Earning Her Stripes (Worm AU fanfic)

[Ack]

When Emma and Madison, with Sophia's help, decide to escalate their tormenting of Taylor to a whole new level, things are going to get interesting.
And not in a good way.


[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: This is an AU; details will show up in the narrative.]
[A/N 3: Taylor does not have a connection with Queen Administrator in this fic.]


Part One: Three Vials (below)
Part Two: Powering Up
Part Three: Figuring Things Out
Part Four: Preparations
Part Five: The Real Thing
Part Six: Tests Passed and Failed
Part Seven: Making Progress
Part Eight: Learning Process
Part Nine: Unbreakable
Part Ten: Revelations
Part Eleven: Expanding Viewpoints
Part Twelve: Troubles
Part Thirteen: Talking It Out
Part Fourteen: Adding Fuel to the Fire
Part Fifteen: Agreements and Confrontations
Part Sixteen: All In
Part Seventeen: Going Forward
Part Eighteen: Communications
Part Nineteen: Hostage Situation
Part Twenty: Confessional
Part Twenty-One : A New Era
Part Twenty-Two: Cards on the Table
Part Twenty-Three: Escalation Central
Part Twenty-Four: Other Pieces on the Board
Part Twenty-Five: Fame and Notoriety
Part Twenty-Six: In the Crosshairs
Part Twenty-Seven: Idiot's Gambit
Part Twenty-Eight: Stupid Prizes
Part Twenty-Nine: Wake-Up Call
Part Thirty: Payoff
Part Thirty-One: Sealing the Deal
Part Thirty-Two: Taking Advantage
Part Thirty-Three: New Perspectives
Part Thirty-Four: Stealing a March
Part Thirty-Five: First Contact
Part Thirty-Six: Breaking Step
Part Thirty-Seven: Escalation Marches Onward
Part Thirty-Eight: Fight!
Part Thirty-Nine: The Teeth Go Marching On
Part Forty: Round Three
Part Forty-One: Long Term Solutions

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part One: Three Vials

Early August, 2010
Barnes Household
Emma

"So what's going on?" asked Madison. "You didn't give me any details. Just told me to come right over."

Emma shrugged. "I have no idea. Sophia called me up and said there was something really interesting I should know about. So I decided to bring you in on it."

"Ooh, okay." Madison's face lit up. "Is it about Taylor? Has Sophia found out that all the shit we've been saying about her is true? That would be amazing."

"Dunno. Sophia didn't say much, just that she needed to show it to me." She looked around at a knock on the front door. "That should be her now." Heading over to the door, she opened it. It was, indeed, Sophia.

"Come on in." Emma stepped back to allow her other best friend to enter. "What's this all about?"

Sophia waited until Emma had closed the door, then looked around. She held a backpack carefully in her hands. "Is your family home?"

This was getting stranger by the second. "No," Emma said. "Anne said she'd be staying over at a friend's place, and Mom and Dad are at the Augustus Country Club. They always stay late there. Why? If this is about Taylor, we've still got a month to figure out what we're going to be doing to her once school lets back in." She didn't think it was about Taylor, but it was always good to cover that base.

Sophia shook her head. "Forget Hebert. This is more important." While Emma was still wrapping her head around that statement, the black girl went over to the TV and turned it on. A Slaughterhouse Nine retrospective was playing, reviewing some of the infamous gang's worst atrocities. They'd been going downhill for the last ten years, trying harder and harder to get back into the public eye. When Jack Slash got his head blown off by a twelve-gauge shotgun in the course of an ill-advised home invasion in 2005, it had spelled the beginning of the end. Now, despite the name, the gang rarely had more than five members at a time, and they never attacked big cities at all.

Ignoring the screen, Sophia put her backpack on the sofa and delved into it. To Emma's confusion, she came up with three cloth-wrapped bundles. One at a time, she unrolled the wrappings until she was holding three glass tubes, plugged with black rubber corks. Each one held a metallic liquid which reflected and refracted the light in weird ways as Sophia held them up to the light.

"Whoa …" breathed Emma. "What are they?" She stared at the tiny vials, fascinated despite herself.

"I honestly have no fucking idea," Sophia replied. "All I know is that there was some kind of cape fight between a bunch of people I've never seen before. The fight moved around a bit, and I saw a dead guy holding a case, so I took a chance and grabbed it. The case had these in it."

"And they didn't realise you had them?" Emma considered that to be the high priority.

"By the time they started looking, I was well away from the action, and the PRT was on the way, so they had to bolt." Sophia shrugged. "They never saw me, and they got no fuckin' idea who I am."

"Where's the case now?" asked Madison, frowning slightly. "It might be important."

"Fuck 'important'," retorted Sophia. "Something like this, there's almost certainly a tracking beacon involved. Soon as I got the case open, I dumped it. Along with the canisters these things were in. Just in case."

"You should maybe have left them in the canisters," Emma suggested diffidently. "They look kind of fragile."

"Yeah, no shit." Sophia made a rude noise with her lips. "I accidentally lost two already when they broke against each other. But I've been keeping the rest of them wrapped up and separate from each other since then, so they're good. I just don't know what they are, or why those assholes were fighting over them. They've gotta be valuable somehow, right?"

Emma knew where she was coming from. Independent vigilantes had it the worst of all capes. Sophia had to maintain her costume and her gear all on her own dime, while the Protectorate got paid a wage to go out there and wear costumes for the government, and supervillains literally stole money with their powers. The only break she got was that knocking over a drug house meant she could walk away with some of the money and the cops would look the other way, so long as she didn't get too greedy. Technically speaking, selling something she found at the scene of a cape battle could be seen as the same? Maybe?

"I think so," Madison said slowly. "I think I know what they are. And we're not going to be able to sell them. Or at least, the people who are likely to pay the most aren't the kind of people we want having them."

"You're not making any sense," Sophia said impatiently. "What the fuck do I care what kind of people they are, so long as they can pony up the cash?"

"I might be wrong." Madison didn't sound like she thought she was wrong. "But I like reading the tinfoil-hat boards; you know that. And this stuff, these vials … they look awfully like what Cauldron vials are supposed to look like."

Emma burst out laughing. "Oh, for fuck's sake," she managed after about thirty seconds. "You're saying these are powers in a can? That's bullshit. You have to know that's bullshit. There's no such thing." She'd read the same pages Madison was alluding to, though she hadn't gone as far down the rabbit hole. The whole 'Cauldron' conspiracy theory, especially the concept that they gave out 'powers in a can' to people who were particularly deserving, or whoever paid them a small fortune (the stories varied) was deeply appealing. Which was why she distrusted it so thoroughly. Nothing in this world was too good to be true.

"But what if it's true?" asked Madison. "From what you're saying, people were ready to kill for them." She eyed the tubes that Sophia was holding. "I'm pretty sure that's not the new Fugly Bob's secret sauce formula there."

"Well, if they are powers in a can …" Emma stopped. She'd been about to say, 'how much can we get for them', but another thought intruded. "… can anyone drink one?"

"What, you want powers?" Sophia raised her eyebrows. "Who said I'd let you drink any of them, anyway? My fuckin' vials, I do what I want with them. Maybe I'll sell 'em to the highest bidder."

"Who will almost certainly turn out to be a supervillain," Emma pointed out. "Do we really need three more supervillains in Brockton Bay? Wouldn't you rather have a partner to help kick the bad guys' asses?"

Sophia seemed to be considering that. "What happened to Miss 'screw the vigilante life, it's too much work'?"

"We could be a team!" argued Emma, ignoring her words. "Don't tell me you couldn't have done with backup from time to time!" She turned to Madison. "If I drank one, you'd drink one too, right?"

Madison blinked. "I … guess? Whoa, shit, we really could, couldn't we?" She shook her head. "It's just so weird, talking about the idea of just having powers, you know?"

"Yeah, we could." Emma's grin was getting wider all the time. "If we're drinking two of them, who do we give the third vial to?"

"Julia?" suggested Madison. "She's pretty cool. Backs me up in Mr G's class when we're screwing with Taylor."

Sophia shook her head. "Fuck Julia," she said bluntly. "She's a fuckin' wimp."

Emma frowned. The more she thought about it, the less anyone she knew was actually worthy of having powers. Except for her and Madison and Sophia, of course; and Sophia was already a parahuman. "Well, we can't just leave it sitting on the shelf. What if it's got a use-by date?" She eyed the vials. "Maybe we could split the last one between us?"

Madison shook her head violently. "No, that's a bad idea. I read on the boards that mixing vials is a prime way to end up as a Case Fifty-Two. One of the bad ones. Like, no arms and your head's where your butt's supposed to be."

"Yeah, and how do they know this?" Emma tried to feel as sceptical as she sounded. "Did they try it?"

"Maybe." Madison glared challengingly at her. "Where do you think they come from, anyway?"

"For fuck's sake, nobody's going to be mixing any fucking vials!" Sophia made a cut-off motion with her free hand. "Try to think of someone who'd be good to bring on board, and who wouldn't fuck off and do their own thing with their powers once they had them. The last thing we want is someone pulling a Legend."

That was a very important point. The Protectorate—the core Protectorate—had become the Triumvirate after an extremely public falling-out between the four main heroes. The reason for Legend's defection from their ranks had never been made public, just the fact of it; the Triumvirate weren't talking, and Legend wasn't making himself available for interviews.

Which meant that if Emma was going to be giving someone permission to have super-powers, they needed to know who was in charge. There was no sense in giving someone power if she couldn't give them orders once they had that power. She tried to think of someone in her circle who wasn't a total drip, who could also be a useful asset.

Madison's eyes opened wide. "Holy shit," she murmured. "I just had the best idea of what to do with the last vial."

Emma raised her eyebrows slightly. Madison's plans tended to be a little on the elaborate side, but they were usually worthwhile once she and Sophia pruned the deadwood away. "Shoot."

A manic grin split Madison's face. "We give it to Taylor."

Sophia wiggled her little finger in her ear. "Just for a moment, I thought I heard you say we should give the fuckin' thing to Hebert. And I know you didn't say that."

Emma frowned. "I heard it too. What the hell, Mads?"

"No, no, no, listen!" Madison was so excited, she was jiggling in place. "Not right now. We keep one aside, and me and you each drink one. We get used to our powers, and get proper costumes, and Sophia shows us how to be heroes, and we make a name for ourselves." She gestured at herself and Emma and Sophia. "I mean, whatever powers we get, we should make a pretty rockin' team, yeah?"

"Okay …" Emma tilted her head slightly. "Still waiting for the explanation about the bit where we give Taylor one though."

"Yeah." Sophia snorted. "Hope you weren't thinking you'd be inviting her on to our team. She's so fuckin' lame she'd get negative powers." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Unless you wanted to make her do all sorts of twisted shit so she could prove she's worth letting on to the team? That could be worth a laugh."

"Yeah," giggled Emma. "Tell her if she wants to join the team, she's gotta Sharpie a swastika on to Lung's left butt cheek. And get photos."

"That'd be funny as shit," Madison admitted. "But I got an even better idea."

Emma looked at her. "I'm listening."

"So we've got powers and costumes, and we're a proper hero team, right?" Madison made a come-on gesture to the other two.

"Right," agreed Sophia. "So what's next?"

Madison showed her teeth. "What's next is that we jump her on the first day of school in September. We force-feed her the vial then shove her in her locker. We're wearing most of our costumes under our clothes already, right? Soon as we've done that, we go change the rest of the way. By the time the stuff takes effect and she gets her powers, she'll be panicking. Everything I've ever read says that if you get powers while you're in a panic, you lash out. So she lashes out, and breaks stuff, and maybe even hurts people. And that's when we come swooping in."

Sophia's eyes had opened wide, and Emma's were not far behind. "Holy shit." Emma's voice was reverent. "That's absolute genius. We'd be the big damn heroes."

Carefully laying the vials down beside the backpack, Sophia smacked her fist into her palm. "Three on one? We'll kick her fuckin' ass. And we don't even have to be careful about it."

"And the best bit is, she's instantly outed." Madison beamed at the other two, pleased at their approval. "Nowhere she can run and hide. We can kick her around all day until the PRT shows up, then we hand her over. She either escapes or she goes to juvey. If she escapes, we get to hunt her down, kick the shit out of her all over again, and hand her over to the PRT. Rinse and repeat."

"What if she just does her time and gets out?" Emma felt she had to raise the probability.

Sophia shrugged. "Then we frame her for something, kick the shit out of her—because we'll be the fuckin' heroes and she'll be the villain, so who'll believe her?—and send her straight back. Every time she gets out, we put her back, 'til they throw her in the fuckin' Birdcage. Win-win."

The more Emma thought about it, the fewer problems she could see. She shook her head. "I have to hand it to you, Mads. You've absolutely outdone yourself this time." She offered her fist; blushing pink with pleasure, Madison bumped it.

"Hey, before we break our arms patting ourselves on the back, we need to work out the logistics of this," Sophia broke in. "When are we gonna do it, where are we gonna do it, and what are you two gonna do for costumes?"

Emma rubbed her hands together briskly. "As soon as possible for the 'when'. We want to be established heroes before school starts. I'll leave the 'where' up to you, Sophia. You're the professional vigilante." She smiled sweetly. "And as for paying for costumes, all I'll have to do is bat my eyelashes and ask Dad for an advance on my allowance so I can have up-to-date outfits for school. I figure I'll be able to cover you and me both, Mads."

"Maybe we should wait to see what powers we get before we start talking costumes," Madison advised her seriously. "It would suck if you paid up front for a totally rockin' outfit, then got flame powers and had to start from scratch with something that's fireproof."

"Good point." Emma studied the vials on the sofa. One looked silver with a green tinge, one was gold with a blue tinge, and one was muddy grey with flecks of black and white. In her own mind, she decided that she was going to take the gold and blue one. "So, the first step is powers. Seeing what we get, and figuring out how to use them."

Sophia nodded. "Powers and power training."

Madison grinned widely. "We're gonna have powers!"

She held up her hand; Emma high-fived her.


End of Part One

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Two: Powering Up

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


Three Days Later

"Captain's Hill?" complained Madison. "Why Captain's Hill?" She cracked a yawn.

"And why four in the morning?" Emma added. "Do you know the last time I woke up this early? Never, that's when." She huddled into her jacket, looking around the deserted parking lot. Even the taillights of the cab that had brought her and Madison up there had vanished down the road.

"One, it's deserted," Sophia informed them crisply. "Two, it's not like anyone's gonna be just wandering around the corner. We need privacy for this sort of thing."

"So why not just do it in my bedroom?" Emma rolled her eyes. "We're plenty private in there."

"And what if your powers involve bursting into flames, or exploding ice spikes everywhere, or turning into a fifty foot water monster?" Sophia gestured at the empty parking lot. "Here, nobody will notice. In your room, I think your dad would notice."

"Oh. Yeah." Emma grimaced. "Good point." She plucked at her jacket sleeve. "So should I take this off before I take the vial?"

"Probably," Madison noted. "I think maybe we should take them one at a time, too. I read this one thing, two people got vials and drank them standing next to each other, and they became one person." She tried to lower her voice for effect, but this just made her sound even cuter.

This time, Sophia rolled her eyes. "That's ten ton of bullshit in a five ton truck. Great stories, never happen in real life. But maybe you should take them one at a time, so I only have to watch one of you at a time."

"Okay, sure." Emma looked at her petite friend. "You want to go first, Mads, or me?"

Madison snorted. "Taking them was your idea. You go first."

All of a sudden, Emma was a lot less certain about her great idea. But she saw Sophia and Madison both watching her, and she knew there was no way she could back out now. Taking her jacket off to reveal the sweats Sophia had advised they both wear, she kicked off her sneakers as well. The gravel of the parking lot was harsh on her sock-clad feet. She handed her jacket to Madison, who took it.

Sophia brought out the vials and held them so that Emma could see them. Emma reached out and took the one she'd chosen before, the gold and blue one, then began to work the cork free.

"Not yet, not yet," Sophia said hastily. "Give us a chance to get to the picnic area, in case you do something that makes a crater. I'll call out when we're ready."

"Okay, then." Emma waited, trying to shift her feet so the gravel didn't dig so sharply into them, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn chill. She saw her sneakers still sitting next to her, and kicked them so they skittered some yards away. If she did something damaging, she didn't want to lose them as well.

In the distance, Sophia and Madison ducked down behind a brick barbecue, and she heard Sophia call out. "Ready!"

Okay, then. She took a deep breath. I'm doing this to be strong. To show Taylor who's the strongest. Nobody's ever going to make me feel helpless again. Her hands were shaking as she shook the vial vigorously, then worked the cork out; the air was so still that the tiny pop sounded loud in her ears. A deep breath, to calm her nerves. This didn't work, so she took another one. The vial was still in her hand, open. The contents both beckoned and repelled her.

Abruptly, convulsively, she closed her eyes, then put the vial to her lips. Opening her mouth, feeling the cool glass on her lower lip, she tilted the vial back. The stuff inside slithered into her mouth, and she had to repress the urge to gag, to spit it out again. It was horrible. But she had to drink it. This was the most important thing she would ever do with her life. Her eyes were already closed, but she clenched them so hard they hurt, then she swallowed the concoction.

It burned all the way down.

Shuddering, eyes still closed, she lowered the vial from her mouth. Nothing seemed to be happening, aside from a slight roiling in her guts. She didn't feel like she was erupting in flames or turning into rock. Tentatively opening her eyes, she looked down at her hands, one of which held the vial and the other the rubber cork. The vial was definitely empty; the foul taste in her mouth and throat verified that she'd swallowed the contents.

"Maybe it was—" She didn't get any farther, as the roiling sensation exploded into heat that blasted through every part of her body. She was burning; she was melting. The absolute conviction that she was dying impressed itself on her brain. Why the fuck did I drink some stupid fucking stuff from a test tube?

Gradually, she came back to herself. Her breathing was harsh, but at least she was breathing. She was also lying down. Opening her eyes, she looked around. It was still the same parking lot, but from a viewpoint a lot closer to the ground. Nothing seemed to be on fire, which seemed like a minor miracle to her. Then she looked down at her arm. She was still wearing her sweats, which indicated that she probably hadn't burst into flame after all, despite everything her nerve endings had been telling her.

As she hoisted herself to a sitting position, she heard footsteps, and looked around to see Madison and Sophia cautiously approaching. "Well, that was no fun," she said out loud. Then she realised she'd pulled a perfect crunch, which she'd never done before.

"Okay, so what are your powers?" asked Sophia. "Can you fly? Run fast? Turn invisible?"

"Hm. Not sure." Emma flipped the vial into the air and held up the cork, skinny end upward. The vial went end for end twice, then dropped on to the cork, a perfect hit. Gathering her legs under her, she kicked off and pulled a backflip from a seated position that landed her on her feet. Lifting her sweats, she studied her stomach. "But whatever my powers are, they come with killer abs."

Madison's jaw dropped, and Emma could tell Sophia was struggling not to react with disbelief as well.

"What?" she asked. "I feel really fit now, but that's about it. Is fitness a super-power?"

"It is, the way you're using it," Sophia said dryly. "Wanna put your sneakers back on so Madison can take her vial?"

"Oh, yeah. Good point." Emma strolled over to where she'd kicked her shoes. On the way, she noticed that the gravel wasn't really bothering her anymore. On a whim, she flicked the sneakers up with her toes, then hacky-sacked them into her free hand. It was no more effort than pulling a handkerchief from her pocket.

"Damn, that's gonna take some getting used to." Sophia shook her head. "Let's go give Mads her privacy."

Side by side, they headed over to the barbecue. Emma could feel every piece of gravel underfoot, but none of them caused her pain.

They reached the barbecue and crouched down behind it. Emma took the time to shrug into her jacket, despite the fact that she no longer felt any particular chill from the morning air. "Okay!" Sophia called out to the petite brunette. Raising her head, Emma watched as her friend drank the vial down. Remembering her own dose, she thought the term 'vile' might be more apropos. In the event, Madison didn't spit it out or vomit it up, though from her body language, Emma thought either one might have been a near thing.

There was no flame, no explosion. Sophia and Emma could've watched the whole thing from two yards away. All Madison did was fall down and convulse a little.

"Did I do that?" asked Emma quietly.

"More or less, yeah." Sophia stood up and dusted her hands off. "Well, time to go see how the runt handles having powers."

Emma rolled her eyes as she stood up as well. "After that comment, I'd laugh if she grew fifty feet tall."

"Hey, you're basically Jackie Chan on steroids. Anything's possible."

"Yeah, right." Emma jabbed Sophia in the ribs with her elbow.

"What the—" Sophia tried to retaliate, but Emma nudged the elbow aside with a grace and dexterity she'd never had before. On her second attempt, Emma did exactly the same thing; when she tried a third time, Emma let her succeed. "Hah! Gotcha!"

"Yup." They'd gotten to where Madison was beginning to sit up, looking groggy. "Hey, Mads. How you feeling?"

"Like shit." Madison made it halfway to her feet, then collapsed on to her butt again. "How come you were standing and walking like straight away? My head feels like a football that's just been kicked into orbit."

"Just lucky, I guess." Emma extended a hand downward and grasped Madison's wrist. "Let's get you up." With a surge of strength that surprised even her, she hoisted Madison to a semblance of standing.

"Whoa!" yelped Madison in surprise. "Geez, warn a girl, why don't you?" Reaching up, she prodded Emma's arm. "Holy shit, you're ripped."

"Comes with the killer abs, I guess." Emma smirked. "So, what powers did you get? Just be warned, if you can fly, I will hate you forever."

Madison shook her head. "No, I can't fly." Standing more steadily now, she looked at her hands. Her fingers twitched. "I just want to build stuff."

"Stuff?" Sophia looked at her alertly. "What kind of stuff?"

"Power armour. Guns. Machines. Vehicles. Stuff." Madison smiled, showing her teeth. "I want to build everything."

Emma and Sophia looked at each other over the top of Madison's head. "Tinker," they chorused.


End of Part Two

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Three: Figuring Things Out

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

The Next Day
Barnes Household

Madison had never been one for drawing before, but now it seemed to be second nature. And she could do it almost anywhere, even when what she was lying on was rising and falling at a metronomic pace. Or rather, who she was lying on.

"Two seventy-four," panted Emma. "Two seventy-five, two seventy-left, two seventy-seven …" Wearing a tank top and sweat pants, she steadily cranked out the push-ups, just slowly enough that she could keep an audible count. Every five push-ups, she switched from one hand to the other, with no noticeable reduction in the rate. Madison barely paid attention to the changes. Lying full-length on Emma's back, she held a sketch-pad up above her head with one hand, the pencil in her other hand flickering over the paper.

The bedroom door opened and Sophia strolled in, drinking from a can of soda. "How's my two apprentices doing?" she asked with a grin.

"—seventy-eight, two seventy-nine, two eighty, two eighty-right, two eighty-two …"

"I've got my initial furnace designed and ready to go," Madison reported. "Plus the requirements for my first set of armour. Plus a big gun."

"Big gun?" Sophia raised her eyebrows. "How big?"

Madison sat up on Emma's back, crossing her legs as she restabilised her weight over the small of Emma's back. The redhead didn't seem to mind, or even notice. "Variable yield. At max power, it'll splatter Lung all over the landscape."

"—ninety-nine, three hundred." Emma paused. "Mads, get off."

"Okay, Ems." Obediently, Madison stood up, and Emma bounced to her feet. Apart from a faint sheen of sweat, she didn't even look like she'd been exercising. Madison couldn't even tell if she was breathing hard.

"Three hundred," Emma reported to Sophia. "To be honest, I don't think push-ups are even doing anything for me. It was like walking down a set of stairs. Slowly."

But Sophia wasn't listening. She stared at Madison, the soda-can half raised. "Are you sure?" she asked at last. "Won't that, uh, put holes in buildings and stuff?"

"And stuff, yeah. It would probably dig a crater out of Captain's Hill if we fired it in that direction, or clear out the Boat Graveyard once and for all." Madison tapped her chin with the pencil. "Probably a bad idea, with all the shrapnel we'd get. I think I'll keep max power under wraps for the time being. But yeah, first I need to build the tools to build the tools. So I need to construct my furnace first."

"Furnace?" Sophia gestured with the can. "Can't you just … you know, build power armour?"

"Out of what?" Madison rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm a Tinker. But even Tinkers need something to work with, and I refuse to construct stuff that'll fall apart in five minutes. What I need is a refinery, but the first step is my furnace."

"Okay, then, what do we need for a furnace?"

Madison shrugged. "Three cars. One for parts, two for materials. I should have the furnace done in a day, and the parts made for my second furnace in another day."

Sophia seemed to be having trouble working this out. "Why do you need two furnaces? Why can't you just use one? We've only got three weeks until school opens. You two need to be established heroes by then."

"Because I do!" Madison's voice rose. Turning, she stomped out of the room. She needed a soda in the worst way, and having Sophia question what was so obvious really got up in her grille.

<><>​

Emma watched Sophia's expression as Madison left the room. If she had to guess, Sophia was pissed that her attempts to come across as the master of everything parahuman were falling flatter than a pancake on Lord Street at rush hour. The vigilante had even tried to keep up with Emma when she started the push-ups, but had dropped out after the first forty, claiming that she had to be free to mentor both of them at the same time.

"What's with her?" Sophia asked. "She's gonna be a cape, you'd think she could handle a little pressure."

"You're not a Tinker. I'm not a Tinker. We're not qualified to decide how she does shit." Emma shrugged. "But push-ups aren't doing much except bore me to tears. What else should I be doing?"

Sophia got a nasty grin on her face. "Well, I might not know what a Tinker needs to be doing, but your powers are a lot more physical. I know physical. Do you remember any of those self-defense lessons I gave you that one time?"

It sounded to Emma like Sophia was looking to get some satisfaction by physically overbearing her. That was actually fine by her; if nothing else, she'd learn how to fight properly. There was no percentage in trying to learn from someone who wasn't trying to push her past her limits, after all. "Not much of them," she admitted. Sophia hadn't been a very patient teacher. To be fair, Emma hadn't been a very apt pupil. Well, this was about to change.

"Fine. We'll start from scratch. When are your folks due home again?"

"Sometime this evening," Emma said. "Dad said he was going to be meeting with associates again at the Augustus Country Club." She rolled her eyes. "Which means drinks until late."

"Excellent." Sophia angled her head toward the door. "Let's go down to the living room."

"Sure thing." Emma strolled out to where the stairs led down to the living room; on an impulse, she jumped up on the bannister and rode it all the way down sidesaddle, slipping off just before she would've hit the stair-post at the end. To her personal pride, she only took two steps to regain her balance.

"Rule number one!" called out Sophia from the top of the stairs. "If you grandstand during a battle like that, you'll get your ass handed to you. Don't do it!" She leaped off the top step and turned to shadow, gliding down almost weightlessly. When she turned solid at the bottom, she gave Emma a glare. "I can try to teach you, but if you won't learn, it's not my fault."

"No grandstanding. Got it." Emma decided not to point out that she hadn't been grandstanding, that it had been just as easy as walking down normally. She supposed that balancing on the rail and skating down barefoot would've been grandstanding. Almost as easy, but grandstanding all the same.

"Good." Sophia moved into the open part of the living room, then turned to face Emma. "Okay, now I want you to try to hit me." She settled into a vaguely defensive posture, though Emma could tell she was set up to deliver a stinging jab in response to any missed attacks.

"Um, shouldn't you be showing me how to throw a punch first?" Emma thought she had a good idea of it, but she was also well aware of the concept of 'don't know how much you don't know'.

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Right. Yeah. Okay." She stepped up alongside Emma and took hold of her hand. Roughly, she folded Emma's fingers into a fist, with the thumb on the outside. "Okay, this is how your fist should look. And this is how it should go." Moving exaggeratedly slowly, she threw a couple of punches from the shoulder. "Got it?"

"Got it." Emma nodded, though she was fairly sure nobody else but her could have learned anything from the rough and ready lesson plan. She closed her hands into the fists Sophia had showed her, then resettled them into something that felt more natural. "What's next?"

Going back into her defensive stance, Sophia beckoned with one hand. "Try to hit me."

