what in the hell was going on.

. . .​

Armsmaster / Colin Wallis​

Colin Wallis scanned the spot where FBI Agent Cole had indicated the Hebert women had vanished into thin air, after achieving some kind of glowing blue Breaker state. There was no doubt in his mind that Annette Hebert had triggered thirty-five minutes ago. He had been knocked unconscious in the wake of someone's trigger event, and the emotionally charged outburst that Cole had described matched the conditions necessary for a parahuman trigger to a 'T'. He was currently trying to gain some insight into how Mrs. Hebert's power functioned.

This particular trigger event was interesting to Colin for a number of reasons. First, in over a decade as a cape, Colin had never heard of a parent triggering after a child. Second generation capes were definitely a thing, but he'd thought that if a parent was capable of triggering, then they would definitely have done so before their children. He was also interested in the fact that the English professor was apparently some kind of teleporter; capes who could move from point A to point B without crossing the intermediate space were extraordinarily rare, nearly as rare as the highly coveted parahuman healers who cropped up no more than five or six times a decade.

He grunted in surprise when his sensors picked up absolutely nothing. Teleporters usually left some evidence of their passage; a patch of slightly warped space, a little bit of exotic radiation… Apparently Mrs. Hebert's power had none of the common tells; he would have to look into studying her ability when she got back from wherever she'd transported herself and her daughter to. The idea of a getting his hands on a cape with a non-harmful, completely undetectable teleportation power was an enticing one to the efficiency Tinker.

Colin mused that it might be a little difficult to get the new trigger to agree to power testing after they arrested her daughter. He toyed with the thought of offering the younger Hebert clemency in return for the cooperation of the elder; he would need to speak with Director Piggot about that come tomorrow. There was no question in his mind that Taylor Hebert was lying about the Slaughterhouse Nine, and that the man they'd found with a perforated skull was not actually the Siberian. Her story made no sense, and his colleagues in the PRT had found absolutely no evidence earlier when they'd followed up on it.

Armsmaster didn't know the actual details of what the PRT had done to discover that Taylor's statement was false, but he trusted his unpowered colleagues in most situations. The hero resolved to collect some information about the investigation in few hours, as it would help provide leverage if he was allowed to offer both female Heberts places in the Protectorate and Wards respectively, rather than jail. They both had valuable powers, doubly so for the girl's mother. The high-level Tinker had been wanting to study a teleporter for a while now; if he could eventually replicate her powers and create a Tinkertech teleportation device, then he would be able to improve his mobility and decrease travel times by more than an order of magnitude. That could be just the thing to bring his slowly stagnating skills to the next level.

Finished wasting his time taking sensor reading that provided him with absolutely nothing, Armsmaster strode out the Heberts front door. A crew of PRT techs who'd been waiting to examine the scene themselves entered the Hebert home in his wake, using their own tools and equipment to gather information. Armsmaster snorted; if his Tinkertech hadn't found a trace of Annette's power, then what use was mundane technology? The Protectorate leader hopped on his motorcycle, and without a word to anyone, headed to the PRT building so that he could find out what had caused Renick and his men to dismiss Miss Hebert's claims with such finality.

. . .​

Charles Renick


Deputy Director Charles Renick was a "by the book" kind of guy. He simultaneously suffered from a lack of imagination and self direction, while possessing a superior intellect and extremely robust work ethic. These traits combined made him the perfect middle manager; Renick was a veritable machine when it came to paperwork, and given a sufficiently defined task, he would carry it out with a speed and precision that bordered on the preternatural. He'd been tested for a corona gemma, the sign of an active parahuman power, no less than three times by bewildered superiors who'd each convinced themselves the small, unassuming man had triggered with a Thinker power that facilitated office work. Each of these tests had proven that Renick was a normal human who was just that good.

Tonight the good Deputy Director had precious little opportunity to demonstrate the skill that had allowed him to rise to his vaunted position at a mere twenty-nine years old. He'd been given a task that he was ill suited for by his Boss, Emily Piggot. The PRT Director had been unable to handle the troublesome problem herself, as she normally would have on any other occasion, due to her health problems. Renick, for no one used his first name anymore, not even himself, even in his own thoughts, was certain that the Boss would perform her job better if she would just allow the new healer in town to cure her defunct kidneys. He'd even scheduled an appointment with the girl, Panacea, but Piggot had angrily declined.

The short dark haired man shook his head at Piggot's remembered obstinance; if she had just allowed herself to be healed, then Renick wouldn't be in the position of having to actually come up with an entire plan of action right now, all by himself. Still, blaming others for his failings wouldn't get the job done, so he got to work. The Director had acquainted him with the situation at hand, at least; a new parahuman had triggered, a Taylor Hebert, and she was claiming that the summer camp she'd attended had been attacked by the Slaughterhouse Nine, who were purportedly still there. She had also claimed to have killed the Siberian, and that she was in position of his body… because the Siberian was supposedly a projection, and she had killed the Master controlling her. Renick smiled; it would be nice if it were true; a monster of the Siberian's caliber being taken off the streets was cause for celebration.

It was his job to find out if Taylor Hebert could be telling the truth, and quickly, too. Piggot wanted him to dispatch a team to her home shortly, and to let her know in the next five minutes if he thought her allegations had merit. The Deputy Director signed into his terminal and got to work. He called up the PRT's S-Class tracking database, a collaborative project with several organizations and individuals including Dragon. He queried the Slaughterhouse Nine's last known position. It looks like they had been spotted in Boise, Idaho four days previously. He jotted down the information the pad he habitually carried around with him, alongside the other information he'd written there during his conversation with the Director a few minutes earlier.

The sheer amount of distance that the group of serial murderers would have had to cross without any reported sightings was a strike against the new parahuman's story, but it wasn't the final nail in the coffin. Stranger things had happened, after all, thought Renick's subpar imagination couldn't conjure any up at the moment. He picked up the receiver on his desk phone, and dialed the East-North-West Protectorate branch, who he had asked to send their rapid response team to the campground a little over five minutes earlier. He'd had his assistant Duane Ruffalo make the request while he was still meeting with Piggot. The phone rang and rang, the WNE officer who Duane had spoken to failing to pick up her telephone. Renick scowled, then dialed the number for Director Cann of the ENW PRT branch; she was a former boss of his, so he had her personal number; she would be sure to know the status of the rapid response team.

Before the phone could finish ringing, the line went dead, and the lights in his office went out. Renick blinked in the dark, wondering why the backup generator and Tinkertech batteries hadn't kicked in. When the searing blue portal opened in thin air less than ten feet from where he was sitting, the young Deputy Director began fumbling through his top right drawer for the automatic pistol that he kept there. He'd just placed his hand on the weapon when a woman stepped out of the tear in space. Renick stared at the intruder, baffled that the alert klaxons weren't going off, wondering if he was about to die.

At least his executioner was well dressed, he mused; being killed by someone in rags would have been undignified. The woman's wholly unremarkable figure was clothed in an expensive suit, complete with a stylish fedora sitting on top of her long, dark hair at a jaunty angle. The woman was pretty without being beautiful, though she had a certain exotic cast to her features. Renick made to raise his gun, only for the woman to raise an eyebrow at him.

'Really?' her expression seemed to ask. Renick lowered the gun; he had a feeling that it wouldn't do him any good here.

"What do you want?" he asked. He doubted the woman wanted him dead; the gun her left hand would have made short work of him if she'd intended to end his life.

"Follow these instructions," said the woman, stepping forward to hand Renick a piece of paper. He glanced down, sharp eyes taking in the words on the page in seconds. He stared at mysterious woman intently, a frown on his face.

"I am not doing this," he stated definitively. He wasn't about to lie to the Director, to compromise his morals and betray the organization that he'd been serving faithfully for nearly a decade. Renick knew that this cape, for she had to be a parahuman, was capable of taking his life… but nothing she could do could shake his implacable morals.

"Theodore and Luigi," she spoke softly. Renick winced, dropping his gaze to the office floor. How had she known?

"Fine, have it your way," he grumbled. The woman nodded, and then stepped back through the portal, the anomaly closing behind her.

Renick sat down in his chair heavily, a sigh escaping his full lips. He would gladly die for the PRT, but some there were some things that were sacred... inviolable. Things worse than death. A quick check of his computer showed that there had been no alarms, not notice of the power in his office going out, or of the unknown parahuman's arrival or exit. He played back the last minute of security footage from his office. The timestamp on the video was correct, but it showed an empty room; even his own chair was unoccupied. The amount of trouble that the woman in the suit had to have gone through to deliver her ultimatum had to have been fantastic.

'How had she learned about Theodore and Luigi?' he wondered. His coworkers didn't know about them… nor did his mother or sister. Renick didn't really have friends, and the last time he'd gone out on a date h'd been a teenager. He was practically married to his job. Still, he wasn't going to risk the two most important things in his life, not even for the PRT. Picking up the phone and the instructions he'd been given, he called Emily Piggot.

"Report," snapped Piggot.

She was always grouchy while undergoing dialysis, Renick knew. He wasn't uncharitable enough to hold it against her; the youngish man figured that having all the blood removed from her body and cleaned by some machine had to be incredibly unpleasant. Besides, Piggot was a good administrator and an even better Boss. To the best of his knowledge, she'd never failed to have one of her people's backs in a crisis. He suddenly felt doubly bad for what he was about to do.

"The rapid response team from ENW reported that everything was normal at the campground you asked me to investigate. After the report I called the camp director personally, and she confirmed that nothing was amiss. I asked if they had any campers that didn't show up; sure enough, Taylor Hebert's name was on the list of children who never arrived." Renick read from the pre prepared speech that the well dressed woman had given him as naturally as he could. Thankfully, his years of dictating notes and semi-public speaking held him in good stead. Several turns of phrase on the paper were things that he'd said before, enough so that a shiver went down the Deputy's spine; the woman had really done her homework on him.

