Immortals [Worm]

Expo Onethousandone · Apr 23, 2016

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 · Apr 23, 2016

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.

wasntme · Apr 23, 2016

Expo Onethousandone said:
Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 1: Welcome to Camp

Interesting.
One thing though: I felt the narration was a shifting between reminiscing from much further away, and much closer to the events like how it was in canon Worm. Maybe because Taylor was a bit more like Skitter later in Worm, and maybe because you were skimming over a lot of details to get the plot moving. These are not necessarily bad things, but Taylor being so cold, mature and introspective for her age, especially since here her mother is alive, without any explanation felt a bit weird. After these events I can somehow imagine her like this, but not before it. As for the details, I think there should be a pause somewhere, that separates the setup from the actual plot. Basically up till the point Jack Slash strolled in it was telling the AU differences and how Taylor got there, I think there should be a separation somewhere there or at arriving at the Camp, because this way the introduction and the plot part just flows together. There are also parts like the introduction at the first paragraph, and the part where she talks about her type, that definitely feel like it was looking back, however the other parts felt like those were her actual thoughts at the moment.

Or so I think. Maybe I just have weird hangups, however I hope my criticism was heplfull.

Also I started writing this before the second part, so it may not apply to that.

wasntme · Apr 23, 2016

Expo Onethousandone said:
Immortals
A Worm Fanfic
Chapter 2: Into the Woods

Okay, Taylor here feels way too detached, but also a bit melodramatic at the same time. People having a traumatic experience don't say they are having a traumatic experience.

Expo Onethousandone said:
My young mind had been damaged from the trauma of my disastrous trip to camp

This one stood out the most, but there are other sentences that say the same.

Secondly she was way too good at survival, so good that I haven't caught her being a parahuman up till the coffee machine part, and I still wasn't really sure.

Now after all these bad things, what I like is the premise, tinker or thinker Taylor is something that there could definitely be more of (from what I read I guess she's either a tinker with minor thinker abilities or a thinker who can look like a tinker at first glance).
Though I was a bit disappointed at first that Camp Slaughter ended so abruptly, it's an interesting idea, that somebody really should write someday, however that's really not your or the story's fault, since it just simply went into a different direction. So I'm just looking forward to seeing where it goes.

Expo Onethousandone · Apr 23, 2016

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.

jrbless · Apr 24, 2016

Interesting power set, but possibly too many. Seems like a grab bag cape, but possibly too strong.

I tentatively am guessing at these ratings:
Brute 1 - low regeneration
Mover 2 - highly enhanced agility
Thinker 3 - perfect memory and calculations
Tinker 5 - reverse engineering

The Thinker and Tinker reinforce each other, similar to Tattletale's insights feeding off each other.

Is Taylor going to try killing Dr. Manton? I think she's finished running. Killing him and surviving to collect the bounty would help a lot financially.

On the AU side, what will happen with Emma? In canon, she was attacked by the ABB while Taylor was at camp. Also, I'm guessing that Aegis won't be making an appearance. After attacking (and possibly killing Jack), I don't think the rest of the 9 would let him go.

Xilph · Apr 24, 2016

jrbless said:
Is Taylor going to try killing Dr. Manton? I think she's finished running. Killing him and surviving to collect the bounty would help a lot financially.

Biggest problem with that is how do they prove it was the Siberian? Since they won't have the Siberian's body and nobody knows about Manton.

Also we really need to see more of the Tinker power to judge it, could be anywhere from a 2 or 3 to an 8 or 9 depending on where it falls on the scale of only real tech to Dragon tier reverse engineering.

Kolarthecool · Apr 24, 2016

Hmm, Im seeing a mix of intuitive aptitude and perfect mimicry there along with some minor physical powers. Is this fic about take an psychotic twist a la Sylar? Looking forward to more.

Silver719 · Apr 24, 2016

I am giddy with anticipation. You have my full attention, good sir.

FreshwaterPlimpie · Apr 24, 2016

Kolarthecool said:
Hmm, Im seeing a mix of intuitive aptitude and perfect mimicry there along with some minor physical powers. Is this fic about take an psychotic twist a la Sylar? Looking forward to more.

You're being silly. She's going to call herself Casio, not Sylar.

Silver719 · Apr 24, 2016

What if she triggered with Dragon's Replicator shard? Everything she has seems indicative of an adaptive AI, right down to testing the full range of motion her own body is capable of the moment she's aware enough to do so.

Expo Onethousandone · Apr 24, 2016

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.

Silver719 · Apr 24, 2016

Welp, Taylor's power is now, officially, being a badass.

Expo Onethousandone · Apr 24, 2016

Silver719 said:
Welp, Taylor's power is now, officially, being a badass.

Queen Administrator is quite a potent shard... I can't imagine any of its expressions being weak. And like canon, Taylor hasn't even begun to touch on some of the things she can accomplish with her power yet. She's going to become exponentally more badass going forward.

Xilph · Apr 24, 2016

Expo Onethousandone said:
It's not like they're going to send the leader of the local Protectorate just to talk to me

Killing the Siberian isn't that significant right? Surely they wouldn't send the only member they've got who actually has a power suited towards analysis to figure out if it is the Siberian right?