"Okay." Emma could see several holes in Sophia's defences, but she knew the whole purpose of the exercise was so that Sophia could demonstrate how to block a punch and retaliate. So she threw a half-speed blow at a point where she knew Sophia could knock it aside.

"Shit!" Sophia yelped and stepped back, the punch barely avoided. There was no question of a return jab. "Emma, it's not smart to go all-out from the word go. You've got to pace yourself in a fight."

"Oh, okay. Sorry. Um, maybe you should show me what I'm doing wrong." Emma was confused. Sophia knew how to fight. She'd seen her fight before. I didn't try to hit her that hard … did I?

"Okay, then." Sophia huffed out a breath, her eyes slitted in anger. "I'm just gonna hit you lightly, and you figure out how to block me, okay?" Her bunched shoulders called her a liar. At least the first one was going to sting, a lot. Maybe the first five or six, until Emma had learned her place.

"Okay." Emma brought her hands up in front of her, ready to do her best at defending against Sophia actively trying to hit her. "Ready."

The first blow came in so telegraphed that Emma almost let it hit, sure it was a feint covering for a sneak attack waiting in the wings. At the last moment, she gave up looking for the sneak blow, and brushed the punch aside. No sneak attack came; it seemed that the 'feint' had been the real attack. Was Sophia trying to fake her out by disguising her punches as ineffectual jabs? No matter. Sophia had told her to defend herself.

"Lucky," grunted Sophia. "Let's see how you do with this one."

She launched a few more punches, and Emma pushed them aside, all the while waiting for the real volley of blows. None came. Sophia swung at her again and again, but the punches were so easy to avoid or evade that she stopped bothering using both arms to defend herself. Using just her left hand and arm, she pushed aside or blocked a dozen more punches. Her eye fell on Madison, who was standing in the kitchen doorway drinking a cold soda from the fridge; immediately, she felt thirsty herself.

"I want a soda," she said.

"You don't get a soda until you show me you can throw a proper punch," gritted Sophia, still attacking her.

Emma sighed and slipped two blows. Letting a third one glide over her shoulder, she straightened her left arm into a crisp backfist. Sophia's eyes widened an instant before the knuckles connected with her jaw; Emma felt the impact all the way up to her shoulder. It was a good thing the carpet was soft, because Sophia landed flat out on the floor a moment later.

Madison wandered over and stood looking down at her. "I think that was good enough," she decided, and took a drink from her soda. "But she's gonna be pissed when she comes to."

Heading into the kitchen, Emma opened the fridge and got a soda. "She did tell me to show her I could throw a punch."

"True."

Emma watched Sophia shake her head groggily and sit up. "Hey, Sophia, You okay?"

Sophia felt her jaw and glared at her. "Shut up."

Emma sipped from her soda. "Okay."


End of Part Three

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Four: Preparations

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



Three Days Later
An Abandoned Warehouse
Emma Barnes

Madison lowered her goggles and hefted the device she called the Cutter. "Cutting! Stand clear!"

Emma wasn't quite sure what principle the thing worked on, except that it ran off of regular building power. About the size and shape of a dust buster, though a lot heavier, it narrowed to a point at the business end. Holding it to metal and pressing the trigger caused a neat cut in the metal. Apart from that, there was no outward sign anything was happening; no sparks, no noise, no heat, nothing. The main reason Emma was careful to stand clear was that there was no way to tell if it was cutting until the cut actually happened.

"Standing clear," she replied, ready to assist Madison with wrestling slices of metal bound for the ever-hungry mouth of her furnace. As her friend touched the Cutter to the engine block of the third derelict car they'd found, Emma glanced over toward the furnace, making sure it was still doing what it was supposed to. Raw heat emanated from its open mouth, from the bubbling metal inside. She wasn't certain how the bits and pieces of the car Madison had constructed the furnace from were able to contain the molten metal, but there it was.

Getting hold of the cars themselves had been simultaneously the easiest and most strenuous job. Sophia had been able to locate cars that had been stolen and dumped, broken down or just abandoned on the side of the road. Madison's Tinker abilities let her get them running (or at least rolling) long enough to deliver them to an empty building on the edge of Merchants territory, where they were ready for the next stage.

After exerting herself all night (and in some cases, pushing cars for several blocks at a time), Emma had crashed for two hours then woken up fresh and ready to go again. Madison had been out for the entire day, and Sophia hadn't woken up until late afternoon.

On the second night, Madison had constructed the Cutter, then demolished one car to make the furnace. This night, they were feeding bits of the other two cars into it. Sophia hadn't shown up at all, which made Emma wonder if she was starting to get bored with the whole project. She'd spent the previous evening lecturing Madison on how the Tinkers she'd heard of did stuff, until Madison snapped and yelled at her. Then she'd gone off in a huff, saying that there were muggers out there who hadn't been beaten up yet.

I hope she's still on board with everything. My powers are so awesome; I can't wait to kick the shit out of Taylor with them.

Another slice of the engine block dropped free, leaving a smooth mirrored surface, and Madison moved the Cutter away. "Cutter off."

"Cool." Emma moved in and dragged the chunk of steel and whatever else off to the side, to join the other pieces. They were due to go into the furnace to make ready for the second pour, after the first one had been completed.

"Okay, that's enough for now." Madison wiped her forehead with the back of her heavily gloved arm, and carefully set the Cutter down. As an added precaution, she unplugged it from the extension cord. "Time for the first pour."

"And this will be the second furnace, right?" Emma thought this was the case, but she wanted to be sure.

"Yup. This one'll be made of good steel, and I'll be able to make more good steel stuff from it without ruining it."

"Ruining it?" Emma frowned. "So what we're doing now is ruining this furnace?"

"Oh, yeah." Madison leaned up and tapped a gauge. "One more good pour after this one, and it'll be ready for retirement. Well, recycling."

"So what's 'good steel', anyway?" asked Emma as she followed Madison on an inspection tour of the moulds that had already been laid out.

"It's my name for it. Dunno what it's really called. You've got to put just the right materials in at the right moment, and let it stay at a certain heat for a certain time. If you pour just at the right moment, it'll come out a whole lot stronger and more durable than ordinary steel." Madison shrugged. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

"Makes total sense to me," Emma agreed, mentally adjusting her definition of the phrase 'total sense'. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Make sure nobody comes in at the wrong time and disrupts the pour," Madison said, heading back to the furnace. "And stay well back. It's gonna get real hot in here."

"Okay." Emma ran toward a shipping container that sat nearby in the warehouse. Jumping lightly into the air, she kicked off from one of the door hinges and vaulted on top with an ease that she never would've come close to equalling before. As far as she could tell, her eyesight was a bit better than it had been before, but not superhuman; just smoothed out to maximum human capacity. She'd asked Madison about the chances of having night-sight goggles made, and her friend had sketched out a helmet that would've weighed about twenty pounds. The design contained built-in goggles capable of emitting a microwave beam capable of frying bugs at ten paces, but Emma decided the weight would be too much. From her sketches, Madison could build a lot of stuff. Unfortunately, 'miniaturised' didn't exist as a descriptor for any of it.

Another question she'd asked was why Madison hadn't just used the shipping containers themselves for the furnace. Madison had looked at her as if she'd asked why the sky wasn't green and explained that shipping containers didn't have the materials that she needed.

Moving with a level of precision that Emma had never seen in her friend before she'd gotten her powers, Madison went to the side of the furnace and pulled a lever. As liquid metal spilled white-hot down a channel into the first of the moulds, Emma felt the wave of heat hit her from across the room. What it must be like for Madison, she had no idea. Keeping one eye on the entrances, she watched with a level of fascination as the petite brunette managed the pour, moving levers and adjusting dials as though she'd been training for this all her life. One after another, the moulds filled exactly to the brim with molten 'good steel', whatever that really was.

"What the hell's going on here?"

The harsh voice cut into her musings, and she snapped her attention around to the side door about ten yards from the end of the shipping container. They'd closed the door, but there had been no way to lock it; or rather, Madison hadn't felt like constructing a lock for it right then. Besides, the metal wall beside the door was so rusty and full of holes that a moderately determined kick would smash it in.

Pulling the bandanna she was wearing up to cover the lower part of her face, Emma moved to get a view of the door. It was now open, and people were now entering. She could tell that there were five of them and, while the lighting in the warehouse was uncertain to say the best, they looked a lot like Merchants to her. Well, crap.

"The fuck?" The leader of this group, or maybe the least stoned, pointed at where Madison was still working on getting the pour just right. "Someone Tinkering here and not fuckin' working for us? How the shit is that fair?"

Emma sighed and jumped down from the shipping container, absorbing the impact with a casual flexing of her knees. "Walk away, boys," she advised them, doing her best to pitch her voice for maximum intimidation. That was something she was still learning from Sophia, though the black girl had given up on teaching her anything about fighting. "Nothing to see here. Move along."

"Shit!" The lead Merchant stopped and pulled a pistol from his waistband. The others brandished pipes or knives. "Cape!"

"She's not a fuckin' cape," jeered another Merchant. "She's just a wannabe. If she had powers, we woulda seen 'em by now."

"Oh, yeah." The gang member brought up the pistol but before he could point it at Emma, she was in motion. Dashing forward with a level of explosive acceleration that not even Sophia would've been able to match in her best day at track, she closed with the guy before he was properly aware that she was in his face.

All five began to move, but with a sluggish inevitability that let her plot out her moves more than a second into the future. Her reactions were already fast; with the chance to plan her actions in advance, she was even faster. Lunging forward into a jump just before the pistol would have come into line, she grabbed his wrist with one hand and his pistol with the other. A twist in midair let her wrap one leg around his neck, the unexpected weight sending him stumbling backward as he flailed for balance.

Digging her thumb into the correct pressure point released the pistol into her hand. As the Merchant began to collapse backward, she threw her newly acquired weapon at the head of gang member number two, who was carrying a pipe. Landing on her feet as gang member number one fell heavily on to his back, she drove her elbow into the jaw of number three. Then she caught the pistol as it rebounded off the head of number two and kicked the falling pipe (also from number two) so that it smacked hard into the jaw of number four; one of the knife guys.

The second knife guy (and fifth gang member) stood staring, right up until the pistol (Emma really liked its throwing balance) smacked him between the eyes and dropped him to the ground. As part of the throwing motion, Emma spun around and delivered a back kick to the jaw of the first guy, who was just starting to sit up and look around. He promptly slumped to the ground again. With a satisfied hm, she reached up and back, just in time to catch the firearm as it bounced back off the fifth gang member's skull and into her hand.

"What's going on over there?" called out Madison. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem." Emma sighed in irritation as she looked down at the feebly twitching gang members. "Just a pest control issue. Do we have any zip-ties?"

A shadowy form came through the wall, then reformed as Sophia in her Shadow Stalker costume, performing a dramatic diving roll. She came to her feet, crossbow out and pointed at the downed gang members. "Don't move!" she shouted. "I've got you … oh." Walking closer, she stared at the five guys. "Holy shit, uh, girl. Was this all you?"

"I guess?" Emma said with a shrug. "It wasn't really challenging. More like solving a kid's math puzzle, you know? I knew all the answers, I just had to figure out how to make it happen in the shortest possible time." She frowned as she looked Sophia over. "I have to say, it's amazingly coincidental, you bursting in just after some Merchants show up here."

"I was tracking them," Sophia said, almost defensively. "I didn't want to bust them if they weren't doing anything wrong. Soon as I knew they'd gone in, I came in after them."

Really. Emma wondered how much of that was truth, and how much was Sophia trying to grandstand a little within their burgeoning team. Since getting powers of her own, she'd become a lot more cynical about superheroes in general. But it probably wasn't worth calling Sophia on her bullshit, so she changed the subject by hefting the pistol in her hand. "I've never even used one of these things. Should I start? I mean, I don't want to get crossbows and step all over your shtick." She remembered the abortive attempt by Sophia to tutor her in using a crossbow. After six bullseyes in a row, including the one where she'd bounced the arrow off the wall to get it into the target just to see if she could, Sophia had declared the whole thing bullshit and refused her access to the crossbow again.

"No, you shouldn't." From the sour tone of Sophia's voice, she was remembering the same thing. "Heroes carrying guns sends the wrong message, unless you're Miss Militia, and the PRT gets really antsy. Maybe get one of those big-ass compound bows that look like someone's construction project. I figure you could do stuff with arrows that would make 'em all swear blind you were carrying around Tinkertech."

"Yeah, but then I'd be lumbered with a big fragile bit of gear, or I'd have to get an actual Tinker to make me one that could collapse into a small space." Madison, she already knew, was not the right person to ask about something like that. A bow capable of taking out a Mack truck with one arrow; sure. One that could also collapse to hang off her hip? Not so much.

"Pfft, yeah, nope." Sophia shook her head as she bent over the gang members, zip-tying their limbs together. "I still can't see why she can't build one like that for you, though. I mean, if Armsmaster can …"

"Because she's not Armsmaster." Emma wondered if her friend would ever get it. "Her Tinker stuff is always bulky, because it's too tough to … waiiiit a minute." The epiphany that broke across her mind almost blinded her. "Hey, M, could you build a bow that I could also use as a melee weapon?"

Madison looked around at the shouted query. "A bow? I guess. But it wouldn't be a very good one. Not if you also wanted to hit people with it. Why?"

Emma waved the pistol. "Because ranged weapons would be a good idea? I'm currently limited to what I can punch and what I can throw."

"Huh." Madison seemed to think about that. "Can you throw stuff that can bounce back to you? If I made it so it wouldn't break?"

"Sure." Emma tossed up the pistol and caught it again. "Why?"

Madison's grin gleamed in the dying glow of molten metal. "Let me get back to you on that."


End of Part Four

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes
Part Five: The Real Thing

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

Team Base
One Week Later
Emma

Madison cleared her throat. "Okay, I know I called you in at short notice, but I've been working on both offensive and defensive items for you, Emma—"

"What'd you do with 'em?" interrupted Sophia, leaning against the wall with her arms folded.

"What?" Madison looked guiltily around at the dark-clad girl. "What did I do with what?"

"Not what, who. The Merchants who crashed the party. Remember? Last week?" Sophia uncrossed her arms and took a few steps toward Madison. "I can't hear their bitching, and there's no fast-food bags lying around anymore." A nasty grin spread across her face. "Holy shit, did you finally woman up and do what had to be done?"

"Oh, no." Emma shook her head, a feeling of dread sweeping down her spine. "Madison, what have you done?"

Madison looked from one of them to the other, panic building in her voice and on her face. "I didn't have any choice!" she blurted. "We couldn't keep them locked up in the shipping container forever, and I was running low on money to buy them fast food! Besides, no matter how many wet wipes I gave them, they refused to keep themselves clean! It was horribly unhygienic in there!"

Emma stared at her friend, hoping against hope that her horrible suspicions were unfounded. Madison hadn't seemed to be taking after Sophia's bloodthirsty ways, but she could never be sure. "Madison, you didn't … did you?"

Sophia bared her teeth. "You did, didn't you?" She seemed to be positively gloating over the moment.

"I had to let them go!" wailed Madison. "I'm sorry! I couldn't see anything else to do!"

Emma blinked, unsure about what she'd just heard. "What."

Sophia stared at Madison, apparently even more taken off guard than Emma. "You're shitting me."

"They would've died in there!" protested Madison. "Or gotten really sick and then died! I'm not a murderer! I didn't want to let them go, but—"

She was cut off when Emma grabbed her in a tight hug. "You did the right thing, Mads," the redhead told her fervently, relief surging through her entire body. "We couldn't hold them forever, and killing them out of hand would've made us worse than them."

"What the fuck?" Sophia's voice overrode Emma's. "Have the both of you gone fuck-knuckle crazy? Am I the only sane one here? Letting them go was the worst thing you could've done! Had you forgotten that the Merchants have fucking capes? They're probably on the way back here right now, and it won't be to fuckin' say thank you for letting our guys go. If they get their hands on you, you'll be lucky if you just end up on the street, turning tricks for your next fix!"

Emma let go of Madison. She opened her mouth to snap at Sophia, but Madison got her oar in first. "That's exactly why I called you guys in," she said crisply. "I've got basic motion sensors set up for three blocks around, and if that blinking light on my screen is right, they just hit the outer perimeter." She headed off to one of her work benches.

"So what do we do?" asked Emma, following her.

"Well, I've been working on something for you." Madison picked up something from the bench and held it out to her. "This wristband goes on your right wrist." With a grunt, she pulled a near-identical band off a metal disc that was lying on the bench. "And this one goes on your left wrist."

Emma examined the wristbands. They were more like bracers, long enough to cover her forearms altogether. Made of linked metal, they were heavy, but not so heavy that she couldn't handle it. Putting the appropriate one around her right forearm, she pressed it closed and felt it click into place. She repeated the action with the other one, then swung her arms around to test the weight. As she'd thought, she could handle it. As a bonus, her forearms were now protected, and she could bash targets with them.

"Nice," she said appreciatively, then looked at the discs Madison was now holding. "And those attach to the bands?" She'd already taken note of the bracket on the back of each forearm.

"Got it in one." Madison handed Emma the discs and the redhead clicked them into place on her arms. They added noticeably to the weight, but Emma thought it was still acceptable. Plus, the discs now gave her much more protection against incoming attacks.

"I like it." Emma took hold of the left-hand disc with her right hand and figured out how to detach it. Hefting it a couple of times, she turned to face the nearest wall. Pulling the disc back, she gave it a sharp flick. It blurred across the intervening distance, then rebounded sharply with a loud clang. Reaching up, she snatched it out of the air and reattached it to her left forearm, all in one motion. "Scratch that," she said with a wide grin. "I love it."

A red light started flashing and a low tone sounded. Madison looked around. "That's the near perimeter alarm," she said. "They're on the same block as us."

"I fuckin' told you," Sophia said viciously. She waved her hand at Emma while focusing her attention on Madison. "All the bouncy throwing discs in the world aren't gonna make up for the fact that you can't fight. We're good, but there's only two of us."

"Who said I can't fight?" Madison headed over toward a metal crate that was almost as high as she was.

"What are you gonna do?" Sophia wasn't letting this go. "Hide from them?"

"Not exactly." Madison slapped a panel on the crate. It began to unfold, then stopped. Madison climbed up into it, then hit another panel. As it resumed the process, Emma watched as Madison was sealed in behind a couple of inches of the shimmering gray metal the Tinker called 'good steel'. By the time the articulated suit finished rearranging itself, it was eight feet tall, angular arms and legs flexing and moving around as Madison activated them. A blocky 'head' with glowing red eyes looked down at them. Heavy-duty rubberised hoses led from connectors in the shoulders to halfway down the 'biceps'. Similar hoses connected the 'thighs' to the 'calves'.

"Power armour." Emma finally found her voice. "You made power armour."

"Mark One," Madison's voice was gravelly and metallic over the speakers. "This one's pretty minimal compared to what I'll be able to make with real resources, but it should do for the time being."

Sophia spoke up. "Those hoses on the arms and legs are a weak point. You do know people will target them, right? Your fancy-dancy power armour won't be worth shit if you can't move your legs or arms."

Emma hated to admit it, but she had a point. The hoses did look extremely vulnerable. When faced with a Brute-style opponent, capes were notorious for going after any weak points they could see. And those hoses, even as thick and reinforced as they were, shouted 'target' to Emma's fighting instincts.

"Why don't you let me worry about that." Even with the electronic distortion, Madison's irritation was clearly audible.

Just then, a bulky vehicle smashed in through the front roller-door. A resounding BOOM came from the door at the far end of the warehouse, and Emma spun around.

"Shit!" she blurted. "They're coming at us from both directions!" It was a classic military pincer manoeuvre, and she cursed herself for not anticipating it. Just because the Merchants were perpetually drug-fucked didn't mean they couldn't accidentally pull off something like this.

The front of Squealer's vehicle split open, the two sides hinging apart to allow the exit of a huge shambling vaguely humanoid mass of trash. Several men armed with pipes, chains and clubs followed him out.

"Fuck," Sophia said. "That's Mush."

"I know," Madison said. "You two go deal with the others. I got this." She started toward the animated trash heap, her long metallic legs eating up the distance.

"Shit," Emma said, agonising over the need to protect her friend and the equally strong need to defend their base. The yelling as Merchants flooded into the building from the far end decided her; if she stood and did nothing, they'd win automatically. Turning, she sprinted toward the incoming wave of invaders. She couldn't see Sophia anywhere, so she figured the more experienced vigilante had gone to shadow and was working around for a flank attack. It was what she'd do.

The first Merchants she met were not the ones she'd encountered on their first foray. They saw a teenage girl running at them and came to meet her. This didn't go well for them; her throwing discs packed a real punch at close range, and while she avoided head shots (she didn't want to kill them after all) she found that body hits put them on the ground just as fast. Leg shots were a little harder, but a broken femur or kneecap was ideal for removing them from the equation. It was also possible, she found, to backfist someone with the wristband while waiting for the throwing-disc to return. The heavy metal packed a very gratifying impact, almost as good as hitting someone with the discs.

Finally, she saw Sophia, perched on top of a shipping container (one of the few remaining in the base) as she shot arrows at the Merchants. Some of her targets were down and screaming, while others were ominously quiet. Emma gritted her teeth; it seemed that the harder she pushed Sophia to tone down her aggression for the heroic image, the more Sophia was determined to push back. Sophia was her friend and teammate, but they were going to have to have words about this at some point. Sooner rather than later.

Abruptly, she felt her traction vanish as her feet went out from under her. Looking down as she kicked herself into the air, she saw a field covering the ground, blue fading to violet. With the last of her upward impetus, she tucked into a roll then dropped a disc on the ground and landed on it with both feet. Upright, bending her knees for maximum flexibility, she surfed Skidmark's field to where it petered out rather than being spat out like trash.

At the far end of the field, the Merchant leader himself invited her to do something anatomically impossible (not to mention disgustingly perverted) while he dumped a bucket of gravel into the skid-field. Emma kicked up the disc and caught it as she dived out of the way; crouching, she hid behind the discs, catching the few pieces that came her way on the shields.

"Fuck you, Skidmark!" yelled Sophia, levelling her crossbow at the costumed villain. Emma made the calculation on the instant; Sophia was going for a headshot. A lethal attack. Not on my watch.

In another instant, she had both throwing-discs in hand. One went upward at an angle, soaring in front of Sophia just as she triggered the crossbow. The other whiffed past Skidmark, making him duck and curse. The arrow hit the first disc and shattered on impact, while the second disc hit the wall behind Skidmark and bounced back to smack him solidly (but not too solidly) on the back of the head. The field dissipated as he collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

"What the fuck?" yelled Sophia. "I had him! What the hell was that?"

"I just saved you from a murder charge," Emma retorted sharply. She headed forward and checked his pulse; it was strong and steady. A large squared-off roofing beam lay just inside the doorway. She guessed he'd used it as a battering ram to get the door open.

"Make yourself useful and secure him. And make sure the others are still alive. I'm gonna go help Madison." Both her throwing discs had fallen nearby (by design, not accident) and she took the time to retrieve them before heading toward the other end of the warehouse.

She wasn't sure what she would find when she got there. Madison's armour had looked sturdy enough to take a bit of punishment; with any luck, she would've kept Mush busy until Emma got there to deal with matters. Firmly, she kept herself from imagining the worst. The armour disabled and cracked open, with Madison as a hostage or dead. No. She builds better than that.

A few moments later, she learned just how true that was. When she negotiated the intervening obstacles and came in sight of the intruding vehicle. Madison was nowhere in sight, and Mush was gone as well … no. He was still there. A skinny little bald man was lying groaning in among several large heaps of trash. He looked more than a little red in the face and chest, for what reason, Emma had no idea. The few other Merchants who had come in with the vehicle looked like they'd been clubbed to the ground with each other.

Sounds of complicated destruction came from within the vehicle, while the engine revved loudly. Caterpillar tracks attempted to drag the monstrosity back out of the hole, but the doors that had swung wide open in the nose were now stuck in that position, bent far back and jammed. As such, they prevented the vehicle from retreating.

As Emma prepared to enter the vehicle, the engine cut out altogether. "Uh … M?" she called out into the resulting silence.

"Call me Blockade," Madison's electronic vocaliser replied. Heavy footsteps sounded from within the darkness of the vehicle. Emma saw the glowing red eyes before the rest of the suit emerged from the shadows. Once Madison came fully into the light, Emma saw that she was carrying a trashily dressed woman by the scruff of the neck. The woman looked somewhat dazed, and her goggles were shattered. Both of Madison's shoulder hoses were detached at the bicep end, and flopped around loosely. This didn't seem to be impairing her movement in any way.

"Did you want me to reattach those?" asked Emma, pointing at one of the hoses.

"Nah." Madison tossed the feebly moving Squealer onto a pile of garbage next to Mush. "They're only decoys anyway. Mush pulled them loose and got a face full of live steam." As Emma watched, the hoses straightened up, aimed briefly at her, then reconnected themselves to their attachment points.

"Live steam?" she couldn't help asking. "Why do you have live steam in your suit? What do you need that for?"

"Smartasses who think they can cheat by hitting my weak points."

Emma wanted to burst out laughing but she couldn't afford to, right then. "Okay," she said bemusedly. "We seem to have captured the Merchants. What do we do now?"

Madison made a motion like cracking her knuckles. "Only one choice. We go live as a superhero team, and hand them over to the PRT. Two birds, one stone."

"Hey, that is not your damn decision!" Sophia, sounding pissed off (as usual) came stomping in from the far end of the warehouse. "They're secured. Now we gotta decide what to do with them. Not just one person deciding for all three of us."

"That's easy." Emma grinned. "I vote we do what Blockade just said. Now we've got a majority voting for that."

"Whoa, wait just a second." Sophia tried to stare her down. "I'm more experienced. I should have more say."

Madison made a rude noise via her speakers. "What was that about 'not just one person deciding for us all'?"

"She's right," Emma decided as Sophia gave Madison's battle armour a death glare. "The vote's in. Two to one."

"One question, though." Madison sounded thoughtful. "What are we gonna call ourselves?"

"I think we're moving way too fast with this, but if we're gonna do it, we're gonna need a good name," Sophia declared. "We need to show people we're the real thing, not some bunch of wannabe losers, even if some of us are luckier than they've got any right to be." She divided her glare evenly between Emma and Madison.

"Got it!" Emma exclaimed, snapping her fingers and ignoring Sophia's bitching. The girl, she was learning, hated to lose, even to teammates. "That's the perfect name."

"What?"

"What?"

"The Real Thing. That's what we'll call ourselves."

There was a pause, then Madison nodded. "I like it."

"Sophia?" asked Emma. There was no point in picking a name that all three of them didn't approve of. Of course, given that Sophia had said it first …

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Sophia waved her hand dismissively. "It's not a terrible name."

"Great! It's settled." Emma looked over at Madison. "How fast can you help me throw together a costume?"

"Depends." Madison headed over to her nearest workbench. "What did you have in mind?"

Emma went with her, leaving Sophia to secure the prisoners. "Well, the bad guys have already seen my hair, so I was thinking of a flame-themed costume to go with it, and maybe call myself Firebird, but with a wig over my hair that's longer than my normal hair …"

"Doable."

"And can you put a flame motif on my throwing discs? They're amazing, by the way."

"Easily."

Emma clapped her hands. "Okay, then. Let's get this show on the road."



End of Part Five

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Six: Tests Passed and Failed

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

Armsmaster

"Console to Armsmaster."

"Go for Armsmaster." Colin leaned the bike into a turn. It was responding well; the newer version of the ring-laser gyro gave it cleaner balance, and it recovered even keel just a little faster. He might have to look into moving the centre of gravity back about a foot, to give optimal grip for both the front and back tyres in all conditions, but this iteration of his iconic vehicle was holding up well.

Action figures featuring the "Armscycle" accounted for thirty-seven percent more sales and fifty-three percent more profit than standalone figures, or so Marketing had told him. He didn't care about that so much, but he did like it that the bike had its own recognition factor. It was all part of being an effective superhero.

"Yeah, we got a call from near the Trainyards. Merchants territory. A bunch of new heroes apparently captured them, and they want to know who to turn them over to."

"Well, that's different. Armsmaster, attending."

"I hear that. Copy Armsmaster attending. Sending you the location and details now."