Piggott was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with restrained rage. Pretty much everyone in the local PRT and Protectorate branches was aware of her temper, but she took pains not to inflict it on anyone who wasn't deserving. Renick winced, realizing that the Hebert girl was really going to be in for it when she was dragged in. If all went well, then he would be long gone and beyond retribution for his part in what was looking more and more like a frame job of epic proportions by the time that happened.

"Call in Sheila Leek and brief her on the situation. Have her interview Taylor and Annette Hebert... Tell her to find out what the hell their game is! That fibbie Samson Cole has also been sniffing around, when he got word that the Nine were mentioned; he's asked to tag along, so make sure Leek knows that she's babysitting him. And if there actually is a stolen van with a body in it, I want the both the mother and the daughter behind bars unless the corpse has tits and stripes!" Piggot sounded both angry and exhausted, causing Renick to wince.

"Certainly, Director Piggot. I'll take care of everything, ma'am," said the dark haired Deputy, continuing to read from the page.

"Thank you, Renick. You're a good man," said Piggot before disconnecting the call.

Rennick did as he was told, and called Leek and Special Agent Cole into his office to brief them. He made sure to stress that Piggot didn't believe the pair, and as the paper commanded, he lied to them and claimed that she hadn't actually ordered a quick response team to be dispatched. When he was done winding them up, the pair of officers left his office with the distinct impression that Taylor Hebert was an attention seeking liar, and that the new Thinker might have actually killed some poor unfortunate to further her plot, whatever that might be. Sheila Leek strode purposefully from his office with a determined look on her face, Samson Cole following behind while sporting a thoughtful expression.

Renick scowled at their backs; he hadn't like that at all. He still had one more task to perform before his left the PRT office for the last time. He checked his watch; by now, Piggot would have finished her dialysis, and she'd either be home or well on her way there. With the Director out, Deputy Director Charles Renick had several special powers that went above and beyond what he was normally able to do with his boss present. He intended to use one of them in just a few moments.

The thin, dark haired man took the elevator down to the lobby, occasionally glancing at his watch along the way. The note said that he would have to time everything exactly, or it wouldn't work. He'd already memorized and destroyed the paper as instructed; he hoped that his fallible human memory was up to the task of remembering all the minute details of what he was about to do. When he exited the elevator on the ground floor, he checked his watch. He tapped a special code into his secure PRT issue smartphone, he finger hovering above the "accept" button. He continued strolling casually.

He nodded at the guard in the lobby as he walked toward the exit. Another look at his watch confirmed that it was time to act. 'Ten seconds,' he thought to himself. He approached the door, nearly there. 'Six seconds.' He was moving too fast; he slowed down just a bit, making the guard look at him oddly. Renick's anus clenched, but he gave no outward sign of the panic that he was feeling. 'Four seconds.' He opened the door slowly, stepping out. As the door swung closed behind him, his watch informed him that there was just one seconds remaining.

'Time.' he thought, pressing his thumb down. Several things happened in quick succession. As he continued to walk away from the building, Renick head the loud 'thump' of the door's magnetic lock engaging, and the Tinkertech glass on the door and windows of the first floor polarized, obstructing the view in and out of the building. He heard a high-pitched siren go off in the PRT building as well; the Deputy knew that a second alarm and lockdown had also taken place at the Protectorate headquarters on the repurposed oil rig in the bay. Both buildings would be completely locked down, with no communications allowed in or out until a sufficiently high-ranking individual or office from the Protectorate or PRT verified that the emergency Master/Stranger infiltration and foothold alert he'd just sent out was indeed false.

Every member of the PRT and the Protectorate would need to be screened for M/S influence. The worst, most time consuming part was that because the specific type of alert he'd sent indicated a foothold situation, the people in the PRT building and The Rig would need to undergo a disgusting, horribly invasive set of screenings that would normally take days to clears each of them, unless pains were taken to speed up the process. The lockdown he'd initiated could normally only be done by the PRT's commanding officer, and only from inside the building. The woman's instructions had allowed him to avoid becoming trapped, thankfully, or else he would have had to go through the procedure as well. Had that come to pass, Renick knew that his treason would have been exposed.

He intended to make use of the distraction and 'get while the gettin was good' as his grammy used to say. Rennick hopped into his Ford Fiesta and drove home, to the small house that he'd purchased, in the good part of town. Once inside he packed quickly, taking only the essentials. When his car was loaded, he proceeded to secure the precious cargo that he'd traded his career for.

Charles Renick smiled happily as he gently placed two beautiful himalayan cats into a spacious pet carrier, making sure to put a few of their favorite toys and a pinch of catnip inside so that the journey would be as pleasant as possible. He placed the carrier in the front passenger seat, carefully securing it with the seat belt. The dark haired twenty-something placed the carrier so that his beloved cats could see him during the long drive, so that they wouldn't get scared. They weren't used to traveling by car.

"Luigi... Theodore… you would not believe the day I just had!" Renick said to the ones most precious to him in the entire world.

. . .​

Doctor Mother / Brandy LeBlanc​

The nominal head of Cauldron watched in bewilderment as her adopted daughter tromped through the small section of their base that the shadowy organization's upper management resided in. Brandy was a bit peeved at Fortuna; she had completely blown off their weekly movie night a few hours earlier, with nary an explanation or apology. She had tried to enjoy the action/adventure movie she'd intended them to watch together on her own, but she had been interrupted no less than six times as the young woman came and went, using Doormaker's portals to skip in and out of existence as she carried out whatever vitally important task she'd spurned her poor old mother's company to accomplish.

Just as the heroine in the movie was about to kiss her major love interest, raised voices and a loud bumping sound coming from Fortuna's room completely ruined the moment for Brandy. Growling, she got up quickly from the couch and marched to her wayward daughter's bedroom. She didn't ask the girl for much, maybe a day out or to join her for a movie night once or twice a month. She'd taken the poor Thinker in after she'd been stranded in a dimension and culture that she didn't understand, taught the young girl the ways of the world... and this is how she repaid her?

Admonishments poised on the tip of her tongue, the woman known as Doctor Mother threw open the door to her daughter's room. The guilt-inducing words she'd prepared died on her lips as Brandy took in the scene in front of her. One of doormaker's portals was hanging open in the middle of the room. The dimensional rift led to what looked like the inside of a hall closet in a lower middle-class household. On the other side of the portal, his frail body wedged into the tight space, was Doormaker. The Case 53's skinny, mutated body was pressed tightly against that of Legend's as the two struggled to fit in the closet. They were horribly squashed together, the two very different looking men both appearing to be highly uncomfortable with the situation.

There would have been more than enough room for the pair to fit in the closet, Brandy mused, if it weren't for all the coats and bric-a-brac inside. She held in a bout of hysterical laughter that threatened to escape when she noticed that one of the coats in the closet was covered in leaves and moss. It looked as if dozens of still-living plants had been glued or sewn onto the light jacket's exterior. The coat was hanging next to where Legend stood, the nasty-looking plants rubbing all over his costumed body. Both of the men looked extremely uncomfortable as they struggled in vain not to invade one another's personal space. Legend pushed a plume of what looked like spanish moss out of his face, his eyes growing wide as they met those of Doctor Mother's. He gave her a little wave, a sheepish smile appearing as his cheeks colored slightly. Neither of the men offered her a word of explanation.

Fortuna was laying on her bed, apparently unconcerned with the activities of the two men on the other side of the portal in her bedroom. The young woman was lying on her stomach with her legs in the air, ignoring the world as she wrote on a plain sheet of paper. Brandy recognized from their long association that her adopted daughter was deep in the throes of her power. The motions she made as she wrote were too smooth, her actions a little too controlled. At least that meant that there was some legitimate reason for this insanity. Still, it was best not to inquire. Early on, some of the organization's best and brightest had been driven mad trying to understand the Path to Victory. Looking at each of the people in the room once more, the head of Cauldron slowly backed away from the strange scene she'd just witnessed.

"Carry on," said Doctor Mother. Legend nodded politely to her, but the other two ignored her words completely. The 40-something took another step backward and gently closed Fortuna's bedroom door. She retrieved her half-eaten popcorn and glass of iced tea from the living room and headed into the kitchen. Brandy threw the popcorn away and rinsed the bowl out, setting it aside to wash later.

Sighing at the strange, surreal life that she lived, the tall dark skinned woman grabbed an enormous spoon from her utensil drawer before removing a half-gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream from the freezer. Pulling out a bottle of vodka she'd cleverly hidden in the vegetable crisper, she dumped half of her iced tea into the sink and filled the empty space in the tall drinking glass from the bottle.

Doctor Mother took a long pull directly from the half-handle before putting it back in the fridge. Juggling the tub of ice cream and her glass of improved tea, she made her way to the ensuite bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Brandy decided that a bath sounded lovely right about now.

. . .​

Tricia Takanawa

​

"This is roving correspondent Tricia Takanawa with channel 5 news, reporting from Brockton Bay, Rhode Island. I'm here in front of Brockton Bay General Hospital, where the famous cape city has been set ablaze by the actions of a daring trio of super powered do-gooders. Earlier this morning, the three heroes rescued over a hundred civilians from the latest Slaughterhouse Nine attack. The new team of independent heroes reportedly killed three members of the infamous gang in the process, including notorious ringleader Jack Slash." The Japanese-American journalist swept her arm across the ruined mess of the hospital's lawn as she continued speaking.

"The is the spot where earlier today the three heroes teleported scores of people, rescued children and staff from a summer camp, bringing the victims of the Slaughterhouse Nine to safety. The trio were seen to come and go multiple time, returning time and again to the dangerous base of the Slaughterhouse Nine, risking life and limb to secure the helpless prisoners' safety."

"The member of the heroic team that was first identified is a female teleporter of considerable ability. The energy-based Mover," she said, a picture of a humanoid shaped silhouette made of blue light appearing in the corner of the screen, "is tentatively being called 'Silent Sparrow' for her soundless mid-air teleportation and flight. According to experts, Silent Sparrow could be the next coming of Strider, the well know world-hopping teleporter who was first made famous for his assistance transporting capes from all over the world to Endbringer fights. Silent Sparrow appears to have at least an inter-city teleportation range, and a huge capacity to transport passengers. At one point, witnesses onsite reported seeing her teleporting as many as two dozen people at a time." The reporter cleared her throat before continuing.