Really Taylor, I thought she was smarter than that now.

Expo Onethousandone · Apr 25, 2016

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.

Prince Charon · Apr 25, 2016

Xilph said:
Killing the Siberian isn't that significant right? Surely they wouldn't send the only member they've got who actually has a power suited towards analysis to figure out if it is the Siberian right?

Really Taylor, I thought she was smarter than that now.

Even with her power, she's still a teenage girl who grew up in a lower-middle class or upper-lower class home.

Ooh, new part!

... and Annette just triggered. Certainly, she had enough stress to do so.

Well written, this.

Nightgazer · Apr 25, 2016

Hope to see more of this soon.^_^

jrbless · Apr 25, 2016

There's an interesting piece that happened here. Because of Piggot's phone call to the camp, the remaining members of the 9 know Taylor's name and that someone escaped. Without Jack (possibly, not counting Bonesaw's shenanigans) and the Siberian, I would expect the other members to be having a Brockton Bay field trip very shortly.

Xilph · Apr 25, 2016

Yeah, wasn't Bonesaw using her powers to resurrect the recently dead literally the first thing she did with them? Pretty sure Jack might come out of this mostly alive, worst case is probably a Toybox attack to get cloning stuff and allow for the S9000 to happen a few years early, although you'd probably just get clone Jack and even then that'd take them out. Perfectly possible they fall to pieces if she can't resurrect him though, given her powers I don't see that happening however, if she can graft multiple capes together she should be able to at least make a pseudo-Jack.

Silver719 · Apr 25, 2016

Wow. I've seen some stories where Piggot dropped the ball, but this easily takes the cake.

Citina · Apr 25, 2016

Silver719 said:
Wow. I've seen some stories where Piggot dropped the ball, but this easily takes the cake.

She didn't just drop the ball, she threw it on the ground so hard that it broke. Seriously, her first response to a S9 sighting, even one that was outlandish, was to call the camp? Yeah, she doesn't have a lot of manpower, but she should have sent a few recon agents to check up on the camp, rather than get lazy, and call the place where the S9 was suspected to be at. And not only did she call them, she asked about Taylor by name, which means the S9 now knows exactly who escaped and talked about them. Annette has a really good reason to trigger over this.

Also, since Taylor has eidetic memory, will she be able to remember the trigger vision?

Xilph · Apr 25, 2016

Also, isn't it known that Bonesaw can puppet people? That should inherently make it useless to just call up.

jrbless · Apr 25, 2016

Citina said:
Also, since Taylor has eidetic memory, will she be able to remember the trigger vision?

If it functions like Miss Militia's, I would say that yes, she will remember it. I don't remember if it is canon or fanon, but Miss Militia also was noted as being immune to Imp's power - unable to forget trumped the "forget me" affect.

Citina · Apr 25, 2016

Xilph said:
Also, isn't it known that Bonesaw can puppet people? That should inherently make it useless to just call up.

Yep, it is known. Which means she wasn't even trying to confirm whether they were there or not, but was trying to see if she could find what the new thinker was lying about.

Nightgazer · Apr 25, 2016

I hope Piggot gets fired over this. And someone more competent and less hateful of parahumans gets put in charge. I'd really like to see a scene where Annette confronts Piggot and Piggot looses it in such a way that Costa Brown now considers her a liability and sends her to the Arctic North.

wasntme · Apr 25, 2016

Nightgazer said:
I hope Piggot gets fired over this. And someone more competent and less hateful of parahumans gets put in charge. I'd really like to see a scene where Annette confronts Piggot and Piggot looses it in such a way that Costa Brown now considers her a liability and sends her to the Arctic North.

Piggot getting fired is very much a 'be careful what you wish for' scenario. If he has already acquired the necessary ~~blackmail materials~~ political contacts, a certain Thomas Calvert has good chances of getting her position.

Also sending Piggot to Alaska? I get that she's not very nice person, but making her deal with Feint I think is a bit too much.

Expo Onethousandone · Apr 25, 2016

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.

Nightgazer · Apr 26, 2016

Yay!

A happy ending!^_^

Let's hope the PRT and ol' Piggot don't decide to arrest Annette and Taylor now.

Prince Charon · Apr 26, 2016

Nightgazer said:
Yay!

A happy ending!^_^

Let's hope the PRT and ol' Piggot don't decide to arrest Annette and Taylor now.

Piggot does stupid shit on occasion, but she doesn't try to ride her mistakes down in flames like Trickster does, IIRC.

Immortals [Worm]

Totally a Writer

Totally a Writer

Versed in the lewd.

Versed in the lewd.

Totally a Writer

You needed worthy opponents.

Well worn.

Eyes Without, Eyes Within

Fate's Plaything

Know what you're doing yet?

Fate's Plaything

Totally a Writer

Fate's Plaything

Totally a Writer

Well worn.

Totally a Writer

Just zis guy, you know?

Cute Lil' Pegasus

You needed worthy opponents.

Well worn.

Fate's Plaything

Not too sore, are you?

Well worn.

You needed worthy opponents.

Not too sore, are you?

Cute Lil' Pegasus

Versed in the lewd.

Totally a Writer

Cute Lil' Pegasus

Just zis guy, you know?

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