His helmet speakers pinged to indicate an incoming file. With a flick of his eye, he opened it; it unfolded into a map with a flashing red dot somewhat to the north and west of his current location. His GPS filled in the rest of the information, and before he'd made the next turn, he had a glowing line on the map leading toward the red dot. At the same time, a broad yellow path appeared in his HUD, indicating the way forward.

Trusting the bike to handle acceleration, braking and obstacle avoidance, he scanned through the packet of data that had arrived with the map. The caller had been a teenage girl, calling herself Firebird. No matches popped up in the database for that name, in Brockton Bay or elsewhere. She had claimed to be part of a team called The Real Thing. The only significant links to that online were in relation to music; either a song or an actual band. Neither one was helpful to him at the moment.

Ten minutes later, he rounded a corner on to a dingy street, to see a bunch of people seated on the curb in a row. More than a few, he noted, bore bandages on their arms or legs. Others had their limbs actually splinted. All were secured in some way, either at the wrists or the ankles. One was in costume, though he was currently blindfolded and secured at both hand and foot. Colin recognised the grimy outfit immediately; Skidmark. A little distance away from him, her wrists and ankles likewise secured, a trashily-dressed woman wearing goggles (his HUD gave her a 95% chance of being Squealer) looked mad enough to chew up horseshoes and spit out nails. A third man, wizened and undernourished, had likewise been thoroughly secured. He surmised this might be Mush, from the few descriptions the PRT had of the man.

"Armsmaster to Console. I'm just arriving on site now. It appears as though the Merchants have indeed been captured. There are injuries. I would advise that medical-trained personnel attend the pickup." His eyes scanned the row of prisoners. The HUD, picking up on the motion, helpfully advised him that there were thirty-two persons sitting and three standing. A moment later, it stuttered to 'two standing', then back to three again.

He wasn't surprised by its lack of certainty. Of the three heroes standing behind the row of captives, two were quite apparently human. The third was an eight foot tall robot built of some shimmering grey metal with a blocky black shape on the chest that looked like the crenellations on the wall of a medieval fortress. The robot, or suit, looked far too clunky for his liking, and the hoses connecting one part to another spoke to him of poor planning. Still, he figured it wasn't too bad for a first try, especially as they'd managed to capture the Merchants right out of the gate.

The other two heroes were both recognisable as teenage girls, but he knew which one had made the call immediately. She had identified herself as Firebird, and only one there had a fire-themed costume. The other one, Shadow Stalker, had been making waves now and again with her brutal takedowns of muggers. It hadn't gotten so far as to necessitate the PRT stepping in, but the possibility was not off the table yet.

He pulled the bike to a halt and stepped off in one smooth motion. The bike maintained its upright stance after he let go the handlebars, then lowered its stand as part of its self-parking routine. Paying no attention to that, he stepped forward to inspect the prisoners more closely. They all looked awake and alert, though some seemed to be sweating or even tweaking. The bandages appeared to have been relatively freshly applied, and some had bloodstains on them.

Next, his eyes flicked up to the three heroes of The Real Thing, if that was all of them. To have captured an entire active gang, even such a screwed-up one as the Merchants, was a good trick for two unknowns and a B-class loner vigilante to have pulled off.

"Good morning," he said. "This is good work. Do they have any life-threatening injuries?"

The girl he was assuming to be Firebird, who looked about fifteen or sixteen, shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of. Some were suffering from blood loss, but we bandaged them and got food and water into them." She stepped between two of the prisoners and held her hand out. "Firebird. I'm the one who made the call. You probably already know Shadow Stalker. And that's Blockade."

He shook her hand, finally paying attention to the details of her costume. The broad discs attached to her forearms looked like they could be used as shields, but they seemed too unwieldy to be just good for that. Her knees and elbows, and the toes and heels of her boots, all had metal guards; on her head, she wore a metal helmet with a gold-coloured visor. Long red hair spilled out from under the back. Each metal piece, including the discs and the bracers they were attached to, had a fire motif that seemed to be based more on interference patterns than actual painted-on fire shapes, given the way the flames appeared to shift as his perspective changed. Underneath, she wore a black bodysuit that looked like it incorporated significant padding, and served to draw attention to the metal guards.

"Armsmaster," he said out of politeness. "But you knew that. So you have fire powers?"

She chuckled. "No, it's just my theme." Lifting her arm, she showed him a short nozzle emerging from the wrist bracer. "I do have a short-ranged flamethrower in there, but there isn't much room for fuel, so it's mainly for emergencies. And surprise attacks. For the most part, I find that punching people works just fine, when I'm not bouncing my discs off them."

"Ah, so they detach." He looked again at the discs. "Are they easy to learn how to handle?"

"I wouldn't know." Her voice held subtle self-mockery. "Anything like this, I seem to automatically know how to use, like I've been training all my life to do it."

"Ah." On an impulse, he reached back and unracked his halberd. With the correct signal, it unlocked and opened out to its full length. Another signal ensured that the various mechanisms within it would stay shut down until he woke it up. A third signal, not yet sent, would teleport it straight back to his hand if she did anything unwise with it. "What can you do with something like this?"

Behind her visor, he saw her eyes widen, but she managed to hold back her reaction, beyond a slight parting of her lips. At the same time, Shadow Stalker rapped her knuckles against the leg of the robot and casually gestured their way.

"Let me see," Firebird murmured, taking the weapon and looking it over, then adjusting her grip as if she'd been … training with it all her life, she'd said. Even Miss Militia had required some instruction in how to hold it properly. Intrigued, he watched as the girl took a few steps away, then turned to face him. The halberd snapped into a vertical salute, then blurred in her hands into a complex evolution that incorporated strikes, parries, deflections and blocks, taken in lightning-fast sequence, never once interfering with the discs on her forearms.

He watched, trying to prevent his jaw from dropping open as a girl half his age used his chosen weapon to perform manoeuvres that even he was only just getting the hang of, and some he'd flat-out never seen before. Finally, she brought it around to a whirling finish that ended in another salute, then she handed it back. "I figure I could make it work for me," she allowed.

Mentally, he blessed the fact that he'd had his helmet recording the whole thing. He had watched videos and read books on how halberds had been used in the Middle Ages, and considered himself to be more than just 'good' with it. But he'd just been schooled in no uncertain terms by a teenager who'd never picked one up before in her life. His software was able to take that visual footage and translate it into a training regime, and he was absolutely going to train with those moves that she'd just pulled out of nowhere, until he was at least as good as her.

"That was very impressive," he said gravely, fully aware that he had just committed blatant understatement. Causing the weapon to fold up again, he slotted it onto the rack on his back. "I'm going to presume Blockade is the Tinker who incorporated the armour into your costume?"

"That's me." The robot took a step forward, its voice gravelly over the speakers. "Firebird hits people. I make things for her to hit them with." Buried under the electronic distortion was a certain amount of humour. "I like your halberd, but it looks a little fragile to me."

"I beg your pardon," he retorted, stung. "That's the finest miniaturised Tinkertech you'll see on the east coast. There's nothing 'fragile' about it."

"Oh, please," retorted the person in the armour. "I bet I could break it just by stepping on it."

He looked the armour over, trying to calculate how much it weighed. Unless it was built over a light frame of aluminum, he figured it was at least a ton. "Well, of course," he snorted. "That's not 'fragile'. That's to be expected."

"Not for my stuff, it's not," Blockade stated flatly. "If I can break it, it's not strong enough."

This call-out had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting. Colin's Tinker instincts came to the fore as he raised his chin. "You always have to consider utility over durability. If it's too heavy to be useful, then what's the point of making it so strong?"

"There's no such thing as being too heavy to be useful," averred Blockade. "If some jerk villain can break it with his powers, then it wasn't strong enough."

Colin drew in a deep breath for his rebuttal, a smile spreading across his face despite himself. This was a true meeting of the minds. "But if you can't lift or carry it easily, how can it be useful …"

<><>​

Emma

As the argument went on, Emma found herself more and more impressed with Madison. Not only was she debating the finer points of Tinkertech with Armsmaster, she was doing it with confidence and the willingness to totally disagree with him on matters that were obviously dear to his heart. Not that she was winning the argument, if 'winning' meant turning him to her point of view; he'd been doing this for years, after all. But it seemed she was certainly forcing him to re-evaluate some of his stances.

"Gotta say, never thought she had it in her," murmured Sophia as the back-and-forth kept up between the two Tinkers. "If I was her, I'd be asking him for his autograph right now. Hell, I still might. The man knows how to lay on a beatdown."

Emma nodded, entirely in tune with her sentiment, though perhaps not every single aspect of it. She personally wondered if he would agree to spar with her at some point, if only to see what she could learn from someone who'd been doing the superhero thing for almost her whole life. Also, she'd give anything to be able to say that she'd sparred with Armsmaster. Just being able to handle his halberd and put it through a solid workout had been a dream come true.

"I can see why he uses a halberd," she replied, keeping her voice down. "It's so versatile. There are so many possible moves. I mean, it's not like a baseball bat or something. It's good for offense and defense."

"Yeah, I saw the love affair you were having with it," jibed Sophia derisively. "Do you think maybe if you showed off with it any more, he'd let you borrow it for a while? Because that's what it looked like you were trying for, to me."

"It wasn't like that!" Emma shot back, irritated. "It was just so well-balanced and properly constructed, I had fun using it."

"Hah, so that's the way it is." Sophia sounded amused. "Always wondered why you never got a steady boyfriend. You just had to find one with a long, hard—"

"Don't even go there," hissed Emma furiously. She jabbed Sophia in the ribs, the metal elbow-guard catching her in just the right place to stop her from talking. "He's old enough to be my dad."

Sophia, caught off-guard, let out a whoof of expelled air. Lurching sideways a step, she put her arm up to where Emma had hit her. "Fine, be a wet blanket," she wheezed. "Can't even take a joke."

"There's jokes, and then there was what you were about to say." Emma shook her head. "That was rude, crude and not funny at all."

"Funny, you never had a problem with making jokes like that about Hebert." Sophia sounded resentful, but she didn't seem to be about to resume her remarks.

Emma rolled her eyes. "That's different, and you know it."

She would've said more, but just then the first PRT van rolled around the corner. Clearing her throat, she stepped forward to keep an eye on her prisoners until the PRT took charge of them.

Establish ourselves as a team. Check.

The plan was proceeding apace.



End of Part Six

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Seven: Making Progress

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: This fic is deliberately based on short, sharp chapters. I will be writing more of the same type.]

The Barnes Household
Emma's Bedroom
Thursday, September 2, 2010

"So, are we gonna be ready by the first day of school?" asked Emma. She leaned against the headboard of her bed, while Madison lounged at the far end with a pad across her knees, and Sophia relaxed in the computer chair.

"I'm gonna need to pull a few all-nighters, but we should be okay," Madison said, looking up from her pad. From where she was, Emma could see a half-completed drawing of some Tinker-tech gear. "I just need to upgrade to the Mark 2 and get my big gun built before we go fully public."

Sophia rolled her eyes so extravagantly, Emma half-expected her to end up looking out her own earholes. "Oh, for fuck's sake, you two! You don't even sound like you care about the plan anymore!"

"What's the hurry?" asked Madison. "Taylor'll still be there when I get the Mark 2 into action, even if we're a couple of days late. I've got a whole series of improvements I want to make from the Mark 1."

"I still care about the plan," Emma said. "But like Madison said, why the rush? The news crews love us, the PRT officially approves of us, and the public thinks we're amazing. Besides, we did what no other team in town has done."

"What, take down a bunch of druggies?" Sophia's voice was heavy with scorn. "Yeah, that was hard."

"Nope." This time, Madison didn't look up from the page. "We took a gang all the way off the streets. They might've been only the Merchants, but we did it ourselves. The Real Thing is big news, right now."

"And we need to keep up the pressure, before we're yesterday's news!" Sophia jumped to her feet. "We need to be on the spot when Brockton Bay's newest villain emerges, so we can take her down!"

"This 'newest villain' being Taylor. The person we're going to make into a villain." Emma tried not to sound cynical, but it wasn't easy. Sophia was pushing really hard on this, and Emma didn't know why. It wasn't like she had to prove she was strong anymore; she was absolutely a kickass superhero.

"Actually, I've been thinking about that." Madison put the pad down for a moment. "What if we did things a little differently, changed up the plan?"

"What? No!" Sophia looked like someone had just taken away her favourite plushie: pissed, and ready to kill someone. "We're not changing up the plan. It's perfect as it is."

"Well, I'm listening," Emma said, sitting up. "What's on your mind, Mads?"

Madison glanced at Sophia, then back to Emma. "Well, I was thinking, instead of forcing her to drink the vial, what if we just … gave it to her? Told her exactly what it was, and if she wants to get in good with us, all she has to do is drink it. She gets powers, The Real Thing gets another member, and we're more kickass than ever."

Emma considered it. It wasn't a bad plan, and it certainly had a lot fewer points of failure than Sophia's version—

"No!" snapped Sophia. "Not gonna fuckin' happen!"

"What?" Despite the earlier conversation, Emma was still surprised by her friend's vehemence. "Why not? It could work."

Sophia stared at her as though she'd started quoting Sun Tzu in the original Chinese. "The fuck is wrong with you, Emma? If she joined the team, she'd be seen as the same as us, equal to us. Taylor Hebert does not get to be equal to us. Not now, not ever. She gets to stay down in the dirt, where she belongs."

This was now doubly surprising to Emma. "But you always said that once we toughened her up—"

This time, Sophia rolled her eyes again. "Seriously? Emma, I told you what you needed to hear, so you could move on from her. She's never been your equal. She'll never be as good as you and me. She sure as fuck doesn't deserve to be your friend, or a member of this team. All she'll do is be her usual nothing self and drag us down."

"But—" Emma was pretty sure there was a flaw in her friend's logic there, if only she had a second to figure it out.

"But nothing, goddamn it!" Sophia clenched her fists. "Who's the experienced superhero here? Me, that's who. Who got those vials? Me. Whose plan was this? Mine. And it's been turning out perfectly so far, right? Right?"

Emma didn't want to piss Sophia off any more than she already was, and she did kind of have a few good points. Also, Sophia had the last vial, so it wasn't like they could really change the plan right now without her agreement. Still, she'd said something that wasn't quite correct. "Uh, I'm pretty sure Madison came up with the plan—"

"The basic idea of the plan," Sophia interrupted. "I'm the one who's making it work. Jeez!"

It still wasn't clear to Emma how that was the case, but she didn't want to argue. "Right. We'll stick with the plan. You okay with that, Mads?"

"Eh, whatevs." The tone of Madison's voice could've meant anything from 'wasn't listening' to 'don't care'. She was already sketching again. "But if we're gonna be sticking with the plan as given, I need to have the Mark 2 up and running."

"Fine." Sophia clearly wasn't fine with it, but they'd both already learned to not try to push Madison when it came to her Tinker work. After a certain point, she dug her heels in and was harder to budge than her power armour.

"Okay, then." Emma turned and consulted the calendar over her desk. "It's Friday tomorrow, and school opens on … Wednesday, the eighth. That enough time?"

Madison nodded without looking up. "Yeah, that should do. I still need to design the jump-jets, but I should be able to forge the components over the weekend, and assemble the Mark 2 over Monday and Tuesday, barring any complications."

"Will it be ready by Tuesday night?" pressed Sophia.

"It'll be ready when it's ready." And that was all there was to it.

<><>​

Taylor
Monday Afternoon

As she rode the bus home from the library, Taylor couldn't help the feeling of dread that was building up in her stomach. She'd been able to occupy herself over the school break, but with the start of the new school year, she'd be seeing Emma and Sophia and Madison again.

By now, she'd almost lost hope that this was a passing thing. Every school break was a chance for them to find something else to do, but each time it let back in, there they were. It had been a couple of months by now, but she was sure she'd seen Emma and Madison while she was out and about, just … looking at her. They hadn't done anything, but she'd still been unsettled by it.

Her only option, she'd learned, was to endure and ignore. Be a stone wall, let all the teasing and sniping and meanness bounce off her. If she didn't show how much it hurt, they wouldn't double down.

Except that they did. Over and over again, even when she'd thought there was no outward sign of her pain, they'd hit her where it hurt (both figuratively and physically). Emma knew her secrets, and it seemed her erstwhile best friend had no compunction in spreading them far and wide.

She didn't have anyone she could turn to, which was the worst part. Her dad was still hurting from losing her mom, burying himself in his work to hide his pain. Even if he believed her when she told him Emma had turned on her in such a way, she was scared that he'd lose his temper and do something rash. Better not to say anything at all.

As for the teachers at school, there was no respite to be had there, either. Even though her school email inbox got filled up with insults and horrific suggestions mere days after she opened a new one (someone in administration had to be passing it out to anyone who asked, she was sure), not one of the teachers paid any attention to this. Any verbal complaints were ignored, and written complaints resulted in her being called to the office and lectured about trying to cause trouble for other students.

So, there was little she could do except wait it out. Withdraw even further into herself, surround herself with an impenetrable shield of 'I don't give a shit', and hold out until the last day of her senior year. Then she could give them all, including the school, one giant middle finger, then go and do anything else with her life.

Until then … it would be one day after the other.

As usual.

<><>​

Winslow High
Very Early Wednesday Morning
Emma

It was dark—half the security lights around the school were malfunctioning, which was totally par for the course—but that didn't matter. Emma could see better in the dark since getting powers than she ever had before, Sophia had been running around on rooftops for months before Emma had gotten her powers, and she was pretty sure Madison had built night vision into her new power armour. It was definitely bulky enough.

"For fuck's sake, quiet!" Sophia hissed yet again, as Madison stepped on a chunk of loose concrete and crushed it flat with a gentle crunch.

"I am being quiet." Madison had her volume turned all the way down, but the armour's speakers still had a lot of bass in them. "Stealth mode only means so much when you weigh four tons, you know."

"What, you couldn't make smaller armour?" Sophia seemed to be stuck on this point. "What's wrong with making shit that's light?"

"That's not how my power works, and you know it." Madison seemed more than a little grumpy. "Light means breakable, and I don't do 'breakable'. It's not my thing."

Emma had to give her that one. The throwing discs of 'good steel' had yet to pick up even a scratch on their pristine surfaces, even after she'd bounced them off concrete, steel I-beams and other unyielding surfaces. She also had protective plating on her costume, covering her toes, heels, knees and elbows, as well as a helmet. None of these were marred either, even after a solid workout that bounced every single one of these things off a concrete pillar. If anything, the pillar was the thing that was decidedly the worse for wear.

"No shit." Sophia still seemed to be annoyed. It was her default state, these days. "You can't even make knuckledusters small enough for me to carry."

That had actually been amusing. Sophia had requested a set of brass knuckles, and Madison had refused to make them out of anything other than good steel. The weapon she produced was more akin to a cestus, but it would definitely add a great deal of authority to Sophia's punch. Except that when Sophia tried to go to shadow while holding it … it didn't. To everyone's surprise, it slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground, leaving Sophia standing over it in shadow form.

Sophia had been livid; Madison hadn't helped with a comment about how good steel didn't like being made weaker. Eventually, Emma had calmed Sophia down, and they'd let Madison get back to her construction process. Sophia had finally decided that she didn't need knuckledusters, and all was okay. Until she brought it up again, anyway.

"Are we back on that again?" asked Madison. "It's not my fault your shadow state isn't strong enough to handle good steel."

"Oh, you did not just say that," hissed Sophia. She looked like she wanted to jump at the eight-foot set of power armour and kick its ass, but wasn't sure how.

"Guys!" Emma didn't want to shout, so she packed all the emphasis she could into the whisper. "Madison, concentrate on being quiet. Sophia, just ... drop it, okay?"

"The fuck, Emma?" Sophia redirected her ire, but at least she kept her voice down. "You're not the boss of me. You don't give me orders. Who's team leader here, you or me?"

"Actually," said Madison into the awkward silence that followed, "I thought it was Emma."

"What?" It was the quietest squawk Emma had ever heard. She could've almost sworn she saw steam shooting from Sophia's ears. "No, that's not true! I'm team leader! I've got the experience! You guys would be nothing without me!"

Another awkward silence fell, during which Emma recalled a quote she'd read in a short story anthology somewhere: 'Any man who must say, "I am the king" is no true king.'

"You're totally team leader, Sophia," she said placatingly. She caught the side glance from Madison's power armour and shook her head fractionally. This wasn't the time or place for that kind of argument.

It worked; at least, for the moment. Sophia fell into a sullen silence, while Madison picked her way carefully across the littered ground. Eventually, they reached their destination, a dilapidated shed out behind the main building. There was a tractor parked alongside the shed, with a dirty-looking tarpaulin draped over it.

"Knew I'd seen that shit back here," Sophia declared with some satisfaction, the earlier argument apparently forgotten. "You needed a tarp, right?"

"It makes things a lot easier, yeah." Madison stepped the Blockade Mark 2 armour up next to the tractor, then paused for a moment. Then the armour started folding down into its most compact form, pausing only to allow Madison to climb out through a front hatch.

They watched it complete its transformation to a blank metal crate, then set to work hauling the tarpaulin off the tractor and draping it over the 'crate'. This wasn't to weatherproof it—according to Madison, it would be capable of walking across the bottom of the Bay unscathed—but to camouflage it from the casual observer. Emma noted that Madison did her fair share of the grunt work, the petite brunette having packed on some muscle over the past few weeks.

"Whoo!" exulted Sophia as they left the scene. "Hebert is not gonna know what hit her!"

"Yeah," Emma said, more to keep Sophia happy than in actual agreement.

Madison said nothing at all.

<><>​

Winslow High
Slightly Later in the Morning
Taylor

I am a fortress. I am impenetrable. Nothing they do can touch me.

As she stepped off the bus, Taylor repeated the words over and over to herself. She wished she could believe them, but Emma had proven to her over and over that all the reserve in the world could be pierced by the right words, cruelly wielded. Still, she set her gaze firmly ahead and forced herself to work through the mantra yet again.

I am a fortress. I am impenetrable. Nothing they do can touch me.

She'd thought of skipping the first day of school altogether, but being marked down as absent would bring her dad into it at some point, and it would goad the three into heightened efforts once she did show up. Her dawdling had caused her to miss the bus she normally took, so she caught the next one. It would give her minimal time before she could get to class, but that was actually fine with her. The less time she spent wandering the halls was less time Emma could think of something to do to her.

There was nobody in the parking lot as she crossed it. All the last-minute smokers were either inside already or up on the roof. Climbing the steps, she pushed the doors open and entered. There was muffled noise, distant voices and echoing footsteps, but the corridor she could see was clear of people.

Shit. I must've cut it too close. Everyone's in home room already.

Fortunately, she'd looked up her timetable already; her home room was Mrs. Knott's classroom, which was nice. She liked Mrs. Knott, as much as she could like any of her teachers. With luck, nobody Emma knew would be sharing that class with her.

Hurrying her pace, she dashed through the school until she found her locker. The backpack full of books was weighing heavily on her shoulder by the time she got there, and she was panting for breath. Closing her eyes, she grabbed the lock and tried to recall what the combination was. She'd gotten a letter from Winslow informing her of what it was, just last week.

4-5-4-2. Right. Got it.

Opening her eyes, she dropped the pack on the floor and input the combination. The lock clicked open, she swung the door open, and—

—at that moment, a bag dropped over her head. Shoved up against the locker next to hers, face pressed against the cold metal, a knee in the middle of her back, she felt her head being pulled backward with darkness in front of her eyes. There was no way to see what was going on, or even who had her.

An arm went around her neck, forcing her head all the way back and squeezing tightly. Her hands were grabbed and pulled back so she couldn't struggle. Someone lifted the bottom edge of the bag, exposing her mouth. She tried to scream for help but the arm tightened abruptly, choking off her cry before it even eventuated.

A thumb and forefinger dug into the sides of her mouth, forcing it open painfully. She had no idea what was going on, until a cold glass tube pressed against her lip, and a truly foul substance poured into her mouth. With her lips still held open, she couldn't spit it out, so she coughed and choked and swallowed until it was all gone.

What the hell? Have I just been force-fed poison? Was that a laxative?

Her whirling thoughts got no further than that as she was shoved face-first into her open locker. Her head hit the back wall painfully, then her butt and legs were forced inside and the door slammed shut. She distinctly heard the lock click closed again.

Several imperatives impressed themselves upon her, more or less all at the same time. She wanted to get out; that was a given. Screaming for help, now that she was no longer being choked, was also up there on the list. Finally, she didn't know what she'd been made to swallow, but the aftertaste was truly horrendous, and she desperately wanted to throw it all up again before it took its effect on her.

She got halfway through the first scream before the roiling feeling in her stomach expanded rapidly to encompass her entire being. After that, she was hallucinating too hard to utter even the simplest of words, though the visions she had vanished from her mind's eye and her memory at the same time. Even had she recalled what she saw, she would've made no sense of it, then or later.

The unsteady sensation passed, as did the roiling. She was surrounded by a warm darkness, no longer constrained by the metal cage surrounding her. Standing upright, she felt the slightest resistance before something unseen in the impenetrable blackness parted above her head. She spread her arms out to the sides; again, the faint sensation of spiderwebs parting before her, though she could see and hear nothing whatsoever.

She didn't know where she was, but she needed to find the light. Turning by instinct—as she recalled, she'd been facing the wall—she stepped forward and down a little, onto solid flooring, barely felt by the soles of her feet. Looking to the left and right, she saw nothing; not even a glimmer of light. It was getting uncomfortably warm, and she found herself panting for breath.

"Hello?" she called out. "Hello? Is anyone there? I need—I think—I—help?"

Her lungs were burning. She took one step, then another, then fell to her knees. Forcing herself to move on, her lungs straining to draw more air in and utterly failing, she crawled another few yards.

What's happening? she asked herself, just before she passed out.

<><>​

Emma

They'd planned for everything, even down to having their friends answer with their names for attendance. On the first day, they'd figured, the teachers wouldn't know their faces yet.

Despite her reservations about the plan, getting the vial into Taylor was easier than she'd expected. With Sophia front and centre, Emma holding one arm and Madison the other, the stuff was poured down her throat and she swallowed the lot. Then Sophia shoved Taylor into the locker and snicked the lock shut.

"Go!" she hissed, too quietly to be heard from inside the metal box.

Emma was committed now; she snatched up her backpack and dashed toward the nearest girls' restrooms. Sophia was right alongside her, while Madison bolted toward the back of the school, where she'd left her power armour.

This was it. This was going to be their finest hour.

They were going to fight a supervillain attacking a school.

She tried hard to fight down the scraps of compunction telling her that she was helping set up Taylor to get powers in the school, that it wasn't Taylor's fault.

Shut up, she told herself. I wanted to make Taylor strong. This is making her strong.

Just as she was fitting her helmet onto her head, she heard the sound of tearing metal outside in the corridor. It was followed by the sound of crumbling concrete.

"Fuck yes!" hissed Sophia, from the next stall over. "We got us a villain!"

Emma snapped the throwing discs onto her bracers, stashed her backpack behind a ceiling tile—the jump onto the counter was trivially easy for her now—and headed for the door. Sophia, as Shadow Stalker, was right behind her.

Out she came, throwing disc coming to hand, ready for anything.

Anything, it seemed, except what she found.

When Madison came tromping along the corridor, bending slightly to avoid bashing holes in the ceiling, they were still staring at a bunch of torn-open lockers, and one unconscious (and entirely unmarked) Taylor Hebert.

"What the fuck?" asked Sophia. Emma knew what she meant. Taylor was supposed to be rampaging through the school so they could stop her. Not lying on the floor, out like a light.

Emma shrugged. She didn't know either.

It appeared they'd planned for everything, except for what had actually happened.

Whatever that was.



End of Part Seven

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Eight: Learning Process

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

Taylor woke up to a headache, and something covering her face. Flailing at the thing, trying to get free, she sat up with a rush, drawing in air for the scream building inside her. Instead, she heard a shriek that hadn't come from her own throat, which was enough to bring her up short. Pausing, she blinked to try to focus.