"During interviews with the people she helped rescue, it was revealed that Silent Sparrow's unique brand of teleportation includes an extremely powerful healing effect, strong enough to counteract damage done to the victims of Bonesaw, one of the most fearsome members of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Truly, the city of Brockton Bay has been blessed to have a such a powerful and versatile cape as one of the heroes defending it." The raven haired woman swept her hair back, and gestured to a picture of a teenage boy wearing a haphazard costume that appeared on the screen behind her, replacing the glowing blue form of Silent Sparrow.

"The next member of the trio is a young man who has been nicknamed 'Raptor' by one of the youngsters he rescued. The teenaged cape has demonstrated enhanced speed, as well as amazing jumping skills when he and his teammates departed this morning. It's rumored that he may have enhanced strength and durability, but as of yet no one is certain as to the extent of his powers. According to a statement released by the PRT, Raptor is the member of the trio credited for defeating Jack Slash of the Slaughterhouse Nine, the terrorist who was listed as number one on the FBI's most wanted list for over a decade." Tricia smiled fetchingly.

"While the PRT has not disclosed the exact amount of the bounty Raptor will receive for defeating Jack Slash, our experts at Channel 5 estimate it to be in excess of twenty-five million dollars. With such an explosive start to his career, the sky's the limit for this young parahuman!" Tricia smiled at the camera. Slowly, however her face became serious.

"Finally, we come to the third and final member of the this outstanding trio of heroes." A picture of a young girl in an improvised costume appeared in the upper right-hand corner of the screen, replacing the image of Raptor. "And hero is the right word to use to describe this girl, as this reporter learned during her short interview outside of Brockton Bay General this morning."

The picture shifted, showing the same location, but much earlier in the day. The three heroes had just stepped off of the hospital's lawn, where they'd been speaking with PRT and Protectorate leadership. Another reporter, a blonde with a wide smile, approached the teenage girl with the slapdash costume. There were other reporters crowding around the trio and yelling out questions, but the teen ignored them. She stopped, however, when she was approached by the blonde journalist.

"Miss, can I please get your name?" asked the reporter.

"I'm... Hero," said the girl simply, before walking off. The blonde woman stood stock still for a moment, as did the rest of the reporters present. Whispers and hushed voiced echoed back and forth among the people in the crowd, confirming that 'yes, she really did say that.'. Seconds later the crowd went crazy.

The trio of heroes left the scene, the two female capes holding hands and transforming into blue light, before streaking into the air and flying off. Their male companion leapt after them, easily keeping pace as he jumped over nearby vehicles, and even some of the shorter buildings. Slowly the picture faded, revealing Tricia Takanawa's serene looking face once again.

"What name could possibly be more fitting for the group's presumptive leader, and the parahuman who finally succeeded in slaying the Siberian, than 'Hero'? Her powers are completely unknown at this time, but cape experts have speculated that she may either have a mental power, or that she could possibly even be a Tinker like the original parahuman to bear her name. To the young Hero, the girl who defeated both Hatchet Face and the Siberian, I think I speak for us all when I say: Thank you… and good luck in all your future endeavors." The young Asian-American woman wiped a single tear from her eye before once more addressing the camera.

"This is roving correspondent Tricia Takanawa for Channel Five News, signing off."

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

Welcome to another riveting chapter of Immortals! I wrote this chapter to get back into the swing of things with this story; it mostly deals with Taylor's life after the events of Nine, and is mainly exposition. It swings back and forth between two days after the events of the last chapter and six months later. Don't worry, though, there will be some scenes and explanations in later chapters detailing what happens during this time period. Happy reading, please let me know what you think!
​

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 10: Dawn of a New Era
...or The Calm Before the Storm​

2:37 PM EST
January 11th, 2010

Brockton Bay, RI
United States of America
Earth Bet

Loud music echoed through my basement turned laboratory as I worked. My mind continually studied and reviewed the design for the control interface that I was building as dexterous hands soldered reprogrammed computer chips onto a miniature circuit board. I was putting the board together using a tool of my own invention, something that I'd come up with using a combination of mundane know-how and a few of the advanced engineering principles that I'd intuited from studying examples of half a dozen Tinker built tools and devices.

The postage stamp sized circuit board was completed with only a few more strokes of the nanometer wide tip of my soldering tool, the last chip skillfully becoming fixed in the proper place. With that, the control board for my latest invention was complete. The flux I'd been using to solder didn't actually need to be heated to be applied; rather, the 'soldering iron' I was using caused metal to destabilize molecularly, which made most materials act as if they were in a liquid state at room temperature. Keeping the metal cool allowed me to apply it with greater precision and less risk. It also caused the metal to transition back into a solid instantly when I removed the tip of the iron, without wasting time waiting for the flux to cool. There was also no pesky expansion and contraction as the metal changed temperature to throw off the precision of my work. It was a handy little invention that I'd cooked up during my first week of 'Tinkering', and I'd gotten a fair bit of use out of it since then.

Like all of my inventions, the Cold Iron was also mass producible. It could be built from off the shelf components, using mundane engineering principles. I'd made a killing leasing the patent for this invention, as well as many others. Thanks to my power, I was more than just another Tinker… I actually understood how and why my inventions operated, allowing me to share this knowledge with humanity at large. I'd made tens of millions of dollars by leasing and selling patents for ready to build inventions… but I'd made billions by selling the knowledge of the underlying engineering and scientific principles that I'd gleaned by studying Tinkertech.

Already, after only six months of having powers, my contributions to human knowledge had led to an ongoing, worldwide scientific revolution. I was being hailed as the world's greatest Thinker by some, for bringing the secrets behind Tinkertech to mankind as a whole. Soon, with the building blocks that I was steadily supplying, humanity would use replicable super science to transform the entire planet. I was a long time away from figuring out a way to kill the Endbringers, but derivatives and new technologies based on my inventions and papers had already led to several notable advances in the state-of-the-art, a few of them translating directly to real world improvements in the lives of regular people. PRT troopers were all armed with superior body armor, and 'wireless tasers' now, giving them all an effective 'Brute 3' and 'Blaster 2' rating. Capture and incarceration rates for wanted villains had never been higher.

To be honest, all of the praise was a bit of an ego boost. I was trying not to let it change who I was... and on most days I succeeded. Still, I couldn't help admitting, at least to myself, that it was nice to be acknowledged.

I smiled; with the control board for my latest tool complete, about 90% of my current tools would soon be rendered completely obsolete… not to mention approximately 60-70% of human industry, once I began marketing it to the general population. I walked over to the tool in question, studying it intensely. I'd been working toward this goal all along, laboring to reach the point where I would be able to take off the kid gloves and really get building. Nearly all of the practical work I'd done for the last few months had been in service of this single invention. I slid the control board into place; the board's universal connector, something that I'd cribbed from Kid Win of all people, allowing it to be installed with a nothing more than a gentle push. A faint 'click' reach my ears, indicating that the board had been installed successfully. The modular nature of the machine I had designed allowed for quick and easy installation or replacement of all the machine's components at a moment's notice, without even having to power it off.

My perfect memory precluded any final checks of the device; I already knew that it had been put together perfectly. There would be no unexpected problems with the device unless I'd misunderstood some principle of the science or engineering behind it in the design phase. Oh, I suppose some of the materials I had used to construct it might have been flawed at the atomic level in some extraordinarily undetectable way… But that was extremely unlikely. Thanks to my power, there could be no errors during the building and assembly process… at least no errors by me. I switched the large machine on, my eyes alight as it silently came to life. I stared at the integrated display, watching as the OS I'd modified for this invention booted up.

It had taken an incredible amount of work to get to this point. I'd both purchased and been given dozens of Tinkertech devices to study over the last few months, machines both working and nonfunctional. I always made sure to pay triple for any piece of tech that came with a manual, as I could often glean more detailed information from such reference materials. I had also obtained hundreds of full schematics for Tinker-tech devices for this project alone, as well as a guide written by Dragon herself for newly triggered Tinkers. Her book had given me a few critical insights which had helped me solve a few of the more critical problems that I'd had in the design phase.

I had studied technology created by Armsmaster, Dragon, and Kid Winn, and compared notes with Cranial, Dodge, and Glace of Toybox. I had sought out half a score of other Tinkers, only to have my advances rebuffed; some because I wasn't a real Tinker, and others because they were jealous or wary due to my incredible achievements. Once the validity of my claim that I could decrypt Tinkertech had been verified, the Protectorate, as well as dozens of other parahuman organizations, had practically thrown Tinkertech at me, with only the stipulation that I promised to share my results with them.

That was fine; I was sharing the things I discovered with everyone. One of the promises I'd made to myself was that no one group would benefit overly from my research; it was the only way to make sure that humanity as a whole benefited from my power. When I sold a set of commissioned research notes to the PRT, or to Toybox, or the Russian Federation, etc, it was with the understanding that the knowledge they received would only remain exclusive for a period of two months. After that, I would release it to the world on my website, Hero of Humanity.

I always included a clause in my contracts that my customers could commission research on a specific article of Tinkertech, or in a specific area of study for half price… if the knowledge was immediately placed in the public domain. Seeing as how my Tinkertech research commissions started at ten millions for a half-day project and went up steeply from there, I'd had a lot of people taking me up on the half-price deal. Anything I researched on my own was immediately placed in the public domain, freely accessible by anyone on earth.

Just last week, I'd read that a normal, unpowered teenage boy had created a man portable cold fusion power cell that could supply enough electricity to power a family home indefinitely. He'd created it using the principles from a few of my research papers and a college-level understanding of science and engineering. The prototype had cost under three hundred dollars, and he'd claimed that mass production would lower the price to under fifty bucks a unit. The inventor had followed my lead and placed the patent in the public domain, allowing anyone to build it for free. It wasn't the first such story that I'd heard about, and I was sure that it wouldn't be the last. Already, there were new factories springing up worldwide, while existing manufacturing infrastructure was being retooled to take advantage of the tech revolution I'd bitch-slapped humanity with.

I love my power!

I had been so, so busy. I'd done all of this research, reverse engineering, and inventing on top of my daily reading. Before I could start building things, I had needed a foundation in the age-old art of engineering. I tore through tens of thousands of textbooks and manuals, guides and documents, both in print and on the Internet… anything at all that pertained to science and engineering. I'd also consumed everything I could find that taught learnable skills, until I'd become a fresh expert in hundreds of areas. By the time a month had gone by from the day I triggered, I had possessed knowledge and skills that were equivalent to having received dozens of doctorates and certifications. I somehow found time for physical training as well, though that quickly took a backseat to everything else once I discovered that my muscles and reflexes didn't need to be maintained with exercise to remain in top condition. Only when I was finished learning the basics had I finally been ready to start building.

If my first month of having powers had been a time of learning, my second month had been a time of discovery, filled with trial and error. I started destroying incredibly valuable articles of Tinkertech like mad, carefully breaking down each piece of idiot savant created 'technology' in laboratory conditions, so that my 3D modeling power squeeze every bit of information out of these unreplicable marvels. I used the bounties I'd received from killing Hatchetface and the Siberian to feed my new addiction, blowing through ten million dollars in the first week alone.

Mom had not been pleased with my spending, thinking that I was wasting our limited liquid assets for little to no gain. She had changed her tune very quickly once the money started rolling in from the patents and research I produced from studying Tinkertech. She'd apologized to me after that, and since then she'd let me have nearly full control over my wealth. I still had to go over the books with her and my head accountant every other week, but it wasn't a burden.

It had been six weeks after triggering when I'd leased my first patent. I'd designed a handheld medical scanner that could map the human body down to the cellular level in less than thirty seconds. My Medi-Scanner could find each and every anomaly in the person being scanned, either identifying the individual's medical problems outright from its integral database, or using heuristics to come up with a probable answer. It cost about $175 in parts and labor to build one, and I'd heard that Texas Instruments, the company who'd 'taken a chance' on the patent, was going to be selling them for around $3500 each. The companies that made MRIs, X-ray machines, and ultrasounds had been pissed, and only a wise decision from an extremely level-headed judge had prevented T.I. from being tied up in 'cease and desist' orders for the next decade. As it was, they had rushed into production, something they were able to do as they already had 95% of the industrial capacity to mass produce Medi-Scanners. The first mass produced units had been ready for sale in less than three months, which was amazingly fast for modern tech companies.

I'd calculated that worldwide, my first marketable invention had already saved between thirty thousand and three million lives. The actual number of people who'd survived thanks to the advent of perfect, nearly instantaneous medical imaging was tough to compute, hence the imprecise numbers. In the sixty three days that they had been widely available, Medi-Scanners had allowed doctors to avoid misdiagnosis and to discover medical issues that they wouldn't have originally been able to diagnose with older tools and methods. I felt pretty good about that; with this single invention, I was already responsible for saving more lives than any hero I could think of, save for possibly the Triumvirate and Dragon. Oh, and Scion, of course… I don't think I'd ever be able to become a greater hero than him. Not unless I do something really impressive, like figuring out how to achieve functional immortality for our species.

Yes, I am planning to come up with a practical form of immortality. Why wouldn't I? Mortality is the leading cause of death.

I turned my attention back to my newest project. My molecular assembler had finished booting up, and it's diagnostic screen showed all green lights, just as I knew it would. I most definitely did not let out a high pitched, shriek of girly delight when I saw that my invention actually worked. No sir, not me. What I did do, however, was to immediately begin testing my new favorite invention.

After confirming that the molecular assembler worked perfectly by fabbing a few simple items, I connected it to the secure network I'd set up in my home and downloaded several schematics for inventions that I hadn't been able to build yet for one reason or another. Lack of time and specialized resources, mainly. I queued up one of my more promising designs, something that I'd wanted to build since I first got powers. I watched the integrated widescreen OLED as it displayed a full suit of power armor that I'd created using technology and engineering principles from over a dozen Tinkers. Notable contributors included Dragon, Kid Win, Tecton, and the first Hero himself. My eyes moved superhumanly fast as I rapidly double-checked the design. After reviewing it I was satisfied; I'd already built most of the systems in miniature to test the feasibility of the technology, so I knew that every part of the suit would function.

I'd been meaning to build a set of powered armor like this for months, but I simply didn't have the hundreds of man-hours necessary to machine the dense layers of dimensionally overlapped ablative armor that protected the comparatively fragile interior systems... as well as the comparatively fragile pilot. I also lacked the dozens of pounds of radiologicals (tough to come by, even for me), and the industrial capacity to work on the armor's systems simultaneously, so that I could finish it in months instead of years.

My lab was more theoretical proving ground than machine shop, and I'd yet to expand into any of the buildings I'd purchased just for that purpose. I was extremely worried about security, as I was currently one of the most valuable parahumans on the planet. There had been over half a dozen kidnapping attempts already, and an international incident in which the CUI had claimed that I was a defector, and demanded that I be returned to China where I belonged. The US government had responded that any attempt by the CUI to abduct me would be considered an act of war;

Alexandria herself had needed to get involved when two of the weird grab-bag capes that China seemed to abound with had illegally entered Brockton bay. The less said about that incident the better; their deaths had not been quick or clean. If I hadn't read up on game theory and realpolitik then I might have thought Alexandria a monster. Despite not liking it, I did understand the need for a show of force in situations like that. China had not come out of the confrontation unscathed; on top of losing two of their capes they had also faced sanctions from both the UN and America directly, resulting in the probable loss of billions of dollars of revenue each year. Ouch.

I guess I'm kind of a big deal.

Anyhow, the power armor. Someone like Armsmaster had enough time and resources to build and maintain a suit of power armor, but up until now I hadn't. Now, thanks to the fabulous machine I'd just built, I totally did. The molecular assembler did exactly what its name implied; it assembled things at the molecular level. I'd seen several powers and Tinkertech machines which operated on a molecular level to achieve whatever function they were designed for, but not a single one that took advantage of the broader implications of the underlying technology. I'd decided to fix this oversight by building a device that could create anything, given sufficient mass and power. The molecular assembler was the fruit of that labor, the thing that I'd been working toward the entire time that I'd been studying Tinkertech.

With a working molecular assembler, I could build nearly anything... and quickly, too. The only real limit was the size of the construction chamber, and that wouldn't be an issue for too much longer. The second model, which I was still designing, used a shaped force field for the a containment chamber, which would allow me to make and assembler that, while much smaller than the first revision, would be able to create much larger items. I had a bit of work to go before the second revision would be ready to build… I still needed to crack several of the underpinning principles of Dodge's specialty, pocket dimensions, so that I could compress the internal components into a small enough space to carry a man-portable version around with me.

I switched the assembler on, watching the control screen carefully as several internal components in the large machine came to life. The dimensionally expanded hopper, which I'd filled with tons of scrap and garbage, began steadily feeding matter into the construction beam. A quiet humming sound emerged as the matter was re-shaped, turing refuse and scrap metal into state of the art technology. I chewed my lip thoughtfully as I watched the progress of the build on the monitor. I had made the containment chamber, the part of the machine where the assembly take place, opaque for several reasons. Chiefly among these reasons was the fact that the construction beam was so bright that it would burn out a man's retinas and give them third-degree sunburns from five meters away. Another problem to solve before a portable version could be devised. I smiled when I calculated that the construction times were exactly what I expected them to be. Mass and power in, rearranged mass out. In less than an hour the assembler was finished with its first real build.

The top and sides of the enormous cylindrical construction bay of the molecular assembler opened up, revealing a suit of gleaming purple and red colored power armor in the center. I stared at the highly advanced armor, which by all rights should have taken a team of elite engineers months to machine and put together. Using my molecular assembler, it had only taken 53 minutes to build. I let out a slightly hysterical laugh as I began putting on the suit of armor, eager to put it through its paces. The flight system in particular was calling to me; despite the fact that my own power allowed me to help humanity on a global scale, I was still jealous of Mom's ability to fly. With the undersuit and torso piece firmly in place, I pulled the strength and speed enhancing limbs onto my extremities, before lowering the full helmet over my head.

The suit booted up in a fraction of a second; it had more computing power than the massive quantum computing server that I used as the cornerstone of my network. The power armor could hold literally tons of hardware thanks to the many dimensionally expanded spaces inside of it. Looking at the rack cabinets on the other end of my basement laboratory, I knew what my second build would be. I had desperately needed to upgrade my computing capacity for a while now, but I hadn't had the time or resources to do so before the assembler came online.

Smiling, I used a virtual keyboard and the helmet's visual interface for access the assembler. Working quickly, I designed a new supercomputer that included everything relevant that I'd learned about Tinkertech since I'd designed my current supercomputer. I over engineered the hell out of it, giving it ten times the amount of processing and memory resource that I currently needed. I then octupled the amount of computing power, before starting the build queue. With this much power it would likely be a while before I would need to trouble myself to build a new one. The new supercomputer, like most of my current generation of technology, had most of its mass stored in overlapping pocket dimensions. This allowed it to be much smaller and more resilient than was normally possible. The benefits of using this approach were self apparent, and it didn't take much more power than building things the old way. The construction chamber closed, and the assembler began humming away as it started putting together the server I'd just designed.

It was time to do a bit of testing with my new power armor. I would need to be careful; I could only test a fraction of its systems indoors, lest I level my house. Walking across the room, I stopped in front of a large mirror hanging on the wall near my primary workstation. I stared at armored figure in front of me, incredibly impressed at how I looked while wearing the shiny creation. Deciding to see how the strength enhancement systems worked, I grabbed a 36" x 2" stainless steel rod that had been sitting nearby. Holding the length of metal in my armored fists, I gently flexed my wrists and forearms. I watched in glee as the artificial myomeres in the suit's reinforced skeleton flexed with the movements of my own body. The metal rod folded in half effortlessly when I exerted all of the effort it usually took me to fold laundry. My helmet's heads up display told me that this first test had put a 0.02% load on the artificial muscles in my suit's elbow joints and forearms. Holy crap... I was strong now. I would need to be careful.