She wasn't in the locker anymore. Instead, she was half-sitting, half-crouching on the examination bed in the Winslow infirmary, having clawed an oxygen mask off her face. Across the room, pressed back against a cabinet, was the school nurse. The nurse was holding a clipboard and one of those thermometers that go in the ear.

"Uh …" said Taylor.

"You're awake," said the nurse, panting. Her name was Frances; she actually had been a nurse at some point, but she was in her sixties and unable to handle some of the heavier duties, so she was now working at Winslow. Or that was what Taylor had heard. (She'd also heard rumours to the effect that the woman had a drug problem, but she was fully aware of how vindictive kids could get, so she took that one with a large grain of salt). "Please don't do that to me again. My heart can't take it."

Taylor pulled the oxygen mask all the way off, and breathed deeply, trying to get her racing heart under control. "Sorry, I guess. I didn't mean to." The headache was starting to fade now.

"That's okay." Frances stepped forward again, holding up the thermometer. "I just need to take your temperature."

Taylor submitted to the minor discomfort, then dropped her feet off the side of the bed and just sat there, bracing herself with her hands on her knees. Too many things were whirling around in her head to try to fix on any one of them, until the memory of the cold glass and the foul liquid came past, and she snagged onto it. "Poison," she said out loud.

Frances looked up from where she was writing on the clipboard. "Pardon?"

"Before they pushed me into the locker, they made me drink something. I think it might have been poison, or a laxative, or something." She gestured at herself. "Can you do some tests or something?"

"Uh …" This clearly wasn't something Frances was prepared for. "Are you sure? When you came in here, you were exhibiting all the signs of asphyxia, though without any indications of strangulation. We figured you'd accidentally covered the vent-holes in your locker with your back and hyperventilated until you passed out."

Taylor frowned. That didn't sound like what she remembered happening, at all. Unless I hallucinated or something. Well, they did force-feed me that stuff. Maybe it was meant to make me go loopy. "I … I don't know. Did anyone see who did it?"

Frances shook her head as she took Taylor's wrist and expertly counted off her pulse. After the minute had passed by, she had Taylor look into a penlight; first one eye, then the other. "No, dear. Nobody knew anything about it, until a bunch of passing superheroes heard you screaming from out on the street. One of them was a Tinker with high-powered microphones in his battle armour, apparently. They came in and the Tinker tore apart the locker you were in. Then they handed you over to us and left again."

On the one hand, Taylor was pleased to have been rescued; on the other, it was a sad indictment on the school that she'd needed superheroes to save her from her own locker. "So, have the police been called?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Say ahhh."

"Ahhh," said Taylor obediently, allowing Frances to depress her tongue and shine the light into the back of her throat. She waited until the nurse took the depressor out of her mouth before she kept talking. "Why not? I was assaulted! They poured something down my throat! They locked me in my locker!" She felt tears starting to rise in her eyes. Didn't anyone care?

Frances made another note on the clipboard. "Taylor—can I call you Taylor? —it's not my job to call the police with matters like this. That's the principal's call. As far as I can tell, you're in the pink of health, literally. Your colour's come all the way back, your pupillary reflex is normal, your pulse, respiration and blood pressure are all normal, there's no discolouration in your throat, and you're not even bruised from being in the locker. I'm simply not equipped to do any more tests, and every test I have done says you're fine. Now, I suppose I could refer you on to a hospital for blood tests and the like, but your parents would have to pay for those out of their own pocket."

"That's not right," Taylor said. "Is it? I was attacked right here on school grounds. Aren't you guys responsible for things like that?"

"I … that's not my job to say," Frances hedged. "You'll have to speak to Principal Blackwell about that."

Taylor was hearing a lot of 'not my job', but she supposed that it was basically the truth. The nurse had been told it wasn't her job, so it wasn't. Fortunately, Taylor knew whose job it was.

"Can I go and do that now?" she asked. "I mean, do you have to keep me in for observation or something?"

"I've been observing you," Frances said with a hint of a smile. Had that been a medical joke? "You seem fine to me. How's your head?"

Taylor rubbed at her forehead. The headache she'd had when she woke up was almost gone. "It's good. So can I go see Principal Blackwell?"

Frances shrugged. "Well, I can't stop you from leaving, but she asked to be informed when you woke up, so she's probably on the way right now."

"Oh." Well, that made things a lot easier. "Thanks."

"It's really not a problem." This time, the nurse did smile. "It was a welcome change from stitching up stab wounds and telling my patients that the strongest drugs we have on hand are over the counter standard painkillers."

Right. Because Winslow. "Yeah, well, thanks anyway." Taylor slid down off the bed and looked around for her shoes. "Where's my stuff?"

Frances gestured at the outer door, which indeed had a large notice on it: WE DO NOT STOCK ANYTHING STRONGER THAN ASPIRIN. Taylor guessed that it was intended to keep out the aspiring drug dealers of Winslow, but wondered if they even bothered to read it. Or if they could. "Your backpack's in the waiting room. Shoes are right there, by the bed."

"Thanks." As she leaned down to collect her shoes, she looked back at Frances. "Has anyone contacted my dad?"

The nurse put her hands up in a semi-defensive manner. "Oh, ah, that's—"

"Not your job. Got it." Taylor didn't even bother trying to keep the sarcastic tone from her voice, but moderated it when she stood up again. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Frances' smile was weak, but present. "Yes, well. That part is definitely my job."

Taylor returned the smile—it wasn't the nurse's fault, not really—and headed out into the waiting room. She knew all the hard plastic chairs were equally uncomfortable, so she picked the one next to her waiting backpack and sat down to put her shoes on. Just as she was tying her laces, the outer door opened and Principal Blackwell came in.

"Ah, Ms. Hebert," Blackwell greeted her. If Taylor was any judge, the woman's smile was as fake as a three-dollar bill; the real measure of her thoughts was the razor-sharp stare. "It's good to see you up and around. I do hope you're feeling better."

"Well, yeah. Nurse Frances said I'm totally healthy." Taylor took a deep breath. "But I really think the police should be called. And why haven't you called my dad?"

"I did inform your father," Blackwell replied in a condescending tone. "Once we realised he didn't have a cell-phone number, we had to find his work number. That took time." Everyone should have a cell-phone, her tone seemed to state. Why doesn't he?

"… oh." Taylor felt her initial outrage start to deflate. "And the police? Why haven't they been called?"

"Because there's nothing for them to do here." The principal stated it as a given fact. "Your locker was destroyed, but that was done by the superhero who freed you from it. Incidentally, did you know it wasn't even locked?"

Taylor blinked. "I … what?" It was locked! I know it was! "I … heard the lock click."

"Yes, but not on the door." Blackwell took a familiar-looking combination lock out of her pocket and handed it to Taylor. "We found this on the floor, entirely separate from the hasp. If you'd jiggled the door enough, it would've popped open. Ms. Hebert … you weren't even locked in."

"But … but …" Taylor took the lock and applied the correct combination. It popped open. Numbly, she scrambled the numbers, tugged at the shackle, then keyed in the combination again. Once more, it opened perfectly. "I heard it click."

Blackwell's tone was relentless. "Nevertheless, unless you've been sharing your combination around—which, by the way, is against school policy—that lock was never used to secure your locker. When Blockade tore it apart, and the two on either side, as well as some of the wall behind, the damage could've been easily avoided by simply popping the latch off." She sighed theatrically. "And there's no point in calling the police about the property damage, because that was done in the name of saving you. Do you understand?"

Finding herself severely on the back foot, Taylor grasped for her last straw. "Whoever shoved me in there poured something down my throat! That's assault or something, isn't it? If they tried to poison me or drug me or something, that's illegal."

"Yes … if it happened." Blackwell tried to raise an eyebrow, and ended up half-raising the other as well.

"If? What do you mean, 'if'?" Taylor felt herself becoming outraged all over again. "It happened! They put a bag over my head and held my arms! I couldn't stop them!"

"Ms. Hebert." Blackwell sighed. "We've already established that you weren't aware enough to know your locker wasn't secured. You wouldn't be out here if Nurse Frances thought you were under the influence of anything. So, whatever it is has already passed through your system. Which makes me wonder …" She leaned forward and eyed Taylor intently. "Did you take something before you came here? Is that why you were late?"

Taylor grasped the sides of the chair, fighting for self-control. She knew damn well that shouting in Blackwell's face would do her zero good whatsoever, and probably screw over her chances of getting any kind of justice. But this was typical of what she'd been facing over the past twelve months and more.

In a kind of epiphany, she realised that Blackwell specifically didn't want the police involved because it would make it a lot more difficult to sweep things under the carpet, which was why the woman was pushing so hard against the idea.

"I don't do drugs, and you know it," she said, her fingertips mashing against the plastic.

"But I don't know it." If Taylor hadn't known better, Blackwell's tone could've passed for concern. "You came here with such good grades, but they slipped badly over the last year. I've seen this pattern before, you know, and it's nearly always drugs. People talk, Ms. Hebert, and I must say that I've heard some very troubling rumours about how you're getting high with the other problem students, and how you're paying for it."

Taylor gritted her teeth. "But that's just not true," she insisted. "Those stories are all lies, made up to discredit me so when I complain about the bullying—"

"Really, this again?" Blackwell didn't quite roll her eyes, but from the tone of her voice she may as well have. "Seriously, how long do you expect me to believe a bunch of teenage girls is going to keep bullying you for? Some of them don't keep the same hairstyle from week to week. I suspected it was a ploy for attention then, and now I'm certain of it." She shook her head. "No, I personally think there were no other students involved. Just some kind of illicit substance that you took before you even arrived. Befuddled, you stumbled into your own locker and the door swung shut on you. In your disorientation, you panicked and screamed for help, whereupon a superhero tore the locker open to let you out." She folded her arms and gave Taylor a superior smile. I'm on to you, it seemed to say. "I'm wondering if I shouldn't charge you for the damage."

Taylor seethed at the sheer injustice of Blackwell's accusations. None of what the principal was alleging was true, but every time she tried to correct matters, Blackwell utterly discounted her words or twisted them to suit her own narrative. It was infuriating, to say the least. Her hands tightened on the chair.

With a sudden crack-crack, two pieces of plastic broke off in her hands, one on either side of the chair. She stared at them, irregular dull-orange shapes sitting in her palms. Just how long have these chairs been sitting here, for them to get that brittle?

Blackwell frowned at her. "Really? Ms. Hebert, you can't be satisfied with falling into your own locker? Now you have to resort to breaking more school property? Or are you going to claim that you didn't do that right in front of me?"

Shocked out of her anger, Taylor stared up at Principal Blackwell. "No, I—I did this, but how—"

"No. No more." Blackwell shook her head imperiously. "On your feet. When your father gets here, you're going home. You've just been suspended for a week. Maybe in that time, you can consider ways to get your life back on track. Do you understand?"

Silently, Taylor stood up. She dropped the two plastic shards back on the chair and picked up her backpack.

"Well?" Blackwell put her hands on her skinny hips. "I'm waiting for an answer, young lady."

"Why?" Taylor dredged up one last bit of defiance. "It's not like you've actually been listening to anything I've got to say." She pushed past Blackwell and headed for the door.

"Ms. Hebert!"

Taylor ignored the outraged shout.

"Ms. Hebert! Come back here!"

Slowly, she stopped and turned around. "I'm on suspension. Make up your fucking mind."

Blackwell looked like nothing so much as an outraged goth flamingo as she caught up with Taylor, complete with the flapping and squawking. "You are coming to the office right now to wait for your father."

"No." Taylor put her backpack over her shoulder. "I'm going to wait on the front steps." She turned away from Blackwell and started out of the school.

"Ms. Hebert! I said you will wait in the office, and you will wait in the office!" A hand clamped onto Taylor's shoulder.

At this point, she would normally have given up and let the annoying adult have her way. Blackwell, it seemed, was well into her little power trip, and would not give up until she'd made certain Taylor knew who was boss. And it would cost her little, except what remained of her pride, to go back to the office and sit on one of the uncomfortable chairs under the beady eye of Blackwell's secretary until her dad got there.

Normally, she would've caved.

Normally, she didn't do conflict.

This was not a normal day.

Fuck it, some tiny part of her mind decided, and the rest of her couldn't be bothered arguing. Let's make the cow work for it. If she wants me back in the office, she's going to have to drag me.

So, she kept trudging along, doing her best to ignore Blackwell's hand on her shoulder. The principal's nails dug in, but stopped just before they got painful. Taylor kept on walking.

"Stop!" Blackwell's voice was a high-pitched shriek.

Taylor kept walking.

A sudden drag on the backpack she had slung over the other shoulder made her aware that Blackwell had latched onto that as well. Taylor's care factor was in the negative numbers already, fast-tracking toward values that could only be expressed using scientific notation. She kept walking.

"Ms. Hebert!"

It wasn't the principal's voice that got Taylor's attention, or even the tone of her voice, but the squeaking, squealing sound that overlaid it. Looking down and back, she saw that Principal Blackwell was being dragged bodily along, despite having her shoes braced against the vinyl flooring. Already, classroom doors were popping open and heads were peering out.

Not my problem.

Taylor kept walking. It appeared Blackwell was even skinnier than she appeared; towing her down the corridor was no great effort.

Abruptly, Blackwell appeared to decide that a strategic retreat now was better than any further humiliation, so she let go and stepped back. Taylor didn't care; she kept walking.

"Two weeks of suspension!" shouted Blackwell down the corridor. Without looking around, Taylor gave her the finger with both hands at once.

She reached the doors and opened them, and stepped outside into the sunny November morning. It was nice out here; much nicer than inside, that was for sure.

Maybe this suspension crap will actually turn out to be a blessing in disguise. This way, I get two weeks away from them. Two weeks away from that utter shithole.

A familiar car rolled into the parking lot, and Taylor shaded her eyes. Apprehension clenched at her guts just a little as she verified that yes, her father had arrived. Worse, he'd be looking for her as 'locker prank victim' and Blackwell was going to hit him with whatever bullshit story she'd concocted in the meantime. That Blackwell would lie her scrawny ass off to make Taylor look bad was no longer in doubt.

Danny parked the car and came over toward her, long-legged strides eating up the ground. Behind his glasses, his eyes were worried, and his mouth was set in a serious line. "Taylor!" he called. "Are you alright? What are you doing out here?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm out here because Principal Blackwell doesn't want any shit sticking to her precious school, so she's determined to blame me for being shoved into my own locker."

He was halfway up the stairs when the full import of her words registered on him. His foot paused halfway between one step and the next as he stared at her. "… say that again?"

Well, at least I've got his attention. Now let's see if I can keep it. She ran through what she recalled of events, finishing up with how Blackwell had basically accused her of doing drugs and refused to call the police over the incident. The part where she'd broken the bits off the chair didn't seem relevant right then—Winslow stuff was shitty, everyone knew that—so she didn't mention it.

"Drugs?" He shook his head at the end of it. "That's ridiculous. I know what drug use looks like—we used to get a few users, back before we tightened the regulations—and you don't show any of the signs."

"Try telling her that," Taylor suggested. "Though don't expect it to make even a little bit of difference. She'd decided what had happened before she even came to see me. According to her, I tripped and fell into my own locker, and didn't realise it wasn't locked." She rolled her eyes. "And pressed hard enough against the door to block the vents so that I used up all my air and passed out."

He grimaced. "And these superheroes that got you out, they didn't hang around long enough for you to talk to them and maybe find out if they saw who did this?"

"No." She shook her head. "Principal Blackwell said it was some guy called Blockade who tore the locker open with his power armour. But they were long gone when I woke up."

"Blockade … yeah, I've heard that name." Danny frowned. "I think he's part of a new three-member team that's just hitting the news. They call themselves The Real Thing. The other two members are Firebird and Shadow Stalker. They're the ones who took down the Merchants for good."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that." Taylor hadn't realised it wasn't one of the established teams who'd done that. "I'm just glad they were there. Because no matter what Blackwell says, I was locked in my locker."

"Which reminds me." Danny looked at her with concern. "You say they forced you to drink something weird, and nobody did anything about it afterward?"

"Fetid is more like it," Taylor said with a theatrical shudder. "Think of rancid milk, month-old gym socks, rotting meat, and fresh dogshit from a really sick dog. Blend that all together into a liquid, and it still won't be one-tenth of what that stuff tasted like. And no, Blackwell decided it never happened."

"Okay, I can talk to her tomorrow," he decided. "Get in the car. I'm taking you to get checked out, right now."

"But I feel fine, and stuff like that's expensive."

"Don't care. Get in the car."

She got in the car.

<><>​

Somewhat Later

Taylor restrained her impulse to rub her wrist where the Band-Aid covered the blood-draw site. "See, Dad? I told you I felt fine."

He shook his head as they walked back toward the car. "I once knew a guy who was in a worksite accident. Said he felt fine, got up, took two steps, dropped dead. Your body will lie to you if it can get away with it. But yes, it seems you're okay as far as they can see. The blood work will be back in a few days, and we'll know for sure. At least he was able to rule out the most common toxins."

"Could it have been a hallucinogenic? Because I felt really weird before I passed out."

Danny rubbed his thumbnail across his lips. "It's a possibility. But we'll know for sure when we get the blood work back. In the meantime, I want you staying home, close to the phone, so if anything starts feeling off, you call me, okay?"

She sighed. "Okay, fine."

This was going to be boring as crap.



End of Part Eight

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Nine: Unbreakable

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

A Couple of Days Later

Taylor and her father sat in the offices of GS&T, watching as Mr Sacke paged through the collected sheets of paper, making notes as he went. Eventually, he finished it and sat up.

"Well?" asked Danny. "Do we have a case?"

"A very strong possibility of one," Mr Sacke replied guardedly. "You said you had the blood test results from the hospital as well?"

"Yes. Here's a copy." Danny handed the envelope over. "They gave her a clean bill of health. No alcohol, no drugs of any kind."

Mr Sacke opened the envelope and scanned the report. "Well, this is definitely something to keep in reserve for if Ms Blackwell chooses to allege Taylor came to school in an impaired state. But ..." He pursed his lips. "This says there were no foreign substances in her bloodstream at all."

"Well, no." Taylor wasn't sure what he was getting at. "I don't drink or do drugs. If Blackwell wants to say I do, that'll prove she's making stuff up, right?"

"This is very true, yes." Mr Sacke addressed her with the same professional tone he was using with her father, which she appreciated. "However, it throws another part of your testimony into doubt. Whatever it was they forced you to drink, it wasn't chemically reactive enough to show up on the blood test. If we bring that part up, the defense is likely to call on us to prove it happened."

"But it did happen!" Taylor protested. "It tasted terrible!"

"I believe you," he said soothingly. "Taylor, I'm on your side with this. But we can't prove what we can't prove."

"There's no way something that horrible wouldn't be bad for me," she insisted. "What if it was some kind of delayed reaction poison or something?" The sheer foulness of it still haunted her.

Mr Sacke chuckled lightly. "One of these days, I'll introduce you to wheatgrass. Taste is a poor indicator of what's truly good for you. Sugar, for instance, is terrible for you in large quantities."

"But what about poison?" Taylor said. It was almost like he wasn't listening to her. She'd learned to expect that sort of behaviour from the staff at Winslow, but this guy was supposed to be her lawyer.

"Ms Hebert. Unless the person or persons who assaulted you had access to Tinker-created substances, a delayed-action poison that doesn't come in pill form is purely a Hollywood creation." Mr Sacke tilted his hand from side to side. "And there are many harmless substances that taste utterly vile."

Taylor wasn't about to let this go if she could help it. "Okay, but making me drink something tasting that bad has got to be against the law, even if it's not poisonous … right?"

"Yes." His voice was more serious this time. "That's definitely assault. However, some sort of evidence would be useful. The container would be ideal, especially with fingerprints, but even just some residue would be good to go on with. But we don't have any of that, so my advice would be to leave it out of the narrative unless we can get something material to back it up. Okay?"

"Got it." Taylor finally had it nailed. Mr Sacke wasn't doing this because he cared. If he really cared, he'd push for everything. He was doing it for the money, and he was making sure to only include charges he thought he could win big on. It wasn't exactly a ground-breaking epiphany, and she couldn't really blame him. But to know that if her father decided to not hire him after all, he would walk away from her case with never a qualm … that hurt, just a little bit, deep inside.

"Excellent." Mr Sacke turned to the front page of his notepad. "Now, with this incident you've mentioned in October, just after you started this log of events, you're sure that a teacher witnessed it?"

"Let me see." Taylor took her collected sheets. She was pretty sure she knew what he was talking about, but it was a good idea to refresh her memory. "Oh, yeah. Mr Gladly and Ms Marsden came around the corner just after Sophia shoulder-checked me into the wall and Emma took my backpack. I was still getting up, and they both looked at me, then kept going."

"Hmm." Taylor couldn't tell if it was a good 'hmm' or bad 'hmm', but Mr Sacke made another notation on his pad. "Alright, then, about these emails. Which of these would've been sent during school hours?"

"Oh, right." Taylor turned to the correct page and tapped the notation. "That there's the timestamp for when it was sent. I can highlight the right ones, if you want."

"Oh, I see. No, that'll be fine. I have a secretary to do things like that." Mr Sacke chuckled again. "Depending on the volume that get sent during class, we might be able to nail the computer studies teacher for negligence."

Taylor wasn't sure she liked that idea. Mrs Knott's class was her favourite time of the day. "Weren't we going to be focusing on Principal Blackwell?"

Mr Sacke nodded. "Certainly. Every staff member we can present as being negligent in their duty of care strengthens our case against Ms Blackwell herself. If they're not doing their jobs right, she's not doing hers right. Understand?"

"Damn right," Danny agreed. "So, have you made any headway in contacting the Real Thing? If they can testify they found Taylor actually locked in the locker, it would totally sink her lie about the door not being secured, right?"

"Absolutely." Mr Sacke nodded. "I've put my feelers out and even asked the PRT for a contact number, but it appears they're not taking calls from the public yet. Still, I'll keep trying. Now, let's take a look at November of last year …"

<><>​

Later

Danny got in the car and closed the door; Taylor already had her seatbelt fastened. "Hey," he said. "Don't look so down. This sort of thing is a process, not a one-and-done. Real world lawsuits don't get wrapped up in time for the credits to roll."

"Yeah." Taylor looked across at him. "I just … for the longest time, I held all this back because I thought I could fix it myself, and then I thought I could wait them out, and then I just … letting them pull that crap on me became my go-to move, because nothing else had worked. The more it went on, the more it piled up, the more I knew it would hurt you when you found out. And you've got enough on your plate as it is." All this was true, but there was more to it. She just didn't know if she could bring herself to express it yet.

"Taylor." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Honey. We're here for each other. I'm here for you. For the longest time I wasn't, and that's on me. I failed you, and we both know it. But that part's done. We're moving forward. I refuse to let them win."

"Which 'them'?" asked Taylor, grinning despite her dark thoughts. "Emma and her asshole friends, or Blackwell?"

He smirked and started the car. "Yes."

<><>​

That Evening

Taylor finished her lasagne and pushed her chair back. "That was nice, Dad. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Despite his light tone, he looked at her carefully. "Are you okay? You still look a little down."

"It's nothing." She shook her head, not wanting to burden him. "But I think I might go for a walk."

Turning in his seat, he looked out the window. Taylor followed his gaze; the sun was down, but it wasn't totally dark yet. "Just a short walk," he said. "And take your pepper spray with you, okay?"

"I've got it right here," she assured him, pulling out the keychain canister that he'd given her. "I'm thinking I'll go around the block."

"Uh huh." His expression was still concerned. "If you're gone more than fifteen minutes, I'm coming looking."

"I'll be fine," she said. "This isn't Winslow. We live in a good neighbourhood. Nobody sells drugs, or steals cars, or even speeds."

"Not exactly a high bar," he said dryly. "Look, I can put some walking shoes on and come with."

"No." She shook her head. "I just need to … process. Everything. Get my head back in the game. And I can't do that with someone else there."

Although it wasn't aimed at him, she still felt guilty when his face fell. "Okay, Taylor. Just remember. Around the block and straight back. No more than fifteen minutes."

"Absolutely." Standing up, she slipped the pepper spray back into her pocket. She knew she only had a small window of opportunity before he thought of a reason to not let her go out, so she didn't waste any time. Thirty seconds later, she was letting herself out through the back gate.

<><>​

Two Miles Away
Uber and Leet

The engine rumbled under the hood with every press of the gas pedal, and blue flames shot out of the flared exhaust pipes. Uber glanced across at Leet, both grinning like maniacs. As they waited for the light to turn green, the Snitch flitted across in front of them, getting a good visual of the waiting cars.

"Do you feel the need?" yelled Leet in his high reedy voice.

Uber held in the clutch, slammed it into first gear, and revved the engine again. "The need!" he bellowed over the resultant roar.

"The need ... for speed!" they chorused.

Half a second later, the light changed, and Uber let out the clutch. As the Snitch smacked into Leet's outstretched hand, the car took off across the intersection in a howling maelstrom of tyre smoke and fishtailing.

They roared off down the road at speeds that went straight past 'unsafe' and got the attention of 'downright perilous'. The other cars swerved out of the way, sometimes colliding with each other and occasionally running straight up onto the pavement, as they rocketed past in a cloud of smoke and a glare of blue exhaust flame. Leet cackled like a maniac as he hand-panned the Snitch from side to side.

"Uh, oh," said Uber as flashing blue and red lights cut out of a side street they'd just passed, and accelerated hard after them. "We got the cops already."

"What, seriously?" whined Leet. "We weren't even halfway through the run! Can you lose 'em?"

"Bears, woods," Uber replied with a tight grin. "They can't match us with their cars, and they sure as fuck can't match me behind the wheel."

"Aww, man," Leet bitched. "Now I'm gonna have to bleep that out."

"Bleep whatever you need to," Uber retorted, throwing the car into a four-wheel drift to get around a corner. "Just make sure you catch me losing these losers."

"Shit!" yelled Leet, pointing ahead, where two more cop cars had just turned on their bubblegum lights. "You're gonna need to lose those, too!"

"Piece of …" grunted Uber, horsing the car around another corner, "… cake." Once more on the straightaway, he applied pedal to metal, and the car responded with gratifying alacrity.

They were well into residential housing now, away from Leet's planned track, but that didn't matter. Blazing down empty streets, peeling around corners like they were on rails, that was what the game was all about. But the pursuing cops were still coming on; the sirens were audible even over the roar of the engine.

"Cut across that park!" yelled Leet, pointing ahead to where a park had been built into the corner of a residential block. Directly ahead was a T-junction, so the park was their best chance of getting around the corner without losing too much speed. And if they demolished part of a playground going across, who cared? The car was built tough to deal with crap like that.

"Got it!" Uber downshifted and swung the wheel, aiming to maintain enough speed to pull away from the cops. There was a swing-set in the way, but it wouldn't even slow them down.

They didn't see the girl until it was far too late.

<><>​

Taylor

The cool breeze whispered past her ear as she strolled down the sidewalk. It was nice out here in the lowering dark with street-lights coming on, along with the lit-up windows in the houses she was passing by. Alone at last, she was able to properly concentrate on what was bothering her.

It wasn't the banality of the lawsuit, or even the fact that their lawyer was literally in it for the money; if someone else had hired him, he would be pursuing her and her father with an equal amount of zeal. This shouldn't have been news to her. She was old enough to know how the world worked. The only altruistic heroes out there were the ones in actual costumes, like the Real Thing.

Reaching the point on the block farthest from her house, she looked across the street to where a small neighbourhood park sat silent and empty. When she was younger, her mother and Mrs Barnes had taken her and Emma to this park, where they'd played for hours while the two women relaxed and chatted. From what she could see, it was a little run-down from those days, but the nostalgia was still there.

Making a snap decision, she checked both ways cursorily before crossing the street and entered the park. There was a convenient swing-set that she plonked her butt down into, making sure the pepper spray was ready to hand. Slowly, gently, she began to swing back and forth.

Her problem was that, even with all the pain and suffering she'd undergone, there would be no genuine consequences for everyone who'd wronged her. Punishment in kind was just not going to happen. They'd call it justice but it wouldn't be, not really.

Winslow almost certainly had some sort of fund they used to pay for lawsuits, and Alan Barnes probably wouldn't even miss whatever payout he was ordered to make. Or, they'd just keep appealing over and over until her father ran out of money or they got a verdict they liked.