Brimming with poorly restrained glee, I carefully walked up the stairs into the house proper. I couldn't wait to show Mom and Dad my new toy! And I guess I would show Riley, too… She might get a kick out it, since I'd used a few of things she'd taught me when I'd designed the armor's artificial muscles.

. . .

​

The last six months had, bar none, been some of the best days of my life. I'd accompanied Mom and Dad on their trip to Rome a day and a half after the conclusion of our harrowing rescue of the Camp Wanantakka victims. My parents had originally booked a room at a modest Inn, but thanks to the bounty money we'd shortly be receiving we decided to go all out. The massive amount of stress I'd been under slowly melted away over the course of the two weeks that we spent in Italy. Each historical sight I saw, each gourmet meal I ate, and every cut foreign boy that smiled at me contributed to the cessation of the pain and uncertainty that had been lodged deep, down in the core of my being. The daily teleconferenced counseling sessions with Dr. Jessica Yamada, the therapist that Quinn Calle had recommended, didn't hurt either.

With Doctor Yamada's help, I was slowly becoming more comfortable with the things that had happened to me. I was also able to fully admit to myself that it wasn't my fault. Truly, I had known that from the start, but it wasn't easy not to feel it, if that makes any sense. I learned about survivor's guilt as I traipsed about the beautiful city of Rome, experiencing a decadent vacation abroad for the first time. It was refreshing. Eventually, though, I started to miss home… to miss my friends, really. I'd been using video chat to talk to Emma and Carlos every day, but it wasn't the same as actually seeing them in person. When the two weeks was up I was glad to board the plane that would take us back across the ocean... back home to Brockton Bay.

The Barnes met us at the airport in Emma's Dad's enormous SUV. I squealed in delight when I spotted Carlos and Emma standing in the crowd of people waiting for their friends and families to leave the boarding area of the airport. I ran to them, wrapping both of my friends up in an enormous hug. Of course I'd told Emma everything… Carlos had surprised me by being willing to 'come out' to my friend as well, after I'd introduced him to Emma. The fact that they were here today, together, told me all I needed to know about how well they have been getting along in my absence.

The two teenagers had interacted so well during their first meeting that I'd worried Carlos was into her, if you know what I mean. After observing their interactions, however, I'd seen no evidence at all that Carlos liked Emma in a romantic way. From the odd way he was acting around me before I'd left, and the way that he'd seldom left my side during those two days, I had a strong suspicion that Carlos had as much of a crush on me as I had on him. I hadn't actually talked to him about it, yet... God, that was going to be such an embarrassing conversation. Sometimes being a teenager was a sack of assholes.

The Barnes took us to dinner the night we got back to celebrate our return. Carlos tagged along as well, riding with my parents and I on the trip over to the restaurant. Alan and Zoe Barnes, Emma's Mom and Dad, didn't yet know that Mom and I were capes; I assumed that they didn't know about Carlos, either. I hadn't asked my mother yet if she intended to tell them, but I seriously doubt that she planned to. If it had been Dad who triggered, then it might have been a different story; he and Alan went way back, having been best friends all throughout their childhood, just like Emma and me. Mom had never been as close to either of the Barnes as Dad was to Alan; she had much closer friends in her home city of Boston and at the College where she worked.

I'd talked to Mom previously to discussing my secret with Emma, to get her advice. She had looked at me for a moment with an odd expression on her face, before asking me a single question.

"Do you trust her, Taylor?" she asked solemnly. I thought hard for a moment. I'd spent my entire life beside Emma, shared so many things with her that she was more like a sister to me than a friend. We had so many secrets between us that I couldn't count them, helped each other so many times that the memories blurred together. Sure, Emma might act like a spoiled brat at times… but she had never done anything that given me the slightest cause to suspect that she would betray my trust. She was my best friend.

"Yes," I replied, with a bit of steel in my voice. "I would trust her with anything." Mom smiled at me.

"Well, there's your answer," she said matter of factly.

I called Carlos later that day, and explained that I was going to tell my best friend that I was a cape. We spent a little longer than I had counted on talking… for some reason, the two of us kept finding a reason to avoid ending the call. Weird, huh? I asked Carlos if he would like to meet up with the two of us afterward, so that I could introduce him to Emma. He readily agreed, stating that he wanted to meet all of the important people in my life… for some reason, that made my blush, though I don't rightly know why. I left him to decide whether or not he wanted to come in costume (such as it was), or in his civvies. He agreed to meet us at a park near the mall later, so that we could get to know one-another, and maybe have a late lunch.

I was running late from being on the phone for so long, so I had to put my new physique to us in order to get to my best friend's house on time. I caught a few odd looks while running there, but I wasn't too worried, since I kept my real abilities on the down-low. As I ran, I made sure to keep my running speed under that of baseline human maximum, only moving at 18 miles per hour. The human maximum was 28 miles per hour, so I felt that my current pace was a good compromise. I would find out later that a sustained running speed of 18 miles per house was ridiculously fast; thankfully, though, my little stunt hadn't compromised my identity.

I knocked on Emma's door, running in place to cool down while I waited for her to answer. When my red-headed bestie opened the door to greet me, the wide smile she was wearing transformed into a look of disbelief when she got a good look at me, her eyes bulging like crazy. The short, curvy girl grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside, slamming the door behind her. I looked her in oddly; what in the world was going on here?

"Jesus Christ, Taylor!" shouted Emma, staring at me in shock. "What in the hell happened to you!?" She was eyeing me wearily, staring at my stomach for some reason. I looked down, my own eyes following the path hers had taken. I looked at my stomach warily, wondering why my best friend was staring at it so intently.

"What?" I asked her.

"Shit, you don't even know what I'm talking about, do you Taylor?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, looking like she had a headache forming. What I want to know," she said slowly, "is how in the fuck did you got an eight-pack in less than a week?" Oh, yeah. That. I guess my body had developed a little bit of muscle, both during and after my Trigger.

"Hi Emma," I said, "It's nice to see you, too," I said snarkily. Emma rolled her eyes. "Are your parents home?" I asked her.

"Do you really fucking think that I would be cursing like a goddamn sailor if they were here?" she replied. We giggled together. "Dad's at work today, and Mom and Anne went to Lord's Market. Now, tell me how you got that sexy belly! Oooh!" Emma squealed, a look of awe in her eyes. "Did you find a cape to work on you? Do they take requests!?"

"Jeeze! Calm down, Emma!" I cried as she grabbed my arm and hopped up and down like a terrier with an overfull bladder.

"Teeeell meeee~!" she pleaded, her eyes beginning to water artfully. Emma was ridiculously good at faking real tears. She had her father wrapped around her little finger, and could make him do pretty much anything for her when she fake-cried.

"Alright, OK already!" I said, halfheartedly trying to push her off of me. "Calm the shit down and I'll tell you, you grabby little brat," I said fondly, a smile on my face. Emma settled down immediately, shooting me a satisfied smirk.

Emma got us a each a coke from the fridge; regular for me, and diet for her. I shot the silver can my friend was sipping from a distrustful look; diet soda was just the worst. Coming from someone who's fought the slaughterhouse nine, that's saying something. I cracked the can and took a long, slow sip, watching the redheaded girl opposite me begin to squirm in impatience. Holding in a grin that threatened to burst forth, I tilted my head back and slowly drew on the can of cola, taking the world's longest drink. Emma's eyes narrowed when she realized what I was doing, and she brandished a throw pillow in my direction threateningly. I made the tactical decision to not get hit in the face while I was drinking soda, and place the mostly empty drink container on the coffee table. I made sure to use a coaster; Mrs. Barnes was a real stickler for that.

I looked my best friend directly in the eyes, my face hardening. Emma's grin fled like a startled cat, leaving behind a blank expression. She gulped when I stood up and began pacing back and forth. God, damn; why was this so hard?

"I'm a parahuman," I said. Emma stared at me in shock, her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish. "I have powers. I got them at camp, when the Slaughterhouse Nine attacked. I killed a few of them, and saved a bunch of people. It was terrible." I looked down at the ground, wondering how Emma would react. Would she--

I rocked back on my heels as a soft, warm body slammed into my own, arms wrapping around me comfortingly. Emma held me tightly, and I lowered my chin down to rest on her shoulder. She pulled me into her, making soothing sounds as she patted my back, just as my mom had done the other day when I first got home from camp. I wasn't quite as much of a mess as I had been that day, though, so I didn't break down crying. The hug felt nice, though; I could always count on Emma to be there for me when something was the matter, just like I had always been there for her. I doubt there was anything in the world that could tear us apart.

I was extremely glad that I had come out to Emma. We spent almost two hours talking. I recounted a bare-bones version of my adventure, omitting some of the more unpleasant details. I'd already gotten Mom's OK to tell Emma that she had triggered. When I told her, Emma was extremely excited, wondering if my whole family would soon be capes. She told me that if Danny Triggered, we should become a crime fighting family like New Wave, our town's resident vigilante group. They didn't wear masks for some reason, though I wasn't entirely clear on why; I would need to read up on that.

Of course, Emma was hella jealous. She seemed more concerned for me than resentful, though, and she couldn't stop gushing about my upgraded body. She kept running her smooth, manicured hands over the rock hard muscles in my arms and legs, and staring at the well-defined eight-pack on my tummy. It felt kind of weird when she did that; a little uncomfortable, and a little… tingly, I guess. I didn't think that my best friend was into me, or anything like that… it seemed like equal parts envy and excitement for me. Having Emma point out all of my changes had made me realize that I had either missed some things in my initial assessment, or that my body had somehow changed over the last three days.