Even if I got the money, it still wouldn't make up for the shit I've been through.

Back and forth, she swung. Back and forth. The sound of car engines drifted to her ears through some trick of the night air. She could hear sirens now too, but wasn't worried. Cop cars blaring sirens never came down her street.

Sitting and brooding, she was caught utterly by surprise when the hotted-up car came roaring around the corner and down the narrow street toward the park. She froze, vaguely wondering what they were going to do when they reached the end of the street, because there was no way they'd be turning at that speed. And then the car swerved toward her.

"Shi—!" Eyes widening, she tried to leap up from the swing, but fumbled her grab at the chain. In the last split-second as the front wheels came up over the curb and the car lanced across the playground to the swing-set, she had time to form the thought, Dad is going to be so pissed.

The car smashed into her … and entirely redefined the concept of 'crumple zone'. The left-hand headlight shattered, its remains driven back into the body as the impact bent the chassis. Spinning around to Taylor's left, the car flipped up and rolled. With a final crash and shattering sound, the redirected vehicle demolished a merry-go-round and ended up on its roof.

Taylor hadn't moved.

"—it!" she finished, then blinked. Looking down at herself, she saw that part of the swing-set frame—and chain—was moulded to her body, the clothing underneath unmarred. She peeled it off, then headed over to where the car lay, one front wheel spinning gently in the night air. The sirens were definitely closer by now.

"Hey," she called out, leaning down and pulling the nearest door clear off its hinges with a metallic tearing noise. "Anyone alive in there?"

Groans answered her, and she nodded. Okay, they're fine. Good. I don't need to deal with this shit, on top of everything else.

Discarding the door, she crossed the street again and continued on her walk. An intense curiosity was welling up within her as to exactly what had happened back there, but she firmly told it to shut up. The last thing she needed was that sort of publicity.

As she strode along briskly, one thought kept running through her head.

Powers. Holy shit, I've got powers.

<><>​

Sergeant Phil Goldman, BBPD

Phil stood back and observed as the paramedics carefully extracted Uber and Leet from the wreckage of their car. It was totalled; the entire front driver's side corner had been driven back into the body like they'd collided with a wrecking ball or something. The problem was, he couldn't see what they'd hit. A concrete pillar was his first guess, but there was no such pillar nearby.

And then he heard the sound which told him it Wasn't His Problem Anymore. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Armsmaster's iconic cycle easing to a halt at the side of the road. Not far behind him was a PRT van with its distinctive paint job.

The armoured hero climbed off his bike and strode over to meet Phil. "Evening," he said. "How are they?"

"Paramedics say nothing serious," Phil reported. "They had five-point straps, and their airbags went off just fine. A few muscle strains, maybe a couple of light fractures. Chances are, they won't even need the hospital. You'll be able to toss them straight in the cells."

"Good." Armsmaster's jaw tightened. "Serves them right for driving dangerously in a residential area. What did they hit, anyway? That swing set would hardly have done so much damage."

Phil pushed his cap to the back of his head. "Well now, there you've got me," he confessed. "They hit something, alright. That left front wheel looks about ready to fall off on its own. But I'm damned if I know what it was."

"How long before you got here did they crash? And how did that door come off?" Armsmaster gestured toward the car door lying loose beside the car. "That damage pattern does not suggest it was torn off in the accident."

"About forty-five seconds, maybe a minute." Phil shrugged. "Okay, chalk that up to another count of 'I have no idea'."

"I do." Armsmaster led the way over the door. A purplish light sprang out of his gauntlet and illuminated the whole door, then narrowed down to a particular spot. "There."

Phil leaned in and peered at the marks thus illuminated. "Are those … fingermarks? Did someone tear that door off?"

"That's my guess. But they may have been wearing gloves, or generating a personal force field. No fingerprints." Armsmaster sounded mildly disappointed.

"So it was a cape? A Brute?" Phil looked around at the swing set. "They were standing there when the car came around the corner, mounted the curb, and hit them. The car basically broke, then flipped over. This person ripped the door off, then … what? Flew away?"

"It's a working theory. A non-flyer would've been knocked back, which would've reduced the impact. This person was basically like a stone wall." Armsmaster smiled tightly.

Phil thought he knew where the hero was going with this. "An Alexandria package. Like Glory Girl."

"Exactly like Glory Girl." Armsmaster held up a finger. "Excuse me. I need to make a call."

As Phil headed back to his patrol car, he figured he knew exactly who Armsmaster was calling. And if Glory Girl had been out and about, and had left the scene before the authorities showed, she was probably going to be in a bit of trouble.

Teenagers. He rolled his eyes. They were bad enough going out and crashing cars without powers.

<><>​

Danny

The back gate twanged while Danny was leaning out the front door, looking to see if he could spot where the sirens were coming from. He closed the door and hurried down the entrance hall to the kitchen, opening the back door just before Taylor could put her key into the lock from the outside. To his enormous relief, she looked hale and hearty.

"Are you okay?" he asked, trying not to let anxiety tinge his voice. "There were sirens."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Some idiot was roaring around the neighbourhood in a souped-up car. I expect the police were chasing him. As soon as it started getting too close, I came home."

"Good, good," he said, relief flooding his body. "Did you manage to work things out?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I think I've got a new perspective on things now."

<><>​

Armsmaster

"Console to Armsmaster. I've contacted Brandish, and she swears up and down that Glory Girl has been on patrol with her around the College campus for the last half hour."

"Armsmaster copies," Colin replied. "I've managed to access the stored memory for the forward mounted cameras, and I have imagery of the unknown cape. Concur that it's not Glory Girl."

He stared at the picture in his HUD, of a person—his software tentatively identified the visual profile as teenager, female—outlined in the headlights just before impact. To Uber's credit, he'd been turning the wheel to avoid the girl, but there just hadn't been enough time, distance or traction to do so.

Of the girl herself, Colin could make out no details. Solid white, with some odd discolourations here and there, she was basically a girl-shaped blaze of white against the darkness beyond. More filtering of the image might help, but he wasn't confident about that.

Who are you? he wondered. And just how strong are you?



End of Part Nine

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Ten: Revelations

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


Friday Evening
Barnes Household Garage
Firebird

I should really let Dad and Mom know that I'm an actual superhero these days. That way, I won't have to sneak around.

Emma heaved the last piece of her ad hoc obstacle course into place, then paused to survey her efforts. Composed of empty crates, old tyres, ropes dangling from the rafters, and lengths of wood to balance on, it would be problematic for all but a professional parkour artist to navigate at speed. Except that was what she was, these days. As well as a professional everything else.

Anything that required physical coordination or endurance—or both—she could do in spades, all day long. And while she wouldn't be as strong as a male bodybuilder of the same weight—she knew about unequal distribution of muscle mass—it was a given that she'd be able to kick the ass of said hypothetical bodybuilder if he tried to push her around. It seemed her power had gone inward instead of outward, boosting her to the next level and keeping her there. No single thing she did was actually impossible for a normal human to achieve … but she could do all of it, and keep doing it.

She dusted off her hands and eyed the first crate, then launched herself onto it. Diving through the tyre she'd balanced on its treads, she did a handspring and a half-flip to end up balanced on top of the first beam. So far, all this was just going by the numbers; when she wanted to do something acrobatic, her body either did it or told her why it was impossible. Not a hell of a lot was impossible for her, these days, either.

Running along the balance beam, she threw herself forward into a handstand and pushed off so that her legs encountered the first dangling rope before the rest of her body. As if she'd practised it a hundred times, her bare toes hooked around it and she wrapped it around her lower leg. This let her swing forward, then release just in time to perform a backflip and land on the next crate.

That was when her phone rang. Not her personal phone, either. She'd paid attention to Sophia's advice on the matter, and gotten a cheap burner phone. This one was specifically for anything to do with the Real Thing; each of them had one, and nobody used their real name when texting.

Jumping off the crate, she retrieved the phone and checked the number. It wasn't one she knew, but that didn't mean much. Silently promising that if it was someone wanting to sell her extra warranty on the car she didn't own, she would hunt them down and feed them their own phone, she swiped the answer icon. "Hello, Firebird speaking."

"Ah, good evening, Firebird." The voice was that of a woman, but again not someone she recognised. "My name is Katarina Lombard; I represent KaLo Private Investigations, Incorporated. The PRT gave this to me for your team contact number. May I have a moment of your time?"

Emma frowned. "That depends," she said cautiously. "What's this about?"

Her father used private investigators from time to time, she knew that much. Even though they were in an all-party state when it came to using a recording in court, she also knew that non-police recordings could absolutely be used as evidence. So, she had to assume she was being recorded from the word go.

The second thing she knew was that PI's didn't just blindly call people, hoping to learn something out of the blue. This Lombard woman was after something, and until Emma learned what, it was a bad idea to just relax and start talking.

"I'd like to ask you about your rescue of Taylor Hebert from her locker at Winslow High School, the other day. There's a few details I need to clear up for my client."

Emma thought fast. This could be good or bad. On the downside, they hadn't actually rescued Taylor from the locker, but as she'd fallen unconscious in front of it, claiming that they had was about the limit of credit they could draw from the situation. However, on the upside, private investigators didn't work for the cops. This woman's client was almost certainly Danny Hebert, possibly looking into a potential lawsuit against the school.

That was fine with Emma. Winslow's a shitheap and a dumpster fire, and they really should've pulled us up before we went so far with Taylor.

Her thoughts stuttered to a halt. Where the hell did that come from?

She'd think about that later. Right now, the Lombard woman was waiting for an answer. "Go ahead and ask. I don't promise to answer. Also, just to check, you're recording this, right? In case you weren't aware, I haven't given my permission for that."

The woman's chuckle settled it for Emma; she was definitely recording. "Understood. How did you know Taylor Hebert was trapped inside her own locker?"

Emma drew a deep breath. Time to lie my ass off. Weirdly enough, she was better at that these days, too. "I didn't know her name before you told me just now. We were patrolling when my teammate Blockade picked up her cries for help via a Tinkertech microphone built into their power armour."

"Mmm, okay. That must be useful. Just out of curiosity, why weren't you in school at the time?"

Fortunately, Emma had already worked out an answer for that one. "Ms Lombard, I'm not about to divulge any information that might give an indication of my real age, or social situation. Please refrain from asking any more questions of that nature."

"Ahh, I see." Well, she didn't, but Emma's subtle hint was intended to make to think she did. "What happened after you located the locker in question?"

Emma was pretty sure she knew where this was going. Time to set sail on the USS Utter Bullshit. "Why did we wreck it? Well, it wasn't a huge locker, and we had no idea how tall the student inside was, so I gave Blockade the all-clear to peel away the obstacles from all sides, and then open it like a can-opener. Minimise the chances of hurting whoever was inside. As it was, she was unconscious by the time we got her out. Shock, I think. Personally, I suspect severe claustrophobia. Kids these days can be so cruel." An impulse made her add, "So, uh, how's she doing?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not kept informed of that side of things. I believe she's recovering, though. So, I have to ask you, why didn't you just open the door and let her out?"

This was where it got dicey. "Well, it had a padlock on the door, and I'm pretty sure that the door had a built-in lock as well." That last part was bullshit, but with any luck, Lombard wouldn't see it as suspicious. "So, we decided to go with the method we knew for a fact would work."

"I see." There was a pause. Emma heard a rustle, as though a notebook page had been turned. "There was a padlock on the door? Are you certain?"

Emma froze. Shit. The question was as good as a lit-up neon sign saying THERE WAS NO PADLOCK ON THE DOOR. And she couldn't just backtrack on what she'd just said. "Are, uh, are you saying there wasn't?"

"That's what my client says the school is claiming. Are you saying there was one on there?"

So, they weren't certain. Emma allowed herself to sag ever so slightly in relief. That gave her some leeway. "There sure was. I saw it with my own eyes. As for why the school might be claiming otherwise …" Time to lay a false trail. Because she could make a damn good guess what had really happened to the padlock she had put on the door.

"I'm listening."

And now comes the tricky part. She needed to ask questions to suggest that something had happened while not actually telling a single untruth. "You're probably aware that Winslow isn't actually a great school. In fact, it's a crappy school. Something like this happens? They're going to try to shift blame off themselves as hard as possible. Kids who get locked into lockers aren't the popular ones. They're the loners, the outcasts, the ones everyone else feels comfortable with bullying." She grimaced as she felt a twinge of unaccustomed guilt. I sure felt comfortable bullying her. But she couldn't dwell on that right now. "So, if one of these loners gets shut in their own locker, is the school going to try to find the perpetrator, or are they just going to try to make it go away? Up to and including faking evidence to 'prove' the victim wasn't really a victim after all? Such as unlocking a padlock when there's no witnesses around to say otherwise?"

There was a long pause, then Ms Lombard came back on the line. "Are you saying this is what happened?"

Emma knew what to say to that. "No, because I didn't see it happen. I'm offering it as a possibility. Because I know damn well there was a padlock on that locker when I got there."

"Understood. Just a couple more questions. Did you see any containers lying around? Glass bottles or anything like that?"

"No, there was nothing like that when we got there." Mainly because the vial, firmly stoppered, had been back in Sophia's bag by that point.

"Alright then, how about Ms Hebert's physical condition. You said she was unconscious. Do you think that may have been the result of being drugged?"

As tempting as it was to say yes, Emma knew there was only one answer she could give. "I'm sorry, I'm not an expert on that. We put her into the recovery position, waited for a teacher to show up, then left." Sneaking back into the school after that hadn't been hard, given the number of students milling around. Nobody had even suspected their absence.

"Still, that's useful information. Thank you, Firebird. Would you be able to give me the numbers for your team members, in case they have any more details you may have forgotten?"

"Sorry, no," she said firmly. "I've been chosen as the public-facing team member, so everything like this has to go through me." This way, we can keep our stories straight. Besides, Sophia didn't do so well with talking to the public, and Madison didn't want anyone knowing that it was a petite teenage girl inside the Blockade armour.

"Alright, then. Thank you again; you've definitely helped clear up some points. Hopefully I won't have to bother you again."

"It's not a problem," Emma said, though she wasn't totally telling the truth there as well. She did have a problem, but it wasn't with Katarina Lombard. "I hope your clients nail Winslow to the wall."

There was a smile in Ms Lombard's voice when she answered. "I can't comment on an ongoing investigation, but I'll definitely pass that on."

The call ended, and Emma sat glaring at her phone. What the fuck? I mean seriously, what the fuck?

Given the strong likelihood that Sophia had removed the lock from the door as a fuck-you to Taylor (because she would absolutely do that), Emma was strongly tempted to call her teammate and give her both barrels, but she refrained for the simple reason that Sophia would blow her off all day long. She might even hang up if Emma started pushing too hard. This is going to have to be a face-to-face thing. With Madison there as a witness. Because for fuck's sake.

<><>​

Saturday Morning
Taylor

It was odd, knowing she didn't have to go to school for the next two weeks.

Or, to put it another way, it was freaking awesome. For the third morning in a row (okay, it was Saturday, but that was beyond the point) Taylor indulged herself with a lie-in, then got up and had a leisurely shower before strolling downstairs to where her father was cooking breakfast. "Morning," she greeted him cheerily.

"Morning yourself, kiddo," he said with an answering smile. "You're looking happy. That walk last night must've done you a lot of good."

She shrugged. "Well, part of it's knowing that for the next two weeks I don't have to worry about anyone at Winslow pulling their crap on me, whether it's Emma, Sophia, Madison, Julia or that two-faced Blackwell." She'd had to swallow a few insults while she was saying that; not because she thought she'd shock her father, but because she didn't want to force him to not hear it.

"You know, they still might decide to change it to an in-school suspension," he said, though the quirk of his eyebrows told her he'd probably picked up on what she hadn't said. "Which means you'd be back in the thick of it."

"Screw that," she retorted immediately. "I'm not going back in there to give them a whole new series of chances to mess with me in ways I can't just walk away from. I'll read ahead in my textbooks at home, but if they try to tell you I've got to go in, tell 'em I don't feel safe in there."

"I can do that," he agreed. "And honestly, I don't blame you. Their record so far has been appalling, and this latest incident is just the icing on the cake."

"For a definition of 'icing' and 'cake' that's not fit for human consumption," she agreed so dryly that he snorted in amusement.

"You're not wrong. So, would you like to come in to work with me today?"

She shook her head. "I think I might take the bus in to the library, and get some study done there. It's nice and quiet, and their internet's better than ours."

"That's fair." He started splitting up the bacon and eggs between them. "Just be home before dark, okay? That speeding car from last night utterly trashed the swing set in the playground at the other end of the block. They say it was Uber and Leet, but copycats are a thing, and I'm worried that they might have set a dangerous precedent."

"Thanks," she said, accepting the plate from him. "No, the last thing I want to do is end up as a statistic because some meathead decided to do zero to sixty in a residential area with blind corners." Which was precisely what had nearly happened, but for her powers. Whatever they really were.

"Mmm," he agreed. They ate breakfast in silence, Danny reading the paper in fits and starts, and Taylor mulling over her own thoughts.

Afterward, Danny helped stack everything in the sink, then gave Taylor what she'd dubbed his 'smartass Dad' grin. "New house rule. People who get to stay home do the washing up."

"Really." She rolled her eyes. "You were just waiting to roll that one out, weren't you?"

"Mayyybe." Reaching out, he ruffled her hair, ignoring her attempt to bat his hand away. "Take care. See you tonight."

"See you then." She watched as he went out the back door, then locked it behind him. The house was so old that an actual key was needed to lock or unlock any of the outside doors, but the key was hanging alongside it, so she'd be able to unlock it anytime she needed to. Filling the sink, she made sure the balance of hot versus cold water was just barely tolerable, then squirted in some detergent.

Washing the dishes was a pleasantly mindless exercise that allowed her to plan her next move. She would go to the library as she'd told her father, but not immediately. First, she wanted to do something else.

Once the dishes were dried and put away and the stove, countertop and table were wiped down, she paused in thought. There was a sewing kit on top of the fridge that had been there longer than Taylor could remember. Opening it, she found a needle she could use. Then she went down into the basement to find her father's old toolbox. Danny was an on-again/off-again DIY semi-enthusiast, but on the level of replacing the broken leg of a chair rather than remodelling the bathroom. Along with everything else, the box held a heavy ballpeen hammer, which Taylor thoughtfully weighed in her hand.

The memory came to her of walking through the school corridor, with Blackwell literally hanging off her back, and not having to work any harder to move forward. I wonder …

Dropping the hammer back into the toolbox, she took hold of the handle. From the volume of tools in it, she knew it had to weigh about as much as she did. There was no way she could lift it unaided.

Bracing herself, she heaved upward … and stared in astonishment as she easily hoisted it off the ground.

"Oh, no way," she murmured. Putting it down, she hefted it again, just as easily.

Then she tried with three fingers, ignoring her thumb and pinky.

It lifted off the floor yet again. She couldn't feel any extra strain.

"Okay, let's see how ridiculous I can get," she said out loud, and hooked just her pinky under the handle.

And lifted the toolbox.

Despite everything that had gone before, she had to stare with incredulity at the metal box suspended from her pinky finger, five feet off the floor. There was no appreciable strain on her finger; she felt she could do this all day.

"You've got to be shitting me," she began, flexing her finger. That was a mistake; her finger might have been able to support it just fine, but the grip wasn't perfect. "Shit!" she gasped, as the toolbox fell clear. Straight down, five feet, onto the bare toes of her right foot. The clang echoed through the basement.

Taylor stared at where the toolbox lay across her toes. There was no pain, nor any other sensation other than mild pressure. The light down in the basement wasn't great; a yellowing bulb hanging next to the stairs. But if her eyes weren't deceiving her, there was something white covering her foot just under where the toolbox had landed on her.

Keeping her eyes on the white covering, she reached down and hefted the toolbox away. She'd seen correctly; covering her toes, and a little way up her foot, was an undercoat of gloss white that followed every contour down to her toenails, almost as though she'd dipped her foot in enamel paint. Overlaid on the white, or so it seemed, were odd black lines that almost looked like the rainbow lines visible in oily water. She wriggled her toes; the white covering wriggled as well, the black markings shifting back and forth as if alive.

Go away, she thought. The white covering vanished, as though it had never been. Her toes looked perfectly normal in its absence. Come back. It reappeared. The black markings were different again.

Crouching, she used the needle to jab at the white covering. It stopped solid after giving her the tiniest sensation of pressure. Then she told the covering to go away, and jabbed again.

"Ow!" The needle had punctured her skin, not far enough to draw blood, but definitely far enough to cause pain. It was clear that she could do something that hurt herself deliberately, but by accident? No.

She stood up again, and imagined the white covering enveloping her feet up to the knees. An instant later—there was literally zero lag time between wanting it and seeing it—it was in place. Eyeing the toolbox, she gave it a light kick with the same foot she'd dropped it on.

Flying across the basement, the toolbox crashed into the far wall. The lid came open, and tools cascaded everywhere. From the way it was lying, she could see the huge dent she'd kicked into the side of it.

Her jaw dropped. "Well, I'll be fucked."

Holding the needle up against the side-frame of the stairs, she pushed with her thumb. Where normally it would've dug painfully into the pad of her thumb, this time she was able to effortlessly push it into the hard wood up to half its length. Leaving it there, she went across to the toolbox and righted it. She smoothed out the new dents in the metal with her thumb—holy fuck, being a Brute on command is amazing—then she loaded all the tools back into it and stashed it back where she'd gotten it from.

Okay, she decided. Let's see how hard I can really hit now. She'd never thrown a serious punch in her life, but she had a vague idea how it went. Folding her fingers around her thumb, she found the darkest corner of the basement—her father might notice a patch of cracked concrete anywhere else—and called up the black and white covering over her hand. Then she swung her fist at the wall with all her strength.

With a tremendous crash that shook the house, she found her arm buried up to the shoulder in the wall. Pulling it out again was no real effort, and she noticed that the black and white covering had extended over her T-shirt sleeve, protecting it from the abrasion of the concrete. She stared at the hole disbelievingly, shaking her head. It had literally been like punching a barrier made of tissue paper. There had been zero real resistance whatsoever.

"Holy motherfucking shitballs," she murmured. In the back of her mind, some part of her thought she should be freaking out harder than this, but she shrugged the idea off. This was big. This was huge. There was no time to run around in circles gibbering in shock.

This is how I got out of the locker, she realised. In an instant, she called up the covering all over her. Just as she recalled, she couldn't see or hear a thing, and neither could she breathe. Need air, she decided, and breathing slits opened. And light. With that, she could see. Sound, too. Her ears suddenly worked again.

"This is how it happened." The parting-cobwebs sensation had been far too familiar; smashing a hole shoulder-deep in the concrete wall had felt exactly like when she was in the locker, and had lost touch with the outside world. "It locked me off from everything until I passed out from lack of air."

Excitement rose in her chest, along with bubbling laughter. It all made sense now. So very much sense.

After a minute or so, she decided to get back to business. Dismissing the full-body covering, she reached out and plucked the needle from the stairs. Then she headed up to the kitchen.

With the needle—amazingly undamaged, considering what she'd put it through—back in the sewing kit, she went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Okay, she mused, if I got myself out of the locker, why did the Real Thing say that they did it? What have they got to do with all this?

Putting a pin in that question, she dismissed it until such time as she had a member of the Real Thing to ask it of. Then she checked that the windows were curtained, and held her hand in front of her. Calling up the white covering, she experimented with the black markings; dispelling them altogether, creating a circuit-board pattern, bee stripes, skunk stripes, fish scales, cheetah markings, and then full black. When she decided on a pattern, it stayed, but when she didn't have one in mind, it tended to go back to the oil-on-water configuration. The other interesting aspect was that she could contour the white covering to make her hand look larger, give her webbing or claws, or even make it into an animalistic paw, so long as it didn't go more than an inch from her skin.

This absolutely has potential, she decided with a grin of pure satisfaction. Now all I have to do is figure out exactly what I want to do with it.



End of Part Ten

 

[Ack]

I hadn't put all this together before in one go, so:

1. Manton stole a vial to give to his daughter. Instead of having a bad reaction, she got usable mid-range powers, and is currently enjoying a career as a moderately popular hero on the West Coast.

2. Because of this, he never took the Siberian formula. When he was confronted over the theft, they gave him a slap on the wrist. He's still working with them (though under tighter surveillance).

3. Because of this, Jack Slash didn't have the Siberian with him when he kicked in the front door to the Davis household. He was met by Riley's dad, who blew his head off with a twelve-gauge shotgun.

4. Because of this, the Slaughterhouse Nine name is now used mainly by edgelord villains who have killed one too many innocents and have Kill Orders or Birdcage sentences hanging over their heads. There's never more than five or six, they cycle through pretty quickly, and they stay away from big cities.

5. Also because of this, the Siberian encounter never happened with the Protectorate. Hero is still alive, and is leading the Protectorate proper since Legend quit under undisclosed circumstances. (He's also head of the Protectorate in New York, and runs the occasional Tinker seminar).

6. As a result, the Triumvirate is a slightly lighter and fluffier version of the OTL one, because Alexandria never had to deal with Hero's death. Hero doesn't quite have Legend's charisma and charm, but he's competent and extremely respected.

7. Also (just for shits & giggles) Hero opposed NEPEA-5, and it ended up dying in committee. There are rules against capes setting up exclusive monopolies using their powers, but they're a lot more forgiving.

(Edit)
8. As a result the Uppermost never made the shift to the Elite. They're still on the good side of the law.

9. Also to do with the Nine, Ravager tried to hire the latest bunch to murder Mouse Protector. She beat them with almost embarrassing ease, then found Ravager and gave her a Behemoth scale wedgie by hanging her from a lamp post by her underwear. Then posted pictures online.

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Eleven: Expanding Viewpoints

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

Taylor got on the bus, still thinking things over. She'd put on a sweater rather than her usual choice of a shapeless hoodie, more as an impulse than out of a plan to do anything in particular. Her entire outfit would fit under the protective cover—she'd tested it in the mirror—though she wasn't sure what to do with her hair. Currently, the protection turned it into either pure-white strands (striped with black) or a single shapeless mass lying over her shoulders. She needed to do better, but she was still working on how.

All the way to the library, she looked out the window at the city passing by, but she didn't register any of it. There were far too many options available to her, and she had no idea how to narrow them down to a single theme. Going tiger-striped with claws was definitely a possibility, but tigers weren't the only scary striped creatures out there. Honey badgers technically had a stripe, and so did a lot of other things. Regardless, she was going to leave the skunk concept well alone.

If she didn't want to go with the animal theme, she figured she could do a damn good impression of a robot. Impervious skin, a little circuitry pattern here and there, and an angular appearance. Also, being strong as fuck.

Not sure what to do about my eyes, though. Maybe get hold of some tech-looking goggles?

On second thought, it might not be the best idea to pretend to be an actual artificial intelligence. Nothing like that existed, as far as she knew, so it wasn't like robot rights were protected. Knowing people, they'd be just as likely to try to ignore her input and order her around. Not that they could do anything to her, but it would be uncomfortably like what her normal life was like.

Maybe pretend to be a Tinker in a powersuit? That could work. Well, right up until another Tinker tried to talk shop with me.

She imagined Armsmaster striking up a conversation with her about the intricacies of micro-quantum super-capacitors or whatever the hell it was Tinkers talked about, and shuddered. It wasn't clear what would be worse, trying to bluff her way through a situation like that, or coming clean and admitting she wasn't any kind of Tinker. Or refusing to talk about her 'tech' and being labelled as rude and unsociable.

Ugh. Hard pass.

The bus stopped at the library and she got out, then trotted up the steps. Her pack bounced on her shoulder, reminding her of her primary purpose here. Study first, check out my powers later.

And so, she studied. At this time of day, there were many tables free for use. Taking out her notebooks, she went through her textbooks one at a time, conscientiously reading ahead one chapter apiece. It was easy when there were no distractions, and she made sure she knew the material—making notes to help jog her memory—before turning to the next book.

She was in the middle of figuring out how to do a particular math problem—Mr Quinlan was crap at explaining stuff like this—when a tone sounded throughout the building.

"Cape fight outside the library." The head librarian's voice was firm and assured. "Locking doors. Please stay away from the windows. Cape fight outside the library." As Taylor looked around, heavy shades motored down to cover the expansive glass windows.

Of course, the few library patrons moved toward the windows to try to see what was going on. Taylor's first instinct was to do the same, but she paused in thought.

What if I could help? What if I could do something about it?

She was certainly strong enough, when aided by the protective cover, and so far it had activated reliably enough to protect her from all potential harm … well, except for the first time, and even then it had gone away after she passed out. The other bonus was that it provided an instant costume when needed.

The Central Library was old-fashioned in many ways; this included a lack of security cameras within the premises. Stuffing her books in her backpack, Taylor shoved them under a desk and out of sight, then called on the protective field.

It flowed over her, giving her sneakers the appearance of boots and adding the subtle illusion of bulk where it counted. Hopefully, people would see her as twenty-something instead of a tall fifteen. Pulling back her hair, she found she could stash it under the covering.

She went with the appearance of a helmet/mask combination, as Alexandria had made popular, leaving her eyes, ears and mouth clear for obvious reasons. Her power, she was fairly sure, would cut in to protect her vulnerable areas if the need arose. The 'costume' covered the rest of her body, including her hands.

Finally, she had the black colouration cover most of the supposed costume, with white highlights adding the hints of stripes here and there, mainly because she thought it looked cool.

The librarian looked around with some surprise as Taylor emerged from the stacks and fronted up to the desk. "Wh-where did you come from?"

"Does it really matter?" Taylor countered. "I need to get out there and help. I'm pretty sure you don't want me busting a window, so could you do me a solid and crack the door?" She found that speaking authoritatively and telling people what to do—even adults— was far easier when she had a mask over her face.

"Uh, I can't." The librarian grimaced. "I've got three emergency buttons here. One calls the police. The second one locks everything down, and unlocks everything on the second push. The third one unseals the Endbringer bunker in the basement …" She paused, evidently realising something. "… wait a moment."

Taylor waited, unsure of why the Endbringer shelter was so important. She wanted to get out there and do something, not hide.

The librarian glanced around, then picked up a ring of keys. "The basement has a sidewalk coal hatch. We don't heat with coal anymore, of course, but deliveries still come in that way."

The implications were obvious. If deliveries could come in, people could leave the same way. Say, an aspiring cape who didn't quite feel up to breaking a window.

Taylor nodded. "Sounds good to me."

She followed the librarian through a door marked 'STAFF ONLY' and down a set of stairs into an echoing, musty basement. There was a pathway outlined in black-and-yellow hazard tape toward what she recognised as the armoured front door to the previously-mentioned Endbringer shelter, but they didn't go that way. Instead, the librarian led her to what she recognised as a sidewalk coal delivery hatch, as seen from the underside, and gestured to a ten-foot-wide sheet of diamond-textured steel plate. "Going up?"

"Going up," agreed Taylor. She stepped onto the plate and waited for the librarian to hit the 'up' button. The mechanism started rumbling and grinding as the plate rose toward sidewalk level.

When she was only halfway up, the double hatch above swung upward to the left and right. Hey, I'm strong. I wonder if I'm strong enough to jump that high?

It was worth a try. She crouched slightly, and jumped. A second later, she landed on the sidewalk outside, having cleared the opening doors by a good ten feet. Strangely enough, she was sure she hadn't exerted that much force. It had almost felt as though she'd jumped as high as she wanted to. Which was weird, but powers weren't exactly normal at the best of times.

The crashes and bangs, almost certainly stemming from the cape fight, were coming from just around the corner. Taylor trotted in that direction, hoping she looked like a serious cape instead of the pretender she felt like.

And then, just as she stepped around the corner, the crashes and bangs got a whole lot closer. So did the SUV that was bouncing end over end down the street toward her.

Later, she would remember that she let out a tiny shriek as the vehicle loomed over her. Flinging out her hands to protect herself, she fully expected for her protective field to snap fully into place then to turn off again once the SUV was a crumpled wreck. Just as it had with the car in the children's playground, the previous night.

But nothing like that happened. Opening her eyes—she hadn't realised she'd clenched them shut—she saw that the vehicle was still hanging over her head, that she was holding it there by one corner of the bent and torn hood. Her finger and thumb, clenched around a tiny twisted shred of metal, was all that had stopped the SUV in its doomed trajectory, and was now keeping it immobile in blatant defiance of everything she thought she knew about mass and leverage.

"Well, that's different," she said thoughtfully.

The vehicle continued to hold its position, for all the world as though the CGI animators of an action movie had paused the show to get lunch. She frowned as another memory percolated through her thoughts; when she'd first seen the SUV, it had been bright red, but now it was a medium gray. In fact, the entire vehicle was shaded in black and white rather than colour.

And now that she was querying the concept, she somehow knew every inch of the vehicle, and everything within it. In addition, everything that was shaded in monochrome by her power was somehow divorced from the real-world concepts of weight and inertia, so long as she was touching it. She knew instinctively that it wasn't as impervious as her protection field, but it was maybe ten times as tough and strong as normal.

Hey, I wonder if I did this with the needle, without realising it? It certainly felt familiar.

Slowly, experimentally, she lowered the SUV to the road; when all four wheels had made contact with the asphalt, she let go. It regained its colour and bounced a couple of times on its suspension, then one tyre blew with a muffled bang. She was pretty sure she wasn't responsible for the last bit.

The fighting sounded farther away, and sirens were starting to converge. A chopper flew overhead, and she thought she heard the distinctive sounds of Armsmaster's motorcycle in the distance.

Sounds like the PRT and Protectorate have it handled. Stepping up to a cape fight when she was the only one who could help was one thing, but she wasn't about to make an idiot of herself in front of the professionals until she'd learned more about her capabilities. That was even if she wanted to be a hero.

First order of business: getting my books back out of the library without making it obvious that I'm a cape. Walking in through the front door in civvies once they opened the shutters should about cover that, she figured.

Second order of business: going out tonight and learning a lot more about what I can do.

A slow smile curled across her lips.

She couldn't wait.

<><>​

Later that Night

Hebert Household

10:35 PM

Taylor lay in bed, the bedroom light off and her eyes closed. With the covers pulled up to her chin, she breathed steadily; in, out; in, out. She hadn't moved from that pose since her father had cracked the bedroom door to check on her twenty minutes ago.

She didn't think he expected her to sneak out, mainly because he didn't know she had powers. Danny Hebert was reasonably good at dissimulation when it came to negotiating on behalf of the Dockworkers' Association, but he'd never been able to hide his motivations from her. They'd enjoyed a pleasant supper, and she'd told him most of what she'd done for the day, leaving out any mention of her powers. It helped that she hadn't known which capes were involved (Menja, Hookwolf and Lung) until she saw the news later.

She was still considering when she'd tell him about them. He'd have to be told sooner rather than later; otherwise, it would be unfair on him. But she wanted to learn everything about her powers and figure out what she was going to be doing with them, before she filled him in. That, she figured, was only fair on her.

Finally, the sound she'd been waiting for drifted to her ears. Her father didn't snore loudly, but it was clearly audible in the otherwise silent house. Pulling back the covers with a gentle swoosh, revealing the dark sweater and jeans she was wearing, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She already had socks on; it took just a few seconds to slip her feet into her sneakers.

Sliding her window up, she climbed out onto the ledge and then hung on by her fingertips—it was so damn easy now—while she pulled it down again. Then she let go and felt herself almost drift downward, landing gently on the grass alongside her father's car. A gentle hop took her over the fence, and she paused a moment to get her bearings.

She'd heard rumours about new capes going to what was left of the Boat Graveyard to test their powers out. The trouble was, if she knew that with her limited understanding of cape etiquette, so did everyone and their henchman. But that was okay; she had other ideas for testing her powers, and while she might get there eventually, that wasn't in her plans for the night.

Pulling her hoodie up around her head and tucking her hair under it, she called up the protective field over her clothing. As an afterthought, she extended a mask over her eyes and tinted everything black. Then she crossed the street and stood on the sidewalk, eyeing the roof of the house opposite speculatively.

If I can jump twenty feet straight up without even trying …

Another gentle hop got her to the top of the paling fence and she found herself balancing on top of it with ridiculous ease. Then she kicked off again, floating upward in a feather-light arc until she landed on the rooftop. With an inward whoop, she ran along the roof-ridge and launched herself toward the next house. This time, she only touched down with a single footstep before leaping toward the next house.

It was harder to get used to than she'd expected. Her brain kept telling her to expect being heavy, and she had to explain otherwise to her powers. Being super-strong was also a new state of mind; did every Brute have this problem to begin with? In contrast, the protective cover was something that showed up automatically.

If I'm not careful, that could end up being a problem.

Brockton Bay's suburbia passed by beneath her in a blur. She had no idea how fast she was going, but she was only touching down on every fourth or fifth house now. The laws of physics were little but an amusing suggestion to her as she skimmed dreamlike across the rooftops.

And then she came to her current goal. Pausing on the last rooftop before the open area began, she eyed her target across the parking lots and sports fields. Under the chilly moonlight, it lurked, monolithic and ominous. In all honesty, it looked far more badass at night than it did during the daytime. When the sun was up, it just visually reeked of failure and decrepitude, like a meth addict passed out in an alley with urine-soaked pants, only slightly less appealing.

Winslow High School, be it ever so disgusting.

Gathering herself, more for the psychological benefit than the physical, she leaped high and far, covering half a mile in just a few seconds. With barely a crunch of gravel, she landed on the roof of Winslow, right next to the roof access door. Theoretically, it should've been locked, but years of having the door jimmied open to allow access for smokers and users of other substances had left the mechanism in a sad state of affairs; Taylor personally knew that a good shake would open the door from either side. Not that it would've stopped her if she actually wanted to go inside, even if it had been six-inch-thick hardened steel.

I'm never attending this hell-pit of despair and corruption again. What's the easiest way to manage that?

Standing on the roof, she considered her options. With the strength at her disposal, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could demolish the school in its entirety, given enough time. But this would be a long, boring task. Finding every last load-bearing structure would take forever, and she wanted to be home in time to get at least a few hours' worth of sleep.

The image came back to her of the SUV suspended above her by a fragment of metal, and she looked around thoughtfully. Jumping lightly down to the ground—she was definitely getting the hang of this—she looked through the parking lots serving both staff and students. Just to make sure of things, she completed a circuit of the school to ensure that no stray cars were parked in odd places around it.

There were no vehicles parked near the school at all. No lights shone through any windows. There was no indication of anyone, anywhere inside Winslow.

Good.

Taylor moved to the nearest corner of the massive building. Crouching down, she drove her fingers into the brick-work at just about ground level, on each side of the corner. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Concentrating.

At her mental urging, her power swept over Winslow, giving her an inner-eye knowledge of every room, door, chair, book and ceiling tile in the building. She knew where everything was, and the fact that there were no people in the entire structure. This had already been her supposition, but it was good to have confirmation.

She pushed her monochrome field until it covered every inch of Winslow above ground level. While she could've pushed for everything including the foundations, she decided not to be greedy about it. It didn't seem to take any more effort than the SUV had.

Then she stood up … and tore Winslow clear out of the ground.

It was a hell of a lot noisier than she'd expected. When tens of thousands of tons of concrete, brickwork and rebar separates from its foundations over a shearing plane covering nearly fifty thousand square feet, all at once, it makes a sound akin to a cannon shot mixed up with the world's biggest rock crusher. Her protective covering snapped over her ears and still she heard it, transmitted through her own flesh from her mouth opening. By the time the echoes started reverberating off the nearest houses, she was standing with the entire school held at chest height, using no more effort than if she was carrying a lunch tray through the line.

She was tempted to see if she could hurl the entire structure into orbit, but that would draw altogether too much attention to Brockton Bay. So instead, she tossed it upward lightly; in this case, 'lightly' meant 'with enough force to make it go about ten feet in the air before it comes down'.

And down it came, with all the force and inevitability of a thousand outraged lawsuits, slamming into its own erstwhile foundations with the second tremendous BOOM of the evening. Lights had already started to come on here and there in the surrounding houses; now, there were a lot more. Walls ruptured outward, windows simply exploded, and when her ear-coverings receded she was sure she could hear bits and pieces of the school collapsing in on itself. But what she'd just done had most assuredly drawn the attention of all the authorities, so it was in her best interests to not be present when they arrived.

Fortunately, she had that bit covered.

<><>​

Half an Hour Later

Miss Militia

Hannah rode her motorcycle up to the mass of police and fire vehicles clogging up the parking lot, then pulled into an as-yet unused corner and parked it. Taking her helmet off, she slung it on the bike then moved through the crowd with purpose; the double-bladed battle-axe slung over her shoulder served to clear the way with admirable alacrity. A few enquiries led her to the person she was looking for: Armsmaster, who was currently loading esoteric equipment back into the capacious panniers of his own highly customised ride.

"Militia," he greeted her without turning his head.

"Armsmaster," she replied. Jerking her head toward the mass of rubble before them, she raised her eyebrows interrogatively. "How big was the bomb, and was it anything exotic?"

"It wasn't a bomb," he said bluntly.

She bit back her immediate denial of his conclusion, and eyed the remains of the school more carefully. Colin wasn't the most social of people, and could be abrupt at times, but his reputation as a Tinker was formidable. His tech did the job, and did it well. For him to come to that conclusion, he must have detected something.

Her examination of the demolished building yielded no further insights. "Okay, I'll bite. If it wasn't a bomb, then what was it?"

"Not sure." He packed away the last of his equipment. "But there are no chemical traces of any known explosives, and an analysis of the stress-fractures on all the pieces of rubble I was able to identify indicates that whatever destroyed it came either from above or below, and hit the entire building at once."

Hannah considered that. "So ... either it got stepped on by someone wearing a size one million large, or the ground somehow smacked it from beneath." She hated that either one was actually plausible.

"I considered that too, but then I had to factor in the double pulse." Colin's tone was didactic now. "There weren't two impacts, because the debris spray pattern would be different. My personal theory is that someone utilised a ranged force field or tractor beam equivalent, and hoisted the entire school into the air. When it was about fifteen to twenty feet up, the hoisting mechanism was either deliberately or accidentally released, and Winslow fell that distance; the overall observed damage would fit that distance."

"Mmm." Hannah twisted her lips under her flag-print scarf. "So, you figure we're looking for a Tinker with a hate-on for Winslow?"

"Or schools in general," Armsmaster replied. "But we can stick with Winslow for the moment."

Hannah rolled her eyes. This was as blatantly obvious as cape activity could get. Which meant the PRT had to claim jurisdiction. The suspect pool was simple: everyone who hated the school. Which in the event probably meant about half the teaching staff and ninety-nine point nine percent of the student body.

I'm just glad I don't have to sit through all the interviews.



End of Part Eleven

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twelve: Troubles

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

Saturday Night
10:55 PM
Near the Boardwalk

Firebird

Emma ran across the top of Fugly Bob's, then leaped onto the telephone cable that ran between the buildings and jogged along it. It was springy under her feet, but she never came close to missing her step; since she'd taken the vial, things like this had gone from nigh-impossible to mundane. Off to the side, well away from the wiring, Sophia was gliding across the gap in her shadow form. She was doing that as much as possible these days, showing off what she could do that Emma couldn't.

It was a little sad, in Emma's opinion, that Sophia still thought she had to exert some kind of superiority over her and Madison. Though she'd stopped trying to give Tinker advice to Madison, which was a relief. The last time she'd done that, Madison had offered her a tiny engraved piece of plate metal, barely a quarter of an inch square.

"What's this?" Sophia had asked incautiously.

"Read it," Madison had said bluntly, and gone back to work on what she called her 'big gun'. Sophia had squinted at it then sworn luridly as she threw it in the trash and stormed out.

About thirty seconds later, when her curiosity had become too much to handle, Emma had retrieved the piece of metal from the trash. On one side, in tiny lettering, was engraved the words, 'Everything Sophia knows about Tinkering.' The other side was blank. Emma still giggled when she thought about it.

Madison's Blockade Mark 2 power armour was too big and heavy to rooftop-run alongside Emma and Sophia, so it was pacing them down at street-level with long, loping strides. Emma had to admit; as effective and capable as the Mark 1 armour was, the upgrade had improved its speed and fluidity of movement considerably.

"Wait," Madison said just before Emma got to the next building. "What was that?"

Their radio link had to be cobbled together by necessity; while Madison had a base station built into her armour, she didn't do the tiny little earpieces that the Tinkers in all the TV dramas supplied. So, Emma had had to buy herself and Sophia a pair of Radio Shack walkie-talkies, and Madison kept the suit radio tuned to that frequency. It worked well enough, but it couldn't be encrypted, so they made sure not to say anything specifically revealing on the channel.

Emma jumped the rest of the way to the next roof, just as Sophia arrived there and solidified. She glanced down at Madison, who had stopped; the battlesuit's glowing red eyes seemed to be looking down the street they'd just crossed over. There didn't seem to be anything of note that Emma could see from her viewpoint, not even a drunk sleeping behind a dumpster.

Reaching up to the hidden switch beside her neck, she pressed the button to transmit. "What was what?" And then she heard it herself; a double rolling boom, distant but still powerful enough to reverberate in her chest. There was about a second or so between them. "Shit. What was that?"

"Bombs," Sophia said authoritatively. "Not something pissy like a hand grenade. That was halfway across town. Something big just got blown up. We might have a gang war on our hands, guys." She sounded pleased at the concept, which Emma personally disagreed with. A gang war, for all that it offered the Real Thing the opportunity to strut their stuff and flash their credentials as heroes, would also mean unavoidable civilian casualties.

"Yeah, but where?" she asked. "People could be hurt. We need to get there and help out, now." It wasn't as though they were catching any muggers where they were; when the Blockade suit came striding down the sidewalk, potential criminals tended to revise their plans for the evening.

"I've got a compass bearing and a rough distance," Madison said. "Cross-referencing with the map … huh. Close proximity to Winslow. Interesting."

"Okay, that's bullshit," complained Sophia, shading her eyes and staring across the cityscape while she pressed the radio button. "I can't see any fires or mushroom clouds or even regular dust clouds. You're down at ground level. How do you know where it is, and how far? Hell, how come you heard it before we did?"

"I've got seismic sensors in my boot soles," Madison explained crisply. "After the first one, I had just enough time to plant both boots, so I got a good solid reading for direction, and a rough cut for distance. The time until you heard it let me firm it up. And I heard it first because sound travels faster through the ground than it does through the air."

Emma saw Sophia's frown through the hockey mask she wore. "That can't be right. Wouldn't it be slower? All that stuff in the way?"

"We can argue physics later," Emma said hastily, not wanting to get caught up in the argument though she knew Madison was correct. Sophia could be a pain to argue with when she thought she was in the right. "Winslow's miles away. How are we gonna get there in time to do any good?"

"And they laughed when I built jump-jets into my multi-ton battlesuit," Madison said rhetorically, though Emma knew she hadn't laughed. While Sophia may have made a few snide comments about the concept, Emma hadn't realised Madison had overheard them.

The heavy construct tromped into the side-street and held its arms out to the sides. "CLEAR," it boomed, its voice modulator bouncing gravelly tones off the walls on either side of the street. The people on the Fugly Bobs' balcony were waving and taking photos by now.

When Madison ignited the jump-jets, the sound was deafening. The massive battlesuit thundered into the air, blowing bits of random litter around like a mini-tornado and leaving a wide area of asphalt that had been cleaned down to the original tar. Balanced on four hefty thruster flares, the suit paused as it came level with the rooftop. Then it rotated, hovering with a certain elephantine grace, until it was facing away from the roof's edge.

"Well, come on," Madison said impatiently over the radio. "What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

Emma hadn't actually thought this bit through. She'd known that, theoretically, she might have to ride on the back of Madison's power armour. Also theoretically, she'd known it was technically capable of flight. For some reason, she had never added those two aspects together. Now, she was faced with the reality of the situation. Oh, boy.

Steeling herself, she leaped across the gap—she'd jumped farther than that since getting her powers, but usually to a stable landing point—and grasped the handholds that had popped up behind the powersuit's left shoulder. A moment later, Sophia did the same on the right shoulder. "Ready," reported Emma.

There was no way they'd be able to hear Madison's exterior speakers over the roar of her thrusters, but fortunately the earpieces they wore made that unnecessary. "Hold tight, and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times."

A moment later, the suit accelerated upward, then angled over on a trajectory toward where Emma figured the explosions had originated from. She concentrated on hanging on, angling one of her throwing-discs to deflect the worst of the slipstream around her. It was exhilarating to be flying this high over the city, with the buildings passing by beneath them, but also a little worrying; if something went wrong, even her enhanced reflexes would be hard put to save her unless she came down just right.

The flight lasted far too long (in her opinion) and yet at the same time, not long enough. Her first indication that it was ending came when Madison cut the thrusters, leaving them hurtling through the chilly night air over Brockton Bay. Her ears ringing in the sudden silence, Emma fumbled for the radio switch, but Sophia got to hers first. "The fuck's going on? Are we crashing?"

"We're not crashing," Madison said scornfully over her speakers. "Turnover for landing in five … four … three … two … one …"

Emma latched onto the handholds with redoubled strength; on 'one', thrusters flared and the entire suit flipped and rolled end for end. Then the main thrusters lit off again, this time decelerating the suit as they hurtled down toward the ground. Emma couldn't see their landing point due to darkness, which was both comforting in an ignorance-is-bliss kind of way, and somewhat terrifying, all at the same time. Were they coming in too fast? Had Madison miscalculated something?

And then houses loomed up around them on all sides, and Emma felt the slightest clunk as metal encountered asphalt. Madison cut the thrusters once more; Emma fancied she could hear the ping ping ping as hot metal contracted in the cool air. "See, what did I tell you?" the petite Tinker declared. "Piece of cake."

"Jeeesus fuuck," muttered Sophia, looking somewhat windblown, as she and Emma let go and dropped to the ground. "Fuck that shit. I'm walking back."

"Oh, I don't know," Emma countered. Her heart rate was still elevated, but she could tell it was already returning to normal. "It was fun, in a terrifying sort of way."

"Wusses, the both of you." Madison raised her arm and pointed. "This way."

"I'm going rooftop," Sophia said immediately, and darted into the shadows. A moment later, her shadowy form darted upward into the darkness.

Emma sighed inwardly. She's always got to be one-up. "So, what's this way?" she asked, falling into step alongside Madison and waving at a curious home-owner who was peering out through his front door.

"Winslow," Madison said. "Shadow Stalker was correct about the magnitude of the explosions. From the distance we felt them at, they were big. Something should be on fire, or a crater, or on fire and in a crater. So, unless you've got a better idea, we can start at Winslow and search outward until we find out what … holy shit."

While they were talking, they had rounded a corner onto the street that ran straight past the school. Emma had come down that same street many times, usually on the bus but occasionally in her father's car. She knew the school's blocky profile from this angle. But even though the lighting wasn't the best, her eyes were well-adjusted to the dark by now and she could see Winslow; or rather, what was left of Winslow.

"Son of a bitch …" she murmured. "Someone did it. They actually blew Winslow up."

Sophia appeared out of the darkness, gliding down as shadow and then reforming next to them in what Emma had to admit was a pretty dramatic entrance. "Told you," she said with considerable satisfaction. "Bombs." She paused. "Fuck. Bombs. Someone blew up Winslow?"

Emma blinked at the shift in tone. Sophia sounded a lot less self-assured now. "Yeah. Looks like it. No craters or mushroom clouds, or even fire, but that sure as hell looks blown up to me." She tilted her head as sirens became audible. "And here come the cops and PRT."

"No," Sophia said urgently, starting toward the demolished school. "We're not waiting for the cops or the PRT. We need to get in there now."

"Why?" asked Madison, keeping her speaker volume to a minimum as she and Emma followed along. "It's not on fire. I doubt there's anyone inside. Nobody to save. And I'm good, but I'm not good enough to rebuild it."

"No, you don't get it!" snapped Sophia. "I had a stash behind my locker! Spare costume, spare crossbow, spare arrows!" She glanced from side to side, then lowered her voice. "Used arrows. Evidence."

Emma frowned. "I'm not totally sure we're on the same page here. Evidence for what? The PRT already knows you were a vigilante before we formed the Real Thing."

"We're going to have to scrap the other plan, too," Madison said. "You know, the one involving an attack on a school? School's not there anymore." She didn't sound broken up over it, which Emma could agree with. The plan to push Taylor into villainy was sounding less and less heroic to her all the time.

"We're not scrapping the plan!" Sophia snarled—actually snarled. "I don't know what power Hebert got from the vial, but she's going down."

"Back burner, back burner." Emma focused on Sophia. "Evidence?"

Sophia took a deep breath. "Couple times I was out and about, I might've … screwed up. Shot one guy, meant to hit him in the knee, got him in that … what's that big artery in the leg? Lots of blood?"

"Femoral," Emma said at once.

"Yeah, that." Sophia showed no emotion as she recited the facts. "He was bleeding a whole heap after I pulled the arrow out so I put a bandage on it and put a tourniquet on, and called the cops anonymously, but I'm pretty sure he didn't make it. There were a couple like that. There was way too much blood on the arrows to properly clean off at home, so I brought them into school. I was gonna steal some of that industrial grade bleach they use here, but shit happened and I never got around to it."

Emma wished she felt more surprise at the matter of fact confession, but she found it all too easy to believe. "You killed people. Murdered them."

They were running by now, as the sirens got closer. "Is that why you wanted me to kill those Merchants?" asked Madison, still keeping her speakers quiet. "So we'd be the same?"

"Oh, please," Sophia said, her tone dismissive. "People like that, they're not the same as us. They're rapists, druggies, murderers. Animals. Every single one of them I had to put down like that, totally deserved it. I didn't just attack them out of the blue. They were hurting people. So a few of them died? No big deal. Not like anyone's gonna miss them."

Her words sounded … not convincing, but like she'd managed to talk herself into believing that they were true. It was her own personal self-affirmation. Emma could understand it, even though she disagreed with it. The police and PRT would also have a problem with it, she suspected. And if they matched the blood on the arrows to the dead gang members, they could use them to metaphorically nail Sophia to the wall.

"Okay," Emma said as they arrived at the outer perimeter of the debris. A few forlorn sections of wall stood up here and there out of the rubble, and part of the front wall had broken off to lie haphazardly in front of the pile. Tarnished brass letters attached to the chunk of concrete read LOW HIGH. Sounds about right. "Get in there and find your stuff. We'll cover for you as long as we can. But we will be having a talk about this later."

Sophia was already into the rubble before Emma finished talking. Madison stepped up alongside her. "Good luck talking to her about that. She only hears what she wants to hear."

That was about what Emma thought, too, but she knew she had to make the effort. "She needs to hear it from us. If we don't make her face up to what she's done and where she's going wrong, who will?"

"Armsmaster." When Madison said the name, Emma thought for a moment that her teammate was positing the Protectorate Tinker as a potential mentor for Sophia. But then she heard the familiar rumble of the highly modified motorcycle. Turning, she shaded her eyes from the glare of the headlight as the Protectorate ENE leader pulled to a halt and got off his bike.

"Firebird," he called out. "Did you see what happened here?" As he spoke, his helmet turned from side to side, scanning over the heap of debris.

"No, we were at the Boardwalk when we heard the bombs go off," Emma replied, feeling a secret thrill at being addressed as an equal by a hero of such stature and reputation. "Blockade got a distance and direction and jumped us over here. We've only just arrived."

"I'm impressed," he said, looking Madison's armour up and down. "Jump jets? I don't think you had those in your last iteration."

"I didn't," agreed Madison. "They seem to work okay so far." Which in Madison-speak meant they were functioning perfectly.

"Good, good," he replied absently, then looked around. "Didn't you have a third member? Shadow Stalker?"

"Uh, yeah," Emma replied. "She went into the rubble to see if there was anyone trapped inside who needed rescuing."

"It's doubtful that there would be any," he said. "I've been mapping the area with IR, and the only footprints in the last hour are from myself and you three. This also means that whoever did this was a flyer, or they did it from a distance. Or perhaps a device was left in the school from earlier today and triggered remotely or via a timer."