I excused myself and went to the restroom. Stripping off my clothing, I stared at myself critically in the full length mirror, startelement evident on my face. I was far more ripped than I initially thought four days ago, when I had obtained my powers. Digging through my perfect memory, I pulled up the memory of when I'd found the stream in the woods. I had stripped them, and stared into the clear water there, studying my body. It definitely didn't look like this at that point. I'd had visible muscle, sure, but I'd looked more like a healthy, extremely active girl, and less like Miss Teen Universe, like I did right now. I definitely wasn't grotesque, or anything like that, the way bodybuilders sometimes were. I still had female padding on my arms and legs, and my bust was, uh, healthier than ever. I might even be able to fill out a B-cup now.

No, I really wasn't disgusting… quite the opposite, in fact. I was simply an extremely well muscled young girl. If I had worn a full shirt instead of the two year old, ill fitting thing that I had thrown on this morning, then I would almost look normal. My abs were almost impossible. I had just the tiniest bit of padding on them; otherwise, they were rock hard, and cut finer than the hope diamond. Having my stomach exposed made my other changes come to attention in a way that having it covered simply didn't. I was thankful that I didn't look like a 'roided out freak. I was still feminine, with mostly the same face that I'd always had, and smooth lines that I would have killed for this time last week. My face had been changed, but it was subtle. Simply put, I was prettier than before.

My lips were fuller, my eyes a bit larger. My hair was softer and more lustrous, my cheek and chin bones arranged just a tiny bit more artfully than they had been previously. It was so subtle that my own mother hadn't commented on it yet, but it was startlingly effective at increasing my beauty. No wonder Carlos liked me; I was easily as pretty as Emma now, though in a completely different way. She was a little short and extremely curvy for her age, while I was tall and cut. She was gorgeous, while I was striking. No wonder Emma had freaked out the moment I had walked through the door, even before she had seen my partially exposed stomach. Subconsciously, she must have realized that my appearance had changed, that I was different. I spent more time with Emma than anyone else; she would be the first one to notice any radical alterations to my appearance.

When had this happened? And why? I'd thought that I had an handle on my powers, but now... Now, I would need to go back to the drawing board. My first thought was that I might be a Trump. I could be manifesting new powers at will, or my current abilities might be growing with time or some other mechanism that I didn't yet understand. Another possibility, and one that I could easily check for, was that my power allowed my body to get into shape fast, and with so little effort that two extremely strenuous days had given a skinny fourteen year old girl the body of a world class athlete. Maybe I could get Carlos to help me test my abilities; he was undoubtedly stronger than me, being a serious Brute-class cape. His powers would come in handy for testing.

A thought suddenly occurred to me; Carlos had the ability to grow stronger over time, a trait that Crawler also had. And now, I had something similar. Was all of this somehow related? Did nearby parahumans somehow influence the powers of people who triggered in their general vicinity? It was an extremely intriguing thought, especially when I considered 'cape clans' like New Wave, who shared very similar powers. The currently accepted hypothesis was that powers like theirs were genetic... but what if the second generation New Wavers had powers similar to their parents' simply because the adult capes were nearby when their kids triggered? A maniacal grin came over my face; I was going to science the fuck out of this shit. Later, though. I had other things to do right now.

I dressed quickly, and nodded to myself in the mirror. Yes. There would be time for science later. Right now, I had to get back out there and talk to Emma. I still hadn't given her a full rundown of my powers. Afterward we needed to meet up with Carlos, he would be expecting us shortly. Thinking of the tall, dusky skinned boy caused a smile to light up my face. Suddenly, seeing Carlos sounded a lot more fun than science, even if powers were fascinating. I pulled a pair of aviator shades out of a cargo pocket on my pants and popped them onto my face. I laced up my boots and adjusted my half shirt as I strode purposefully from the bathroom. Time to go see my 'beau.

. . .​

Carlos and Emma hit it off right away. I didn't see any flirting, but they were exchanging jokes and wisecracks within five minutes of being introduced. We strolled down the sidewalk, three beautiful, top notch specimens of teenaged humanity, sauntering slowly in the sunlight on a warm summer day. I stood between the other two, my fingers entwined with Carlos's. Emma stood on my other side, her sharp eyes taking everything in. She had been shooting me knowing looks and smirking since the moment she laid eyes on Carlos. It was obvious that she knew I liked him… and that didn't bother me one little bit.

I was home, alive, and spending time with two of my favorite people in the whole world. I had gone through the crucible, coming out the other side with all of my weaknesses burnt away; I had been purified, baptised by swimming through the waters of death and ruination. And now… Now, I had a whole afternoon and evening to share with my best friend and my major love interest. After that, I would be whisked away to Rome, to spend two weeks in one of the most beautiful and luxurious places in all the world.

I wondered what awaited me when I returned home. Would I actually be able to build things, like a real Tinker could? Will I ever be able to fully understand how my power works? I didn't know the answers to these questions... but at the moment I didn't really care all that much. Right now, at this particular juncture in the space-time continuum, life was good.

 

[Expo Onethousandone]

Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 11: A Day in the Life

​

12:14 PM EST
January 24th, 2010

Brockton Bay, RI
United States of America
Earth Bet

I had never been happier in my life. I had finally, finally completed the testing phase for my new power armor, and now my team and I were finally going to try it out by busting some real, live criminals. It had been almost two months since I'd last gone out in my cape persona, and I had desperately missed the thrill that fighting crime brought. Due to my status as one of the world's premier Thinkers, or Tinkers, depending on who you asked, I had been extraordinarily busy as of late. Developing new technological marvels and un-scruting normally inscrutable Tinkertech physics using my marvelous mental powers was hard work. If you think it's easy, then I'd like to see you try it.

Haha, just kidding… I'm the only one who can do that. Well, Dragon can kinda, sorta do it too, but not well enough to gain any real understanding from the process. Mostly what she does is adapt other Tinker's normally impossible to understand technology to her unique brand of impossible to understand technology. The superpower that belonged to the "World's best Tinker" seemed a little bit underwhelming when you put it like that.

I'd actually finished up all of the testing for my armor yesterday, but I'd had to finish studying and writing up a report on three pieces of Tinkertech, commissioned by the United Arab Emirates. They had sent me a set of three interlocking pieces of technology created by a long deceased Tinker called Lonespark, whose specialty had been survivalism. He had created a set of small, relatively simple machines which could be combined together in different ways to sustain basic human needs, such as generating power, purifying water, creating basic rations, and the like.

The three Lonespark devices I'd been sent were an extremely efficient solar collector, an incredibly small and rugged battery, and a tiny, easy to maintain water desalination machine. Reverse-engineering the solar collector and the desalinator had been relatively straightforward for me, but there had been something strange going on with the battery. It hadn't actually stored power at all, but rather, it used a type of resonance to leech power from the surrounding universe, using the collected solar energy to fuel this process. The device could only sustain the reaction so long as it had a continuous source of energy, but the process yielded orders of magnitude more power than the amount that it took to initiate the process in the first place and then keep it running.

I'd been beyond pleased when I found out what the 'battery' actually did. It was the first invention that I'd discovered so far that seemed to generate power ex-nihilo... and I had seen a lot of Tinkertech by that point. The reason Lonespark's original 'battery' hadn't provided indefinite power was because the reaction which produced an excess of energy only worked as long as the device's internal capacitors were filled, and for some reason it didn't include any means to use power from the reaction itself to fill them… only energy from the solar panel. It was a stupid oversight, and exactly the kind of thing I was getting used to seeing in the various pieces of Tinkertech I studied.

'Tinkers!' I thought with a smirk. I snorted at their crazy, hodgepodge inventions. It was almost like some vast, overarching alien intelligence had created Tinkertech by taking half-understood science and engineering principles from thousands of different civilizations and combined them together nearly at random until something interesting happened. I had fully analyzed scores of different Tinker creations by now, and so far, I'd seen several inventions with over a dozen different 'flavors' of technology in them, somehow managing to work together... albeit barely. It was like Tinkertech had been masterminded by an idiot savant with an IQ of a million and access to an entire galaxy's worth of tech bases… and absolutely no creativity or any idea of how the scientific process worked.

The inner workings of most Tinkertech machines was almost darwinian, really, like they'd been assembled by same hit-or-miss process of natural selection that had given rise to complex organisms. Doing things that way was stupid, and it offended me greatly wherever I encountered it. It was also extremely inefficient, and the only reason that an intelligent being would do things that way would be if they were brain damaged or so moronically uncreative that they couldn't even conceive of using a simple set of rules like the scientific method... while still somehow having the time, power, and inclination to collect the entire tech bases of thousands or millions of different intelligent species.

'It makes no sense!' I thought for the millionth time.

Still, despite being kludged together, Tinkertech was too ordered to have arisen spontaneously from nothing; the knowledge had to come from somewhere. I shook my head again; it would likely remain a mystery for all of time. It didn't really matter where it came from, in the end. With me around, sooner or later Humanity would have all of the knowledge behind Tinkertech for ourselves, to do with it as we please. Already, the wheels of industry were at work churning out better tools and materials by the day... better building blocks with which to assemble the future. And riding on the forefront this wave of change was me, Hero, the world's most important Thinker.

Still, it's nice to take a break from my world-saving to do something fun like fighting crime. I had found that punching people in the face was really good at relieving stress.

When I'd built my own version of the perpetual motion device masquerading as a battery, it had worked perfectly. It was also over twenty times more power-efficient than the slapdash original, as I actually understood how it worked and designed the second generation version accordingly. Using the knowledge I'd gained from breaking down the original, I'd been able to fix the dozens of little problems that were preventing it from working as well as it should have been in the first place. Like all of the new devices I re-created, I was putting the prototype through its paces inside of a small, sealed off pocket dimension loaded with sensors of every type and description. I had to make sure all of the technologies I adapted were safe before I would allow them around real, live people. If there were no serious problems with this new device, than it looked like I might have found a way to produce energy from nothing. If this technology ends up working as intended, then the only cost for energy will be the materials and labor necessary to build an ERD, or Energetic Resonance Device, as I've been calling it.

Once I crack energy-to-matter conversions, something that I know is possible, then Earth Bet will shortly become a post-scarcity society. I'm not really sure how to feel about that, other than enthused. Curing hunger and want is a good start to fixing all of the problems that the human race is currently experiencing. Well, our self-inflicted problems, at least… we'll still have to contend with Endbringers and S-Class threats after all. It might be a while before I can do something about those kinds of things, even if I do have some promising projects in the works for fighting the existential threats our species is currently facing.