Emma tried to fault his logic, but couldn't. "You're probably right, yeah. I'll tell you what, though. Whoever did this absolutely wanted Winslow demolished if they used two bombs."

He chuckled. "I can't argue with that, but Shadow Stalker needs to get out of there. Can you call her back?"

Madison shook the battlesuit's 'head' ponderously. "No. When she's in shadow state, her radio doesn't receive."

"Ah. Can she hear sound?" Armsmaster took a miniaturised bullhorn from his belt.

"Sure," Emma agreed. Let's hope she's got what we came here for. Even though I am gonna kick her ass for blindsiding us like that.

"Good." He put the device to his mouth. Emma could tell the sound was very directional, and extremely loud. "Shadow Stalker, this is Armsmaster. Please exit the rubble at once and return to your team. You are only endangering yourself."

Long moments passed, then Sophia popped out of the debris before them. "Oh, hi," she snarked.

"Good, there you are," Emma said. "Did you find anyone at all in there?" Take the hint, take the hint …

"Nah." Sophia made a show of brushing herself off. "Checked Blackwell's office and a few other places. We got lucky. Place was empty."

"It still reflects well on you that you went in there and made the effort," Armsmaster declared. "We need more young heroes like you."

"Damn right we do," agreed Sophia, not at all to Emma's surprise. "Any idea who might've done this?"

"Not yet, but there will undoubtedly be clues to be found." Armsmaster began unpacking equipment from one of his bike panniers. "Could you do me a favour and keep away the rubberneckers until the PRT and police arrive? We don't need any idiots climbing in the rubble and getting hurt. Or worse, destroying evidence."

"We can absolutely do that," agreed Emma. "Come on, guys."

She led the other two away until they were standing at the far end of the pile to Armsmaster. With the entirety of the destroyed school between him and them, she felt safe enough to converse in low tones. Looking at Sophia, she raised an eyebrow. "How'd it go?"

"Sucky." Sophia grimaced. "My locker was smashed, the stuff behind it scattered. I found some of the arrows, but not all."

"Hm," Emma mused. "Maybe we can come back once the cops and PRT have combed the place over and figured out who did it."

"Yeah, that'll be a case of explosive residue and stuff," Madison put in helpfully. "The quicker they figure that out, the sooner you can dig up your dirty little secret and hide it again."

Sophia gave her the finger. "Yeah, fuck you too … ooh. I just got the best idea. Two birds with one stone, even."

Emma felt she shouldn't be getting such a feeling of foreboding every time someone said they had a great idea, but there it was. "I'm listening."

"Hebert." Sophia's tone was full of gleeful satisfaction. "We know she's got some kind of weak destruction power, but it knocks her out when she uses it, right? So, we tell the PRT that we're pretty sure that she did this, they check her out, and whaddaya know, she's got powers. They stop guarding this heap of shit, I get my stuff, win-win."

"Wait, how are they going to know that?" Madison asked. "All she has to do is say she doesn't have powers. You can't prove it if she doesn't use them."

"Yeah, you can." Sophia tapped the side of her head. "There's a little part of the brain that only shows up in capes. I've got one, you've got one, and for sure Hebert's got one. They can test for 'em with MRIs. It's why I can't go pro in track and field; before you can sign up for a paycheck, they test you for that part of the brain. She'll have it, and that means we've got her."

Emma rubbed her chin. There were several things wrong with the concept as stated. Primary among them was the idea that it was wrong to frame Taylor for this level of destruction. Unless … "What if she really did this? I mean, if anyone's got motive to hate Winslow, it's her. And destruction is destruction."

"What? Fuck, no!" Sophia kept her voice down, but it was a near thing. "Hebert's a wimp. There's no way in hell she gets to be strong enough to do this." She gestured at the heap of rubble that had once been a school. "That sad little queef doesn't deserve this sort of power."

One of the glowing eyes on Madison's powersuit dimmed briefly, out of Sophia's line of sight. "Yeah, but what if it was her?" If it hadn't been for the electronic 'wink', Emma may have even taken her ingenuous question at face value. "I mean, that's all kinds of badass, right there. Someone that powerful, there'd be no question of whether she's worth bringing into the Real Thing. She'd be a real asset to the team."

"We are not bringing Hebert onto the team!" To her credit, Sophia kept her voice down, but with that level of intensity, Emma had to wonder about her blood pressure. "It's not going to happen! It goes against the whole plan! She needs to get fucked up so hard she never recovers! So when we tell Armsmaster we're pretty sure it's her—"

"We can't." Emma had been thinking about this, and a few other things. If Sophia wasn't her friend, Emma would be wondering about her mental balance right now. But the other thing she'd been considering was whether the plan Sophia had hijacked from Madison could still be carried through, or if she even wanted to.

Sophia swung toward her. "What do you mean, we can't? We just tell them she's got powers—"

"We don't officially know that," Emma interrupted. "We told Blackwell we tore the lockers open. We can't even say we saw her using powers elsewhere in school, because we're not supposed to be attending there." She raised a finger. "Worse, you made us—the Real Thing—look stupid when you took the padlock off her door."

"It was a joke," Sophia muttered sullenly, evidently unused to being called to account for her actions. "That way, people see her like a hysterical idiot and don't listen to her. Like what happened with Blackwell."

"And it makes me look like a trigger-happy idiot who doesn't look before destroying property," Madison observed sarcastically. "Well done."

As Sophia was about to retort, Madison held up her hand for silence. Sophia looked less than thrilled, but she complied. A moment later, Velocity zipped around the corner of the rubble and came to a halt in front of them. "The Real Thing, right? Armsmaster sent me to get you. BBPD and PRT are on site."

Emma nodded. "That's us. Does he need us any more? Because we had some patrolling to do if he didn't."

"One second." Velocity put his hand to his ear and had a brief murmured conversation, then looked up. "No, you should be good to leave. He said to commend you again for responding so promptly."

"Tell him the Protectorate gives us a good example to follow. And that I still think his halberd is too fragile." Madison paused as Velocity looked confused. "Don't worry, he'll get it."

"... right." Velocity shook his head and chuckled. "Tinker humour." He stood and watched as they trooped away.

Once they were at the far perimeter of the sports field, Emma turned to look at the others. "I'm heading home to bed, but we're going to need to have a talk sometime about the padlock thing, and the arrows."

"Geez," Sophia groaned. "Can't you just let done be done?"

"Blindsiding the rest of us is not cool. Teams don't do that." Emma put all the authority into the words that she could, and was rewarded with a blink of surprise. "Also, we're going to be stepping back on the Taylor stuff, at least until we know where we are with it."

"Wait, what?" Predictably, Sophia was the one who protested. "No. We do not go easy on her. Now that Winslow's trashed, she gets to transfer to Arcadia, and she does not deserve to go there! It's up to us to make sure she knows her place."

"Sophia." Emma shook her head. "Let it go. She's not worth getting so worked up over. We're stepping back, getting some focus in the matter. This isn't an argument, this is me telling you."

Sophia glared at her. "I'm team leader! You don't give me orders!"

Emma spoke softly. "I challenge for leadership. Name your contest."

She'd been willing to let Sophia bluster, but this was getting out of hand. Even if she never intended to be Taylor's friend again (unfortunately, she'd instigated far too many bad interactions for that to be likely) she'd lost sight of why she was expending so much effort to 'get' Taylor, once and for all. Madison was showing signs of thinking the same way, but Sophia was fixated as ever. Emma had tried making a firm request, but Sophia just dug her heels in.

So now it had come to this.

Behind Sophia's hockey mask, Emma could see her eyes flicking back and forth, trying to come up with a contest she could win. Emma was smarter, with better grades, and (thanks to her powers) had outmatched Sophia every time they'd gone against each other physically.

Madison broke the deadlock. "Voice vote, here and now. Sophia, your vote is for you. Emma, are you voting for yourself?"

"I am," Emma acknowledged.

"I've got the tie-breaker, then." Madison barely paused. "I vote for Emma. She's the team leader."

"You can't do that!" Sophia's voice was an outraged squawk.

"We just did." Emma felt tired. It was an emotional weariness, knowing a friendship was likely coming to an end. But friends were also supposed to support one another's decisions, weren't they? "We're leaving Taylor alone until we can sort this out. Got it?"

Sophia didn't answer, but neither did she argue. Emma decided that was the best she'd get.

"Good. I'll see you in the morning."

Turning, she picked a direction and set out across the city in the general direction of her home. It would take her about half an hour to get there, but that was okay. She needed the time to think.

<><>​

Sunday Morning
PRT Building ENE
Deputy Director's Office

Armsmaster

Deputy Director Renick leaned his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. "The Winslow incident. Give me the highlights."

"Yes, sir." Colin settled into his reinforced chair, and paused to collect his thoughts. "At just before eleven PM last night, the PRT building and Protectorate HQ both registered a seismic event and an audible sonic pulse, sounding very much like two bombs had gone off in quick succession. When I arrived on the scene, the only other heroes on site were the Real Thing. I've encountered them before. For younger heroes, they're quite professional. Shadow Stalker was searching for anyone caught in the rubble, but I advised her to withdraw as there was no indication of anyone within. I then had them watch the perimeter while I set up my analysis equipment."

Renick nodded. "What was the result of your analysis?"

"Bear with me on this one, sir." Colin took a deep breath. "The entire school building, however many thousands of tons of brick and concrete, was torn bodily off its foundations, lifted to a height of maybe ten to fifteen feet, then allowed to fall straight back down again."

"Good God." Renick stared at him. "The entire school was lifted? It wasn't a bomb?"

"Our initial thoughts were that it was a bombing incident, but all the evidence says otherwise." Colin felt secure in saying that. Dragon had been happy to check his conclusions, and had backed them up all the way.

Renick took his glasses off and polished them with his tie, then replaced them. "I'll take your word for it, then. Next question: who? Who could do something like that, and why do it to a third-rate high school?"

"We're still working on narrowing down the culprit, sir." Colin grimaced. There was a huge suspect pool. "As for the why, I suspect it's quite simple. The culprit is likely to be a present or past student of Winslow itself . We've dug down to the principal's office, and we have the student roster to draw on, as well as the staff. Unfortunately, as with all high schools, there were students getting into trouble for doing almost anything you can imagine, and a few things I wish I hadn't. I'm even trying to cross-reference previous attendance with capes possessing powers capable of doing that. No luck so far."

"Understood." Renick rubbed his lower lip. "How many capes out there can do something like this? Maybe there's a lead there."

"We're looking into that too, sir." Colin spoke respectfully. "There's rumoured to be a cape in India who can teleport mountains into the stratosphere. I doubt he's involved. Closer to home, we have Shuffle and Annex in Chicago, who could theoretically do this. But as far as I know, neither one has ever set foot in Brockton Bay. In the city itself ... well, I'm aiming toward Tinkers. Straight Brutes can't lift buildings, because they break. But if someone could construct a powerful enough tractor beam ..."

Renick nodded. "I see where you're headed with this. Do you have one in mind?"

"One or two." Colin grimaced. "Maybe Leet. If I can find a computer game that involves stealing buildings wholesale, I'll see about asking him some questions. As for the other one ... well, Blockade of the Real Thing is a new cape on the scene, and he builds extremely over-engineered tech. If anyone could construct a tractor beam like that, he could." He paused as a memory triggered. "And as I recall, there was a report of the Real Thing being involved in some sort of incident within Winslow itself, just a few days ago. Rescuing a bullying victim. And they were first on the scene, last night."

Renick's eyebrows rose. "That sounds like a connection to me."

"It does, doesn't it, sir?" Colin stood. "I'd be very interested in finding out if he is—or was—a student there."

"Keep me posted." Renick gave Colin a vague sort of wave as he headed for the door.

"Will do, sir."



End of Part Twelve

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Thirteen: Talking It Out

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

Hebert Household
Saturday Night
September 11, 2010

Danny Hebert

Krk-boom.

Th-BOOM.

The first thing Danny experienced was the shockwaves travelling through the ground. Moving at a much greater pace than the soundwaves, they shook the house sufficiently that the windows rattled and he felt the double impact through his bed. That stirred him from his sleep, just in time for the sound to get there and wake him up entirely.

Sitting up by instinct, he fumbled for his glasses. Once, many years ago, he'd been on an excursion to LA, on the other side of the country. A mild quake had rumbled through and he'd been told in a matter-of-fact way to shelter under a door-frame until any aftershocks had finished. The quake had felt very much like this, which was why he was getting out of bed before his brain had properly woken up.

It took the three steps to the bedroom door before his thoughts finally kicked in, and he realized it wasn't a quake and he didn't need to shelter from anything. This was a relief; in his semi-somnolent state, he may have stood under his doorframe for half the night before wondering why there were no more shakes. He didn't know exactly what it was, but night-time explosions weren't a totally unknown phenomenon, especially with Lung and Squealer in the same town.

"Taylor," he murmured. She may have been awoken by the noises and not known what was going on. Or they might not have made her even stir. Teenagers were famous for being able to sleep through the most outrageous of disturbances. I'll just check anyway.

After going back for his slippers (the floorboards were cold at night, this time of year) he trod his way along the hallway to Taylor's door. Rapping very gently with his knuckles, he called out softly, "Taylor? Did that wake you up?"

Either she hadn't answered, or she'd spoken too softly for him to hear. He suspected the former, but he cracked the door open anyway … and stopped. Even with the moon down, enough light spilled in through the window from a nearby street-light that he was able to see something very important.

The covers were pulled back, and the bed was empty.

"Taylor?" he said again, this time out loud. Reflexively, he turned the bedroom light on, then squinted against the glare until he could see. It wasn't a large room, and she wasn't anywhere in it, even under the bed or in the closet. His voice rose in concern. "Taylor, where are you?"

Turning the hallway light on as well, he hurried back along to the bathroom. The door was open, but he spent a moment checking inside anyway. She wasn't there either. What's going on? Where is she?

The thought struck him that she may have gone downstairs for whatever reason, and fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the TV. His heart in his mouth, he headed down the steps and through the entrance hall into the living room.

The TV was off, the sofa empty. When he checked through into the kitchen, she was likewise not there.

Did she go for a walk in the middle of the night?

Beginning to really worry now, he checked the back door. It was still locked, the key hanging on its hook. The front door was a little more modern, not requiring a key to open up from the inside; he unlocked it and went out on the tiny stoop, peering up and down the street. No familiar figure caught his eye.

Re-locking the door, he went back along the entrance hall, checked the space under the stairs, then on into the kitchen. The basement was the last place he hadn't checked. He had no idea why she might be down there, but there was nowhere else he could think to look.

Even with the lights on in the rest of the house, the basement was nearly pitch-black; the grimy windows high up on the wall provided minimal illumination at the best of times. Reaching up, he pulled the cord to turn on the single yellowing bulb in the centre of the ceiling. At first glance, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he wasn't going to take anything for granted. If she was still in the house, she was here. There was nowhere else she could be.

And if she wasn't still in the house … well, he'd deal with that when he came to it.

Descending the stairs, he searched the shadows cast by the bulb. There was nobody under the workbench, or alongside the dryer. Under the stairs, where he kept his big toolbox, there was likewise a total lack of Taylor. However, he did find something so weird that he had to look twice. Specifically, a hole in the concrete wall, about the width of his fist, that had been smashed all the way through into the dirt.

How and why this hole had come to be, and what he needed to do about it, could wait for another day. Taylor wasn't in the house. Where she was, he didn't know, but he was certain about one thing.

Too many times in the past he'd failed her as a father, but this time he wasn't going to shirk his duty. He was going to find her, whatever it took.

Climbing the stairs rapidly, he didn't bother turning the basement light out on the way. In his mind's eye, he was visualising what he needed to do. Get dressed, get the car, go looking for Taylor. The thought crossed his mind that he needed to contact the police and report her as a missing child, but he decided not to take that step until he'd gone looking himself. She may well have decided to go and sit in the playground for awhile, to think matters over. I'll look there first.

Now that he had a goal in mind, his thoughts were steadier as he strode through the living room on the way to the stairs. He still intended to yell at her for leaving the house in the middle of the night, and maybe ground her for the two weeks she was suspended for, but no more than that. They were just getting to know each other again as father and daughter, and he didn't want to accidentally estrange her all over again.

Grabbing the nearest shirt and jacket out of the closet, he pulled a pair of trousers on over his pyjama pants, then shoved his feet into a pair of slip-ons. The car keys sat on his bedside table; he scooped those up on the way to his bedroom door …

… then froze as he heard the sound of Taylor's window sliding open. Even from the other end of the corridor, he knew exactly what it was. Leaving his bedroom, he moved carefully down the corridor toward her half-open door.

Either Taylor had been out and about, and had somehow figured out how to climb up and down the side of the house, or someone else was breaking into the house in her absence. Whichever it was, there was no way in hell he was letting that fly. Easing up to the door-frame, he peered around into Taylor's bedroom.

With only the slightest of grunts, the intruder climbed up onto the windowsill, then performed a surprisingly acrobatic flip into the room, landing on their feet between the bed and the desk. "And the crowd goes wild …" he heard Taylor's voice murmur, with a self-conscious chuckle.

This was the perfect moment. Pushing the door open, he leaned against the door-frame with his arms folded. "Well, I can tell you this much; I'm not wildly thrilled with you sneaking out like this."

Taylor stared back at him, eyes wide. Instead of pyjamas, she wore a dark sweater and jeans; even if she hadn't been, her expression of guilt would've given her away. "Um, I can explain?"

<><>​

Ten Minutes Later
Downstairs

Taylor

Heaving a deep sigh, Taylor sipped from the mug of cocoa that he'd made her. "I'm not sure why I went out. Well, okay, scratch that. I know why I went out. To test my powers." To demonstrate, she formed the black and white protective covering over her finger, and stirred the still-hot drink. "But I didn't know what I was going to do until I got to Winslow."

Danny's head came up. "You went to Winslow?"

She grimaced. "Stupid, yeah, I know. All the way out there, I was brooding about how I didn't want to ever go back there again, but I didn't really think about how I wanted to make it not happen until I got there. I mean, I can punch through concrete but it would've taken forever to knock the place down."

"Punch through concrete." Danny raised his eyebrows as he repeated the phrase. "Like, say, the hole in the basement wall?"

She felt her face get hot. "That was an accident. I thought I'd maybe dent the wall a bit, or put a crack in it. I did not expect to go all Alexandria on it."

"No, no, I get that." Danny sipped at his own cocoa. "It's not something people would expect to be able to do right off the mark."

"I know, right?" She put the cocoa down and spread her hands. "Most capes seem to know what they can do with their powers, straight off the bat. I'm kind of stumbling along until I accidentally do something, and then it's like, wait, I can do that? And my power's like, well duh."

"That could definitely be a problem, yes." Danny raised his eyebrows slightly. "Seeing as you're not totally covered in brick dust, you didn't spend half an hour smashing Winslow to small concrete chunks. Which raises the next question. Is it still there?"

"Uhh … no." She put her two index fingers together. "Not … as such. Remember how I told you about the SUV and how I caught it?"

"I remember," he confirmed. She'd demonstrated with the table, holding it up with just two fingers from one end, and the look on his face had been classic. "Wait … did you …?"

She drew a deep breath before answering. "Yeah. I made sure nobody was inside, then I ripped the whole damn school off its foundations, tossed it about ten feet in the air, then let it fall back down. Turns out if you drop something the size of a school building that far, you bust its everything."

Danny's eyes glazed over for a second, then he shook his head. "I can't even imagine how much … no wonder I heard it from here. And the whole building's destroyed?"

"Totally." She set her jaw, as if defying him to chastise her over it. "And I'd do it again. That place has been nothing but a horror story for me from the start. It deserved to go."

"And what about the teachers and staff whose workplace just got annihilated?" he asked mildly. "You just took their livelihood away."

"Three-quarters of the teachers either chose to ignore the ongoing bullying, or actively enabled it," Taylor said bitterly. "It's not my fault they did their jobs so poorly I ended up with the ability to destroy the fucking cesspit, as well as the raging desire to do just that. And if they're good at their jobs, they can get work elsewhere."

"But—"

"No, Dad." Taylor cut his words off with a slash of her hand. "One way or another, I was never going back. It was this, or cut classes. And I didn't want to get you into trouble."

"What about the lawsuit?" he asked in a reasonable tone. "Once we find Winslow liable for all the damages we're able to squeeze out of them, a transfer to Arcadia has already been written in as part of the compensation deal."

"And how long are they going to draw it out, in the hope that we'd run out of money?" Taylor responded. "More than two weeks, I bet. And they might have tried treating me a lot nicer to maybe get me on side, but knowing those hell-bitches and knowing the Winslow teachers, they're more likely to throw me under the bus and support any attempt at framing me for things like drug possession or worse. Anything that weakens the case against them."

From the expression on his face, he wanted to argue, but had nothing to come back with. The phrase 'would they really go that far?' floated in the air, but drifted off again unsaid. Taylor was pretty damn sure they would.

"Well, then," he said quietly. "I can't say I totally agree with your methods, but you certainly solved the problem in front of you. I hope you don't have plans for a similar level of revenge against Emma or her friends?"

"No, actually," she reassured him. "I'm not going to say it hasn't crossed my mind from time to time, but at the end of the day, they're just not that important. The only place they could get to me, the only place they had any influence, was Winslow. I just took that away from them. I've already won, and they don't even know it." She took up the mug of cocoa and drank from it. "Now I can concentrate on being a superhero."

"Huh." Danny nodded. "You have a very good point there. Still, you are aware that if you ever pull that particular stunt again, the Winslow cold case is going to open up again faster than a jack-in-the-box on crack cocaine. So, cars yes. Buildings no."

"Oh, I get it, I get it." Taylor shook her head. "There's no other place I'd even be tempted to do it to. I mean, why would I?"

"Also a good point." He lowered his brows. "In other business, there is the matter of you sneaking out without telling me, and vandalising your school. I'm not going to alert the authorities, but this is going to result in a grounding, young lady."

"Um …" Somehow, Taylor had been hoping that he'd forgotten about this little aspect of matters. It seemed he hadn't. "How about a compromise?"

He leaned his elbows on the table and raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"I still need to keep up with my schoolwork," she explained. "So, I take the bus from here to the library, do my schoolwork for the day, then come straight home again. That way, I'm not alone in the house all day, and you know exactly where I am."

"Hmm." He studied her expression, his own features unreadable. She tried her best to look contrite. "No side trips to the movies, no strolls along the Boardwalk? Just to the library and back?"

"Totally," she agreed.

He cleared his throat and raised a finger. "And no going out as a superhero without clearing it with me first."

She started to agree then stopped herself when a thought occurred to her. "Um, I'd normally be down with that, but what if I'm going to or from the library and I see someone who needs help from a superhero? A mugging or purse snatching, or something like that?"

Danny grimaced. "That's … that could be a problem, yes." He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table.

"There's only one way out of it that I can see," Taylor said. "I'm going to need a phone."

His fingers ceased their drumming and he turned his head away, looking up into the corner of the room. Physically distancing himself from the concept.

"Dad," she said softly. "It's the only way." Leaning forward over the table, she put her hand on his wrist. "I've got a way to make the world a little less shitty now. There's no way I can go looking for a public phone when someone's getting hurt right in front of me. I promise I won't be stupid with it."

Muscles flexed under the line of his jaw. Slowly, he turned to look at her. "We'll talk about it in the morning." His tone was grudging, but she could read the subtext. He could see her points, but he didn't want to seem to be giving up without a struggle.

"Cool," she said. "And thanks."

"Not a problem. Good night."

"Night."

<><>​

Sunday Morning, 10:05 AM
Barnes Household

Firebird

Emma checked the peephole, then opened the door. "Hi, Mads," she said brightly before waving to Mr Clements, waiting in the car at the curb. He waved back and started the car moving.

"Hi yourself, Ems." Madison smiled, but it was the same reserved expression she'd taken to wearing over the last few weeks, and not the too-cute saccharine simper she'd been putting on for the queen bee set at school. Likewise, she was wearing overalls and a shirt, not the short-sleeve and short-skirt numbers that Emma could've sworn were her favourites. Even her hair was carelessly held back with a scrunchie, not meticulously arranged with a million little clips. "What's this about?"

"Come on in and I'll tell you." Emma glanced up and down the road, nodded in satisfaction at what she didn't see (specifically, Sophia), and stepped out of the way for Madison to come through. Pushing the door closed, she led the way to her room, via the kitchen where she snagged a couple of cans of soda and a plate of chopped fruit snacks.

Madison didn't say a word to begin with; she just followed along, accepting one of the soda cans and opening Emma's door for her when they got to their destination. But once they were inside and settled, with the door closed behind them, she gave Emma an analytical gaze. "Is this about last night, with Sophia? Because I notice she's not here."

"It is," Emma confirmed, unsurprised. Once Madison had given up the ditz act and started Tinkering, she'd shown herself to have a real brain in her head. "I'm worried about her. She's starting to act irrationally, especially when it comes to Taylor. Or am I seeing things that aren't there?"

"Hmm." Madison pulled a small screwdriver from a pocket in her overalls and started flipping it through her fingers like an illusionist's coin. "I think ... yes and no."

Emma rolled her eyes and took a drink from her soda. "Well, that was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Care to clarify your answer a bit?"

Madison chuckled darkly. "Sure. But answer me this one first. Why were we even bothering to fuck with Taylor in the first place? She's never done anything to me, and I've damn sure never had a complete conversation with her. I literally don't know her, but every time I've spoken to her, all I can remember is being a spiteful little bitch. How about you?"

"Um." Emma dipped a piece of sliced tomato in salt and ate it, mainly to gain time to answer. "Do you know, I'm not totally sure? I mean, she was my best friend. When she lost her mom, I was there for her. Aunt Annette was nearly as much a mom to me as Mom is. And she was getting better, she really was. But when the shit in the alley happened, and I met Sophia, it was like ... I dunno ... I'd been looking at life all wrong or something. Somehow along the way, I got the idea that if Taylor was strong, I had to push her down to get stronger, and then maybe she'd get stronger too and we'd all be friends ..." She trailed off, not entirely sure where she was going with that.

"So, total bullshit," Madison summed up.

Emma nodded. "Yeah, but I bought into it then." She squinted at Madison. "I don't recall you saying it was bullshit back when you had the idea to force-feed her the vial and make her into a villain."

"Like you said, I bought into it." Madison shook her head. "It was like I was a fucking cat and you and Sophia were waving a laser beam in front of me, saying 'let's torture this girl you don't know for shits and giggles', and I was just chasing that beam. I was so into it, it's scary."

"Yeah." Emma took another piece of tomato. "And now I feel like I've grown out of it, and you've grown out of it ..."

"... but Sophia's still feeding on her own bullshit," Madison concluded. "It's like getting powers gave us second thoughts about what we were putting Taylor through, but Sophia's still back where we started."

"Were we that bad?" asked Emma doubtfully. "I mean, really?" She'd seen the fervor in Sophia's eyes, and it had been like looking at a religious fanatic. Having that gleam in her own eyes was not something she was comfortable with.

"Yeah, really," Madison said firmly. "We were talking about framing Taylor for crimes until she got sent to the Birdcage, remember?"

"Oh, right. Wow. Crap." Emma scrubbed her hands over her face. "Okay, so if we were able to break free, how do we snap Sophia out of it? Because right now, she's guzzling the Kool-Aid straight from the pitcher."

"Um." Madison crunched a slice of apple. "She's our friend. One of us. A member of the Real Thing. Hell, she thought up the name. It might be a bit difficult to get her to sit down for an intervention since you kicked her out of the top spot—"

"I had a damn good reason for that, and you know it!" Emma snapped. "It's why we're here today! She was being irrational—"

"Hey, hey, chill," Madison said soothingly, patting the air. "For the record, I agree with what you're saying. She needed to hear that we weren't down to follow her every whim. The trouble is, if she's not willing to listen to reason, where do we go from there? How do we get through to her?"

"I'm not totally sure about that," Emma admitted. "But between us, we should be able to think of something."

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

Sophia had gotten barely any sleep the night before, but it didn't matter. The seething anger in her gut, and about five cups of coffee, made up for it. She'd survived more than one day at Winslow on less.