. . .​

I was patrolling with my team on a beautiful winter Saturday while thinking these deep thoughts, bounding from rooftop to rooftop alongside my teammates. I was wearing revision 3.7B of my power armor, which was both stronger and more agile than the first set I'd fabricated two weeks ago. Wearing the high-tech suit felt downright comforting, and the enhanced speed and flight features allowed me to easily keep pace with my more mobile teammates. I was quite happy that I didn't need to be carried anymore, as Mom had always insisted that I ride with her, rather than in Carlos' arms as I would have preferred. My mother had been a fair bit more overprotective since she gained powers, of both myself and my new little sister, Riley.

To my surprise, I had actually become quite fond of the little psycho that we'd taken in. My parents had managed to adopt Riley after the terrifying tyke had hidden her former identity with cosmetic surgery. She was now Riley Hebert, a cute little girl with dark curly hair that resembled mine and Mom's, something that I'm sure she had done to better fit in with our family. After I'd created a set of records for her in the Social Security Administration's database, it was easy as pie to adopt her. Adoptions were unfortunately common these days, with things like Endbringers and S-Class threats roaming the world. We'd hardly received a glance when we'd taken Riley down to the courthouse to formalize things.

I'd watched her like a hawk for the first few months, and I'd only really been comfortable around her after developing several highly-effective countermeasures to her Bio-Tinkering abilities. I'd worked with the dangerous child extensively, both to learn more about her medical technology, and to make sure that she wasn't going to try anything. Less than two months after she moved in with us, I discovered that Riley's parahuman ability was stupidly versatile for a Tinker power. She hadn't actually known her exact specialty at first, despite being an active Tinker for almost four years... mostly because she was able to accomplish so much without even know it. Medicine, prosthetics, alterations, surgery… if it was related to human biology then she could most likely do it. Compared to most Tinkers she was a veritable jack of all trades when it came to modifying or repairing living organisms.

I'd created a database and set of optimization criteria, which we'd used to figure out her specialty... after over a month of daily testing and asking Riley question after question. Her Tinker specialty could best be described as "Human Augmentation"; if it was even tangentially related to improving a human being, or even related creatures, then she was better at it than anyone else. Her specialty actually overlapped the specialties of several other 'wet' Tinkers, people like Lab Rat and Gro-Mo. She could do all that they could do, and more.

It had been Riley's work that had made the Medi-Scanner possible; I'd created it based upon the prototypes and proofs of concept that she put together for me. At first she hadn't understood why I would want to create a piece of technology like that, something with zero combat effectiveness... but she did seem to be growing as a person the more time went on.

I still remember one of the earlier conversations we'd had, back when I was still trying to decypher Riley's Tinkertech. It was only after that day that I had finally begun to understand the content of the enigmatic young parahuman's character.

. . .​

11:22 AM EST
August 28th, 2009

Brockton Bay, RI
United States of America
Earth Bet

I stood in front of my workbench, slowing dismantling and scanning various sensors into my mind. There was an entire pile of imaging Tinkertech sitting next to me, each of them built by Riley, each slightly different than the last. The little Tinker was sitting on a benchtop a few feet to my left, swinging her legs in the air as she watched me break down and devour her work as my power churned furiously to incorporate it into my mental archive.

"I still don't get why you want to build this scanner thingy," said Riley. "It's not really going to do any good for boring old doctors to see what's wrong with people's bodies if they can't actually fix it." Her tone gave credence to her words as she spoke, conveying her disinterest in our shared endeavor. I don't think she was being sarcastic of obstructionist… the little girl legitimately didn't understand why I was trying to build such a thing. Thankfully, her ignorance could be remedied.

"I get where you're coming from, Riley… but modern medicine can actually fix a lot of things." She snorted at that, undoubtedly recalling the casual miracles she had performed in the past. "But in a way you're right… Doctors and other medical professionals will find a lot of health issues that they will have no idea how to solve with our scanner." The little girl looked smug for a moment, before her facial features once more began reflecting her confusion.

"Then why don't you just make it so the scanner only shows the problems they can fix? It would be cheaper and easier to make a more limited version, and doctors wouldn't constantly have their faces rubbed in the fact that the patient's cancer or organ failure or whatever isn't curable using their dumb old fashioned surgery and medicine."

"That's a really good question," I said, causing Riley to give me a shy smile, which I returned with interest. "There are several good reasons to make the Medi-Scanner the most perfect diagnostic tool that I can." I said, entering what she had playfully dubbed my 'lecture mode'. "First, it's not going to be that much more expensive to include all of the extra sensors. Secondly, I want doctors and medical researchers to get upset when they find that they can't fix people's problems with current medical knowledge." I admitted, which caused Riley to scowl.

"What? Why would you want them to get mad!?" She looked at me oddly. "Isn't that wrong?" Mom had been constantly drilling morality into the little girl, and right here was proof that my stubborn, hardworking mother might just be succeeding.

"I want them to be frustrated enough to make a difference," I told her. "People don't try to fix something unless they're committed to it, unless they have a real reason. I'm giving the medical profession a perfect diagnostic tool, a tool that will allow them to try new techniques, to learn more about how the body works." I looked Riley in the eye; the child was riveted, staring at me intently.

"The tool that we are creating will mean that the results of a surgery will never again be uncertain, and that doctors won't have to guess if their patient's infection is bacterial or viral. It will mean that doctors will know exactly how well their chemotherapies are fighting off cancer, and how accurately the broken bone they just set is lined up. We're offering them perfect and instantaneous feedback… and that's not even mentioning how useful it will be for medical research and developing new drugs. We'll be able to tell in days instead of years if a new type of treatment helps, and exactly how much, with no ambiguity whatsoever." Riley stared at me for a moment longer before hopping down from the far end the workbench. She walked over to where I was standing, and gently pushed against me aside.

"Move over, sis. I want to show you a little trick I learned for enhancing the resolution of my optical-type scanners." I smiled down at the cute little brunette, gently ruffling her hair.

"Thanks, sis." I told her, giving her a big, genuine smile. Riley hastily pulled her goggles down over her eyes, but the little girl wasn't quite fast enough to hide the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Before she knew what was happening I had pulled her into a hug, squeezing her against my chest tightly. Riley hugged me back fiercely, holding onto me with so much force that it would have bruised anyone without a Brute rating.

I had been extremely doubtful when Mom brought Riley home… but maybe there was hope for her after all.

. . .

​

12:22 PM EST
January 24th, 2010

Brockton Bay, RI
United States of America
Earth Bet

I looked over at Riley, my little sister, who was bounding over the rooftops beside me. I can honestly say that I truly care about her, now… maybe even love her. I'll always be wary of her, though, the same way people who rehabilitate abused animals are wary of their charges. I don't think that she has any bad intentions for my family, or that she's hiding some kind of agenda. I doubt that she's planning to escape, either… by now she's had plenty of opportunities.

What I do know is that Riley, like all of us, is capable of anything. And thanks to Jack Slash, the sweet little girl who helped me save so many lives will probably always be more willing to evoke the darker parts of her nature when she feels it's necessary. I know for a fact that she's capable of doing things that the average person needs major justification to even consider… terrible things.

But she hasn't actually hurt anyone, or even tried to since my family took her in… and for now that's good enough.

Maybe I'm wrong to distrust Riley when she's never shown me anything but love and kindness. Maybe I'm being naive to extend her any trust at all, considering what she used to do... who she used to be. In the end, though, she turned out to be a traumatized child who was psychologically tortured by a charismatic murderer for nearly half of her life. She was a killer, but she hasn't taken a single life since we took her in, and she shows no signs of wanting to return to her old ways. Could I kill her if I had to? Would I? Yes. Do I want to? God, no. Riley is a member of my family now, and it'll stay that way as long as she wants to be a Hebert.

Using the incredible depth of her specialty to hide Riley's true powerset was pathetically easy. It took longer to come up with a new persona and a cape name for the littlest member of our team than it did to decide on a Tinker specialty for her… her incredibly versatile power just gave us so many choices. My little sister wanted to pick a specialty involving people or animals, but Mom and I argued right off the bat that picking anything like that was just asking for her true identity to be outed. After weeks of debate, we finally decided to have her mimic an organic chemistry Tinker.

Biology was based on chemistry, after, all, which gave her a huge breadth of applications that she could draw on using purely chemical means.

I'd really gotten into the spirit of things, and bought up every iota of information on chemical Tinkering that I could find, procured samples of each and every Tinkertech compound that was on the market. Having long since realized the worth of my power, the PRT and Toybox had been more than willing to indulge this new obsession of mine, and had parted with dozens of examples of Tinkertech chemistry that they had on hand. Dragon herself even provided me with the recipe for her patented containment foam, used the world over… a gesture that both surprised and flattered me.

The true find among the dozens of machines and vials that I'd received was a large, bathtub sized chemical synthesis engine that had been sent over by the local PRT director. It was a truly ingenious machine that recombined mundane things like milk and gasoline into Tinkertech chemicals that had all kinds of effects. You could program the chemical mixture that you wanted into the computer connected to the synthesis engine, and seconds later receive a small, spherical capsule full of whatever solid, liquid, or gas that you had selected. The odd thing was that this extremely advanced and well put together machine had been built by Leet, of all people. He was generally considered a joke amongst Tinkers, but after seeing a few examples of his work, I had found his tech to be extremely innovative… when it worked, at least.

Oddly enough, the chemical synthesis engine had been seized by the PRT when Uber and Leet had failed to pay the space rent on their storage unit. Armsmaster hadn't wanted it, so the machine had been sitting in the depths of the PRT's basement for over a year. The accompanying documentation explained the use to which Leet had put this amazing machine, which was capable of making unlimited amount of insulin, or any other medicine, out of common household liquids. The purpose for which Leet had built this astounding device, which could produce gallons of rare compounds like scorpion venom or LSD… a machine that could churn out an unending stream of effectively free gasoline from water and grass clippings… was to make paintballs full of capsaicin.

Yes, that's right… The PRT had been sitting on an example of Tinkertech that could have been used to make any chemical compound at all, so long as you had the chemical formula and the correct materials to make it, and they had done absolutely nothing with it. Armsmaster, a Tinker who should have instantly understood the value of such a device, had neglected to even examine it. I didn't know why, but I could only assume that it had something to do with Leet's reputation for being unreliable. And the worst part of it was that the synthesis engine was such a simple piece of Tinkertech that it was only a step or two away from being wholly reproducible by purely mundane means… it took me less than an hour to dismantle it and reverse engineer it to the degree that modern engineering techniques could create a nearly perfect copy.

A good team of scientists and engineers could have learned worlds about chemical synthesis just from examining Leet's paintball maker, possibly even enough to replicate it wholesale. At the very least, they would have learned enough to make a lesser version of the device… I was sure of it. Leet, or the PRT's cadre of scientists, or any PRT affiliated Tinker with a relevant specialty could have revolutionized the world's petroleum, chemical, and medicine markets overnight by studying this machine. They could have made billions, practically overnight, had they done the least bit of research on it. I guess it didn't matter though, because I would be sharing the holy grail of chemical synthesis with everyone after I got through with the device.

OPEC and Big Pharma were going to be pissed. Oh, well… sucks to be them, I guess.

I'd used the knowledge that I'd gained from deconstructing the ever-so-interesting chemical synthesis engine to build a small, child-portable version for Riley to carry with her. By her request, the device looked like a large, colorful looking handbag. She carried it on a cross-strap around her shoulder so that it hung at her side, where she could easily reach it. Using her PSE, or portable synthesis engine, my little sister could whip up a polymer coated ball of whatever chemical she needed on the fly using the onboard computer interface.

Even limited to chemicals, Riley was an incredibly dangerous parahuman. Her Tinker-granted knowledge let her whip up everything from impossibly strong acids to healing cocktails that could bring someone back from the brink of death in seconds. She was able to program her PSE to make fluids that could freeze the ground an enemy stood on, or produce clouds of knockout gas potent enough to render entire city blocks unconscious. With her PSE alone, Riley already had a potent Blaster/Shaker rating… but that didn't help her defend herself, or make her more mobile. For those things, I provided her with a slightly scaled down version of my own power armor. It was rated for higher speeds and reaction times than my own armor, which put her on roughly equal footing with me in those areas due to my Thinker and Brute powers. These changes to the armor reduced the strength and personal protection that her suit offered, but Riley had assured me that speed and mobility beat out strength almost every time… and due to the breadth of her 'colorful' early life experiences, she would definitely know.

Riley was a eleven year old girly-girl, and her her costume reflected that. The outer layer of her power armor was colored hot pink with orange highlights and it was shaped like metallic battle dress. Her armor was even sleeker than Armsmasters, and fitted her like a second skin. She was in that tall gangly phase that some girls go through in their tweens and early teens, but she was bulked out a bit by her suit's systems and protective armor. Her armor hadn't been thick enough to imbed the flight systems into it, as I had with mine, so I'd mounted Riley's antigravity generator backpack-style. She'd asked for the same level of agility and speed in the air that she could achieve on the ground, so I'd put in a stabilization and maneuvering system mounted on a pair of foldable wings on either side of the flight pack. Her helmet, like mine, had antennas protruding from either side of the top, giving the pink headgear a slightly old-fashioned sci-fi feel. Each of our helmets were packed with sensors which fed our HUDs, allowing us to detect threats and locate object at range.

Wearing the costume that I'd designed, Riley looked more like a Disney character than a serious hero. I almost shuddered at the thought, but the iron control I could exert over my body allowed reactions like that to be easily controlled. The idea that a mass murderer like Bonesaw could be made in a cute, family friendly figure so easily was both astounding and disturbing on multiple levels. Probably the strangest part of the whole thing was the thought that she just might be able to pull it off… based on everything I'd seen of her so far, it looked like she might be able to become the kind of person who deserved to wear a costume like that, now that she was away from the corrupting influence of Jack fucking Slash.

I welcomed the change, and cast aside my doubts and negative thoughts. I had decided long ago that I would help Riley become the very best hero that she could be, and walk that path beside her hand-in-hand. She was my littler sister now, after all.

Still, though, I really wish Mom hadn't let her pick whatever she wanted for her name. I'd made several suggestions for alternate names, but she'd been dead set on her first choice. When I pressed her for the reason that she wouldn't even consider a different alias, she had tearfully admitted that it was the pet name that her birth mother had called her due to her sweet disposition as a toddler, and her bright yellow hair.

I felt like crap afterward; how was I supposed to know that she'd chosen her hero name to honor her first Mom? After learning her reasons, I told her that I would respect her choice, and even admitted that it was kind of catchy... but I still had a few reservations. Honestly, who is going to respect a hero who calls herself 'Honey Lemon'?

She would have to earn every ounce of respect and acknowledgement the hard way. On second thought, maybe having a cap name like that was not such a bad thing.

One of the first things I'd done as a hero was to create new costumes for the other two members of my team. Carlos was sporting the sixth revision of his costume; he was much more active in the field than I was, and had a bad habit of constantly getting his outfits ripped to shreds. The perils of being an extreme regenerator, I guess. He had decided to formalize the name one of the girls that we'd rescued from camp had come up for him, so he was Raptor now. It wasn't exactly his first choice, but I often reminded him that it was really his fault for choosing to wear a paper dinosaur mask that he'd found at camp to protect his identity that first night out, instead of the perfectly nice scarf I'd offered him.

I'd designed Carlos's costume according to his cape persona. His current helmet was shaped like the head of a screaming Utahraptor, complete with a row of spikes on it's head and realistic pigmentation. His heavily shadowed face was partially visible between the gleaming rows of razor sharp teeth in the monster's yawning maw, his subtly glowing eyes giving him mysterious appearance. It looked like his face was exposed to the world, but there was actually a fully transparent forcefield protecting him from harm, with its own integrated HUD.

Previous versions of his costume hadn't been quite so elaborate, but as I learned and grew as an inventor I had been steadily improving my teammates equipment. The rest of Carlos's costume was an unpowered suit of extremely heavy armor over a synthetic spider-silk bodysuit. The armor was colored and textured like his mask, and it was as tough as I could make it with my current skills and knowledge. Carlos... Raptor... had become so strong and fast thanks to his parahuman power that his body was actually tougher than the Tinkertech alloys that his armor were made of now. I had to keep pushing my knowledge of material science to keep up with his steadily increasing durability, as I didn't like the idea of him going out into the field without a set of armor worth the name. His ability to constantly grow tougher was a blessing… but also extremely frustrating for the girl who had to put together his costumes.

The final member of my team was my mother Annette Hebert, otherwise known as Silent Sparrow. Like the majority of our team, Mom sported a a set of power armor these days. Her suit was similar to Riley's, though her outfit was the same distinctive blue as her Breaker state. Over her protests that she 'didn't need it', I had included a limited flight pack that let her rapidly ascend or descend from from the ground so that she didn't have to wait until her breaker state was active to take to the air.

After seeing the effectiveness of her superpower in conjunction with projectiles, I had also built a pair of ranged weapons into her suit. The first was a regular ballistic cannon that launches self-expanding balls of foam rubber at high velocity. The special ammunition for this weapon was created through myself and Riley's joint efforts, and allowed her to hit with lots of surface area, as kinetic energy wasn't really an issue thanks to the fact that her powers allowed each shot to have a ridiculous amount of stopping power.

The second gun that I designed for Mom is robust particle beam that I had based on half a dozen different Tinkers work. It had several different modes, including pulsed energy bursts, a light-speed beam, and even included some of the crazy bullshit that Ledgend can do with his ridiculous powers. With her guns, Mom is easily a Blaster 8, and maybe more… though the charge time on the particle takes a while unless she keeps the blasts fairly low-yield. I'm working on a hot-swappable backup reactor that she can carry based on the ERD, but it will be awhile before that's ready. All in all, our team is fairly well rounded, though we're a bit light on Master/Stranger elements.

I smiled as I thought about how far we'd come in such a short amount as we shot across the rooftops, leaping and soaring as we used our flight packs to pretend we could jump like the guys in wire fighting martial arts movies… except for Carlos, who really could jump like that. Mom soared overhead as we headed downtown, where we would begin out patrol in earnest. As I looked over the bright, noonday skyline of Brockton Bay, I decided that nothing could top the feeling of hope and freedom in my breast, and that I was happier than I had ever been in my life. After the way my career as a parahuman began, I figured that I deserved it.

Of course, that was when it all went to hell.

The four of us stopped and stared at each other as the blare of very loud, very distinctive sirens filled the air, warning everyone within miles of the city of the approaching menace that was, even now, nearing Brockton Bay. Mom dropped from her Breaker state, looking incredibly grim, and even little Riley appeared to be shocked. Carlos had the most serious expression that I'd ever seen on his face, causing a stab of pain to pierce my heart as I stared into my boyfriend's eyes.

'It's happening again…' I thought, my heart feeling as though it were filled with lead. There had been other Endbringer fights since I'd triggered, of course, and upon order of the President of the United States of America, I wasn't allowed within 100 miles of them.

Thanks to my unique and invaluable contributions to humanity, I was considered far too valuable to throw my life away like the common cape… like the other members of my team were expected to do. Quick, frantic hugs were exchanged with my teammates… with my family, and I prepared to depart. Unfortunately, I would be going alone this time… not even Mom could accompany me where I was going.

Feeling like a coward, I did the bravest thing I'd ever done and prepared to let my loved ones throw their lives away while I waited for the coming storm to pass in perfect personal safety. Tears streaming down my face beneath my visor, I said the words that I'd promised Director Costa-Brown I would all those months ago when she had prepared a plan for just this eventuality.

"Door me."

A glowing hole in space opened up directly front of where I stood, and I stepped through into a featureless white hallway. Behind me, the portal winked closed.