She wasn't even pissed anymore at whoever had fucked the school up. That was done and dusted. Once she had her arrows back, she couldn't give a flying fuck.

It didn't even piss her off so much that Emma and Madison had just hijacked the leadership of the Real Thing right out from under her. She'd been the natural leader! Who'd had powers for the longest? Her, that's who! But not even that was important anymore.

No, what really ground her gears was how Emma and Madison were both going soft on Hebert, right at the moment when she needed stepping on the hardest. Couldn't they see that the main purpose for creating the Real Thing had always been to fuck up Hebert's life and make sure she stayed down in the dirt where she belonged?

It was clear that she couldn't count on anyone else. It was up to her. She had to show everyone that Hebert was a dangerous cape, even if she wasn't really (Hebert? Dangerous? Don't make me laugh) so Emma and Madison would come back around and the Real Thing would have a PRT-approved reason for kicking Hebert's ass up one side and down the other.

I'll make them understand. I'll be the big damn hero.

Just you wait and see.



End of Part Thirteen

 

[Ack]

Okay.

You know how Legend is out and Hero is still alive?

Cauldron is a lighter, fluffier version of itself.

It's not pulling the same "parahuman feudal experiment" with BB. Winslow is still shit, because Winslow is shit, but the rest of the city has the resources to absorb the people from Winslow.

The teachers* will find other jobs. So will the staff. The students will be placed with other schools.

For most of them, yes, it will be an inconvenience, but only an inconvenience. "Well, okay, no vacation this year."


*Except those found liable by the lawsuit. They're screwed.

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Fourteen: Adding Fuel to the Fire

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

[A/N 2: I was going to leave this chapter for next month, but I decided to write it now, to cover points that have been raised by some readers.]


Sunday, September 12, 2010
11:51 AM

Firebird

"So you left it in the park like we arranged, right?" Emma kept her tone light as she strolled along the sidewalk with Madison. She'd learned a long time ago that if she smiled and acted as though she were saying nothing of consequence, people ignored the actual content of her words.

"Yeah, the one just up ahead." Madison gestured with a nod. "I built a basic camouflage kit into it. It takes note of the general area and disguises itself as whatever best suits the surroundings, according to the algorithm."

"Neat." Emma grinned. "I contacted Sophia and told her to meet us there. What's the bet she shows up in costume?"

Madison shook her head. "No bet. She loves being Stalker more than anything." She paused. "Well, no. She loves winning more than anything. But for her, being Stalker and kicking ass is the ultimate win condition."

"You might have something there." Emma wrinkled her nose as she considered the idea. "Maybe—"

Before she could expand on her thoughts any further, the burner phone she'd acquired for use as Firebird rang. Pulling it from its pouch, she saw the name on the caller ID display and rolled her eyes. "Hey, Soph," she said. "There already?"

"Well, duh," Sophia replied. "Waiting for you slowpokes to show up. Crime's not gonna kick itself in the teeth, you know."

"We'll get there when we get there," Emma told her. "Just a couple of minutes away. Many people in the park?"

"A few." Sophia paused. "I thought Mads was leaving her suit here. If we have to go all the way back to her place, I swear—"

"Chill," Emma said, cutting her off. "She says it's there."

There was another pause. "Well, I can't see the fuckin' thing."

Emma turned to Madison. "She says she can't see it."

"Tell her she's blind." The petite girl's tone was as deadpan as her expression.

"I fuckin' heard that!" Sophia sounded actually pissed at that.

Not wanting to be part of a three-way argument, Emma hastily said, "See you when we get there," and ended the call. As she shoved the phone back into her pocket, she gave Madison a half-disbelieving glare. "What the fuck? You know she's already pissed off in general. Why are you poking her like that?"

Madison shrugged. "I'm tired of walking on eggshells every time she decides to get a wild hair up her ass about nothing at all. And we both know what it's ultimately about. Maybe I just want to confront her with it, and make her see how stupid she's being."

"I'm not sure that's the right way to go about it," Emma said.

"Well, what is the right way?"

Emma didn't know, not for sure. But she knew what wouldn't work. "Don't hit her with it head-on. If she gets the chance to dig her heels in, she will." Somewhere at the back of her mind, she was certain that she would've reacted the same way herself if confronted with an inconvenient truth, before she'd had her recent epiphany.

"So what, I sneak up on her with it?" asked Madison sarcastically. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Not sure." Emma considered what would work on her, then tried to imagine the same approach when applied to Sophia. As she and Madison had already discussed, Sophia's thought processes weren't the most rational these days, especially when it came to doubling down on Taylor's 'punishment' for … well, apparently for just being Taylor. "Maybe … pose a hypothetical and when she agrees to one thing, show her how Taylor's a parallel case?"

Madison tilted her head to give Emma a skeptical glance. "You have met Sophia, right? If she's in an argumentative mood, she'll deny that water's wet and the sky is blue. Just so she can be right."

Emma sighed. Madison wasn't wrong. "Just don't go at her head-on. That'll make her react the worst."

"Not giving me a huge number of options to work with, here. Just saying."

They turned the corner into the park and Emma hitched the backpack on her shoulder, her eyes scanning the trees and landscaping for two things. First; their third teammate. Second; inconvenient witnesses.

"Found her," she murmured, barely moving her lips.

"Okay, where?" asked Madison, equally quietly.

"In that … not sure what that tree is … third to the right, the one with the electrical junction box under it." Emma knew damn well that before she'd taken the vial, her eyes would never have picked out the shadowy form perched in the tree. Now, it was like her brain delighted in pointing out such things to her.

"Ah. Got it." Madison huffed a chuckle; Emma wasn't sure why. "Let's go say hi."

Emma glanced from side to side again. As Sophia had mentioned, there weren't many people in the park. If she stood on that side of the tree Sophia was lurking in, she could effect a quick change before people noticed. It was as good a plan as any. "So where's your suit?"

"You'll see." Madison chuckled again.

They converged under the tree; Emma moved around until she was covered from all avenues of observation, then opened her backpack and took out her helmet. Once that was on, she wasted no time in removing her outer clothing, which of course concealed her costume, and attaching the accoutrements that made her into Firebird. She'd practiced enough in the privacy of her room that she could manage it in under thirty seconds now.

There was a rustle of leaves, then Sophia dropped down on top of the junction box. "Took your own sweet time."

"Dad dropped me off at Emma's." Madison's tone was matter of fact. "We walked."

Sophia blew a raspberry. "And left your suit at home, right? So now we gotta backtrack."

"No." Madison tilted her head as if querying Sophia's statement. "What makes you think I left it at home?"

"Well, you're for sure not wearing it, and I can't see it anywhere around here," Sophia averred. "Unless you sank it in the lake. Which if you did that, I'm not helping you get it out."

Madison sighed and placed her hand on the side of the electrical junction box. "Activate."

"The fuck?" Sophia leaped sideways as the 'junction box' shed its holographic camouflage and began to unfold into the Blockade Mark 2 armour. "How the hell did you—?"

Emma was almost as surprised, but the hints Madison had dropped had prepared her. "Nice one. That auto-camouflage is really paying off."

Madison climbed into the armour and then set it to assuming its full form. "I thought so."

"Ha ha, very funny." Sophia stalked up to them. "Got me good. Can we fuckin' go on patrol, already?"

"Absolutely," Emma agreed. "I was thinking—"

For the second time in ten minutes, her burner phone rang. This time had her puzzled; she didn't think Madison would be prank-calling her from inside the armour, and Sophia was right there. Frowning, she pulled the phone from its pouch.

When she saw the name on the caller ID, her confusion increased. Why's Armsmaster calling me?

"Hello?" she said, after swiping to answer and putting it on speaker.

"Hello. I presume I'm talking to Firebird?" It was definitely Armsmaster's voice. Had there been a break in the Winslow case?

"That's me," she confirmed. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes. There is. It has to do with Shadow Stalker. Are you able to get in contact with her?"

She glanced at Sophia. "Yes. What's the problem?"

At the same time, Sophia's eyes opened wide behind the hockey mask and she made frantic negatory gestures. Emma realised why, a moment later. Shit, the arrows.

She still wasn't sure what to do about that. Sophia had broken the law, possibly murdered people with those arrows. But at that time, Emma hadn't known. If I'd known, would I have cared? She suspected not. The trauma from her encounter in the alley with the ABB had still been sharp in her mind at the time.

Intellectually, she knew, Sophia should turn herself in and accept whatever punishment was coming to her for that. With the stories Emma had heard passed around between her father and his work colleagues, if Sophia went in front of a vigilante-friendly judge, she'd only get a slap on the wrist, maybe some juvey time, and be out on the streets again in a few months. But this wasn't an intellectual exercise anymore. This was real life. And Sophia Hess never surrendered for any reason.

"I did a deeper investigation into the wreckage of Winslow after you left," Armsmaster stated. "I found something quite concerning." Emma glanced at Sophia. Here it came. "Winslow is an older building—was an older building—and standards were quite lax when it was constructed. I found worrying amounts of asbestos floating in particulate form in the general vicinity. It's now being misted down, preparatory to either being encased in concrete or dug all the way out, but Shadow Stalker went into the wreckage in her shadow form. There's a strong chance that she accumulated some particulates in her body, which could cause adverse reactions in the future. I strongly suggest that she seek a medical prognosis, or book some time with Panacea, as soon as she is able."

Wait, what? "Asbestos?" Emma had to repeat the word to make sure of it. "Are you certain?" This wasn't about the arrows at all?

"One hundred percent," he replied. "Kindly pass the word on to Shadow Stalker as soon as possible, if you can."

"I'll make certain to do that," she confirmed. "Thanks for letting us know."

"You're welcome." He ended the call.

"Asbestos?" Madison's tone was bemused. "I didn't even think of that. Huh."

"Ass-bullshit, if you ask me," Sophia retorted. "I feel fine."

"No, no." Emma held up her hand in a 'stop' gesture. "The more I think about it, the more likely it seems there was asbestos in that building. Getting it into your lungs, getting it into your everything, is a really, really bad thing. Asbestos is basically a rock, and the particles are sharp and jagged, so if you get it into your lungs, it'll cause scarring and shortness of breath. That's literally what they call asbestosis."

Sophia shook her head. "I feel fine. There's nothing to worry about."

Jesus Christ, it's like talking to a brick wall. Emma appreciated Sophia's hard-charging attitude when they were fighting bad guys, but her utter lack of give at any other time was really starting to grate. "No, it can get serious. It might take years to kick in, but you could end up wheezing like a ten-packs-a-day person."

"Years? I'm good then." Sophia waved a hand dismissively. "When the time comes, I'll get Panacea or someone to fix the scarring, and I'll be fine."

"Asbestosis isn't the only thing that can happen." It was time for one last try. "Did you know you can also get cancer from it?" She couldn't remember the word exactly, but it started with 'metho', and that was as far as she could get.

Sophia snorted. "In your dreams, maybe."

"Fuck, will you take this seriously?" Emma wanted to run her hands through her hair. Or punch Sophia. One of the two. "Most of your vital organs have a protective layer of cells over them. I can't remember what they're called, but if asbestos gets into those, it can cause them to go cancerous. It's sneaky as fuck."

"And if anyone could get asbestos all the way into those cells, it's you," Madison added helpfully.

"No. No, no, no." Sophia shook her head. "I can't get cancer that way. I go through old buildings all the time. They've gotta have asbestos all over, and mold and shit. I've never had any problems before."

"Have you ever gone through a collapsed older building, where the asbestos is floating around as particulates instead of in solid form, and have you ever gone semi-solid in those buildings to grab stuff, like arrows?" Emma raised her eyebrows behind her visor.

From the look Sophia gave her, the answer was 'no'. Unfortunately, the attitude was also 'no'. "Where are you getting all this shit from, anyway? Last I heard, you were a kick-ass type, not a medic type."

"You pick up stuff," Emma said. "I used to spend a lot of time sitting around with Taylor, listening to the Dockworkers talk about work hazards. Her dad was very vocal about it."

"Well, that explains it." Sophia rolled her eyes. "He's a Hebert, so he's full of shit. That was all probably just him making up ways for the union to gouge more money out of anyone they work for. C'mon, we've wasted enough time. Let's go find some asses to kick."

"But—" Emma cut herself off as Sophia turned away. This discussion was over, but maybe she could raise it again at another time. It was possible that Madison had a point; if they could snap Sophia out of her irrational hatred for Taylor, perhaps they could make her see reason on this aspect as well.

Sophia was their friend. It was their duty to try.

<><>​

In the Car
12:15 PM

Taylor

"I can't believe Mr Sacke agreed to see us on a Sunday," Taylor observed as they made their way through weekend traffic toward the offices of GS&T. "I can't even believe they're open on a Sunday."

"Quite a few lawyers are," Danny said. "And he agreed to see us on short notice because what's happened to Winslow is likely to affect the case in some way."

Taylor blinked, the realisation stealing over her that maybe she might have gone a little too far. "Shit. Have I just lost us the case?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it. Mainly because if that was the case, he could've told us over the phone instead of getting us to come all the way into his office to give us the bad news. With any luck, it just means we have to readjust some aspects of the case. After all, they still fell down on the job in a major fashion. The presence or absence of an actual school building doesn't actually change that."

"Right." She essayed a weak chuckle. "So, I guess it's a good thing I didn't do it in the middle of the school day. Because it's hard to sue someone who's dead."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." He cleared his throat. "But getting back to the subject of you destroying the school, and sneaking out in general …" he heaved a deep sigh. "We do need to talk about that. You were incredibly irresponsible, and I'm not sure you understand just how much trouble you could be in right now if things had gone differently."

She stared at him. Up until this point, he'd been almost light-hearted about the whole thing. Now, it seemed, the other shoe was dropping. "Umm … I thought you weren't angry?"

"Oh, I was." He kept his eyes on the road, and the tone of his voice never changed, but the steering wheel creaked under his grip. "But last night, when I first saw you, the main thing I felt was relief. Relief that you were alive, relief that you'd come back safely, relief that you'd come back at all. Before that point, when I was tearing the house apart and you weren't there, it was like I'd lost Anne-Rose all over again."

Taylor felt a lump growing in her throat. She recalled, back in the darkest times, seeing her father wander aimlessly from room to room. At the time, she hadn't known what he was doing, but now she did. He was looking for Mom.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You didn't know." His voice was rough. "Yeah, I get it. But when I saw you come in through the window, it was like you'd been dead and you were alive again, and all I could think for a moment was thank you, God." He paused for a moment, to pull out and pass another car. "But after that moment, the anger came in. I wanted to yell at you so badly, but two things stopped me."

"Two things?" She asked it quietly.

"Yeah. First, we just got back in touch with each other. We are making progress. We're talking, you're smiling, and we are on track to taking Winslow to the cleaners." He heaved a deep sigh, hands still gripping the wheel. "I was terrified of turning that around, that you'd pull all the way back into your shell again."

"Oh. Wow." Taylor hadn't considered it that way before. The fact that her father thought getting a smile out of her was important progress … how far down did I go?

"Mm-hmm." He slowed for a stop at the lights. "And then there's your powers. Once you explained those to me, I knew I had to be even more careful not to start an argument that would leave you angry and resentful."

"What?" She stared at him. "I'd never hurt you!"

He blinked in confusion. "What? No, I didn't mean that. I just … well, we were both getting tired, and that's when tempers are most likely to fray. If you got upset and decided to storm out, there's no way in hell I could stop you. You could literally walk out through the wall. I didn't want you leaving the discussion angry. So I held it in, conceded points where it didn't matter anymore, and guilted you where it did. You're more important to me than Winslow."

"Oh." This was a new side to her father. She'd heard of his negotiating prowess before, on behalf of the Dockworkers, but it was the first time he'd used it on her. "And what was the second thing?"

He sighed, and looked tired all of a sudden. "My father had a temper, too. He used to yell at me and Mom over the most trivial things. I felt the rough side of his hand more than once, growing up. When you were born, I swore that I'd never yell at you like that, or strike you. That's why I always left the discipline to your mother."

She'd heard about her grandfather's temper, of course, but she hadn't known the other bit. "Okay, but just because I didn't go to bed angry, that doesn't mean that …" Frowning, she tried to untangle the rest of the sentence in her head. "I mean, did you?"

Wordlessly, he lifted his hand off the wheel and showed her his palm. Four tiny bruises marred his skin, right where his nails would've been digging in. "I was furious. But there's a time to push for concessions, and a time to give ground. You were still there in the morning, so I figure I made the right call."

Taylor bit her lip. Her father had spent the night in seething anger, and it was all her fault. "I'll … I'll, uh, try to do better. And I really do promise to tell you if I'm going to go and do superhero stuff."

"And I appreciate it," he said. His smile, though a little pained, was genuine. "I'm likely to stumble a bit, too. I'm not used to being the dad of a superhero."

Wow, she thought as he found a parking spot and pulled over. I've wrecked a car and a school, and he's still got faith in me to be a hero. It put a warm feeling in her chest that refused to go away.

<><>​

The Offices of GS&T, Attorneys at Law

Danny

The front page of the paper showed an impressive heap of rubble, being sprayed down by fire department trucks, under the caption SCHOOL'S OUT. In the foreground was the partial sign, reading SLOW HIGH. Mr Sacke spread his hands, smoothing it down, then looked up at Danny and Taylor.

"An interesting development," he noted. "It does make certain aspects of our case more complicated, but I can't see a problem with pushing through the individual charges of negligence against all staff members who stood by and allowed the bullying to take place. The school officials can of course claim that any and all paperwork pertaining to this has been destroyed, but that's merely a speedbump. You have your evidence and your testimony, and the fact that someone appears to have demolished the school in one night can be used to prove that you are not the only ones who have a problem with it."

Danny cleared his throat. Despite his confident statements to Taylor earlier, it was a relief to hear his thoughts borne out. "So, we'll be going ahead as planned?"

"Mostly, yes," agreed Mr Sacke. "There will inevitably be a police investigation to determine whether you had any hand in the demolition, being people with a stated grudge against the school, but I'm certain that it will only be a formality." He paused, his tone becoming more serious. "Unless of course you did have a part in it, in which case the lawsuit will likely disappear without trace."

"Mr Sacke," Danny said firmly. "While I have some knowledge of handling explosives, I can categorically state that I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I was in bed when the school was demolished. It woke me up. As for Taylor, she's never been trained in their use. I doubt she'd know C-4 from blasting jelly."

Taylor shrugged. "It's true. I don't. Anyway, I heard the bangs too. Me and Dad went and had cocoa in the kitchen until we'd settled down, then we went back to bed."

"Good, good." Mr Sacke smiled. "I'll keep you apprised of the situation, then." Standing, he offered his hand. Danny and then Taylor shook it.

They were careful to not even look at each other until his office door had closed behind them.

<><>​

A Rooftop in Downtown

Firebird

"Blockade to Firebird, I think I've just spotted someone we both know." Madison's voice came over the radio earpiece quite clearly.

Emma was perching up high, keeping an eye out for pickpockets, purse snatchers and straight-up muggers, when the call came through. Sophia was across the street and down a ways, doing the same thing. Down at street level, Madison in the Blockade suit trod her way along the pavement, careful not to step on children and small pets.

"Copy that, Blockade," Emma replied crisply, wondering who she was talking about. "Give me a direction?"

"Sure. From where you are now … call it ten o'clock. Just coming out of a big office building, black shiny reflective windows. She's with a tall skinny guy. Her dad?"

"Wait one." From the description, Emma was almost certain she knew who Madison was referring to. Reaching down to her utility belt, she retrieved a small pair of binoculars. It was useless to try to get Madison to make a pair that didn't need both hands to use, so she was going with a basic commercial set for the moment.

Given the direction and the building, she flipped up her visor and held the binoculars to her eyes, panning over the people emerging from the building. This was where the lack of trade on a Sunday paid off; it only took her a few seconds to fix on the people Madison had spotted with her extra elevation.

"Wait." That was Sophia. "You're not telling me she's here? Right now?"

"Sure enough." Emma observed the pair of them through the binoculars a moment longer. Taylor was striding out, swinging her arms, not closing in on herself and shuffling along like Emma was used to seeing her do. That I made her do. The thought was intrusive, and she mentally waved it away. Yes, I know I did bad things. I've stopped doing them. I'm not that person anymore.

To give herself something else to think about, she turned her focus to Danny. It had been longer since she'd seen him; there were new wrinkles in his forehead, but he also seemed upbeat. She wondered who he'd been to see in that building.

"Well, she seems happy." Madison sounded like she was paralleling Emma's earlier line of thought. Her tone sounded relieved, which Emma could understand.

If Taylor was happy now, all they had to do to make things better was … nothing. Stepping beyond their self-realised awareness to act on the epiphany promised to be messy. Right now, they were doing good simply by not harming Taylor, and that was a good thing. Wasn't it?

"What? No." That was Sophia. "They can't … no." She sounded frustrated and angry. Emma began to wonder if they shouldn't have had the intervention before going on patrol.

"Shadow Stalker, this is an unsecure channel." Madison's voice was crisp and no-nonsense.

"Copy." It was a growl.

"Hey." For the first time, Madison sounded insecure. "I think … yeah, she just spotted me. Shit—!"

Emma froze as the slender figure darted onto the road. A horn blared and tyres screeched … far too late.

<><>​

Taylor

It was looking like a good day, after all. Sure, she was grounded for the next two weeks, but she hadn't totally messed things up by breaking Winslow like she had. Best of all, with the Federal relief money coming into the city—there was still a long way to go until they cleared the Boat Graveyard, but at least they were working on it—there would be enough for the surrounding schools to take on the overflow of teachers and staff from Winslow. The ones that the lawsuit didn't hammer into the ground, of course.

"So, home again?" she asked.

"Home again," he confirmed. "You worded your answer just right in there. Very sneaky. I'm thinking I might have to start being more careful about trusting what you say."

"Da-ad!" she protested laughingly, as he grinned at her. "I'm totally up front and transparent. No secrets at all, that's me."

"Mm-hmm." He gave her a very skeptical look. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Pfft." She raised her nose in the air and affected disdain. "You don't—" And then she saw, on the other side of the street, the huge bulky form of Blockade. All thoughts of playful banter fled as she realised that there was a witness to her being locked in the locker. If Blockade himself could attest to the fact that the locker had been actually locked when he tore the door off, that would make the case against Blackwell so much more airtight. "Hey!" she shouted. "Wait!"

Blockade seemed to turn and look straight at her for a moment … then kept moving.

No. No, no, no, no. Taylor didn't even stop to think; she ran straight out onto the road. What she didn't see was the pickup bearing down from her left. A horn blared, and its tyres shrieked as the driver stood on the brakes … far too late.

"No!" Danny was right there. He grabbed Taylor, swung around, and hurled her toward the curb. But he couldn't do that and get out of the way of the onrushing vehicle.

In the instant before impact, Taylor stopped. Grabbing his wrist, she latched on. Her power kicked in, turning him monochrome. The truck hit him, but the meaty crunch was more of a wooden thud. Still in her grasp, he went around in a semi-circle with her as the pivot point. At the same time, she hadn't moved quite far enough out of the way, so every panel on the entire right-hand side of the truck crumpled against her body or peeled off with an ear-piercing metallic shriek.

The truck juddered to a halt a good thirty feet onward. Its passenger-side panelling was wrecked, and the wing mirror was currently hanging off Taylor's shoulder. Plucking it off, she dropped it on the road, then let go Danny's hand. "Are you okay?" she asked.

<><>​

Danny

"… yes?" he asked rather than said, feeling his ribs. It felt like he'd just been shoulder-charged by a burly Dockworker, not hit by a moving truck. "How did that—?"

"I, uh, I guess, my power—" she began.

He looked around. "Move now, talk later," he said crisply. People were starting to point and ask questions, and he didn't want Taylor to be the subject of those questions.

"Right," she said, and all of a sudden she was wearing black shades over her glasses.

They hustled along the sidewalk, heading for the car. Nobody shouted from behind them. Nobody took a picture from in front of them. Heads down, eyes front, they kept moving. I see nothing, I hear nothing, I know nothing.

He got to the car first and unlocked it; they both got in and sat panting for a moment. Then they put their belts on and he started the car.

"Okay," he said quietly as they pulled out onto the road. "What the hell made you run out on the road like that?"

She grimaced and put her face in her hands. "Okay, yeah, that was a totally stupid thing to do. I wanted to talk to Blockade, and I didn't want him to get away."

"About the locker?"

She nodded. "About the locker."

He let out an aggravated sigh. "Okay. Christ, I thought you were just going to get run over. Don't do that to me!"

"I would've been fine," she protested. "My power would've saved me."

"And if that truck had come to a complete halt after wrapping its front end around you, the driver would likely have serious injuries, and you'd be totally outed right now," he snapped. "As it is, I don't know if we made a clean break or not. I thought you were going to be responsible with your powers!"

Silence fell in the car as he drove on steadily, careful to travel at exactly the speed limit. He wanted to say more, but didn't; it felt like he might have said too much already.

Eventually, Taylor let out a long breath. "I fucked up," she admitted quietly. "I didn't think. I acted first, and damaged that guy's pickup, and I could've gotten you killed. I'm sorry."

He nodded. "You could have, but you didn't. You saved my life." She'd admitted culpability, and it was time to give credit where credit was due. "Was that the ten-times-tougher thing?"

"Yeah." She sniffled. "I'm glad it worked. How are your ribs?"

"Like Kurt just picked me up and gave me a bear hug," he admitted. "Sore, but usable. And a lot better than they might've been."

"Good." She essayed a weak smile. "So, I'm still grounded, right?"

He snorted. "What do you think?"

"Just checking."

<><>​

Firebird

As the car drove off, Emma keyed her radio. "You guys saw that, didn't you?"

"Sure as hell." Madison sounded a little shell-shocked. "I thought he was street pizza for sure."

"What the fuck was that?" Sophia, on the other hand, sounded outraged. "How did she do that?"

"I don't know," Emma said. "But I want to find out." Whatever that was, it wasn't a weak destruction power. And she sure as shit didn't pass out afterward.

"Are you sure we don't want to recruit her?" Emma couldn't tell if Madison was being serious or not.

Apparently, neither could Sophia. "Fuck off."

"Suit yourself."



End of Part Fourteen

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Fifteen: Agreements and Confrontations

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


Taylor

The car ride home was quiet and introspective on both sides. Taylor didn't know what thoughts were going through her father's head, but she had enough of her own to worry about, given that her rash actions had come close to killing him, and had nearly wrecked the pickup. Was it wrong that she barely even considered the latter as a problem? If Dad hadn't been there and I'd been hit … would I have cared, or just kept going?

That was something to worry about. Just because I can wreck something, doesn't mean I should. Winslow being a prime example.

Not that she was about to regret the destruction of the school. Certainly, it had been a mostly impulsive act, but as far as she was concerned, it was entirely justified. If they'd wanted her to not destroy it, then they shouldn't have let people bully her in it to the point that she got powers.

Anyway, I didn't wreck it. It was in perfectly good condition until I let it go. Not my fault it couldn't stick the landing.

Just for a moment, she wished she could've seen Principal Blackwell's face when she saw the news. Or better yet, when she saw the rubble first-hand. Fuck her and the power trip she rode in on.

"Taylor?"

Jolted out of her reverie, she looked around. "Yeah, Dad?"

"I'm thinking perhaps it might not be a bad idea for us to work out some rules for you to follow when you do go out as a cape."

She blinked and stared at him, wondering how he'd managed to read her mind. For some reason, she'd assumed he was thinking 'Dad' thoughts, to do with paying bills and other boring adult business. Apparently not.

"Rules?" she asked cautiously. "What sort of rules?"

When she didn't shut him down entirely, he seemed to relax a little. "Well, basic ones, such as not breaking things that really don't need to be broken, like buildings. Oh, and cars, too. Throwing cars might be a superhero trope, but every car belongs to someone and it might be their sole means of getting to work. And also being careful when you're dealing with people. They're a lot more breakable than cars and buildings, even if they're bad guys."

That all seemed fairly straightforward. "Well, I wasn't about to go on a roaring rampage of destruction," she pointed out. "Or go around to Emma's house and punch her in the face."

"Good, good," he said agreeably. "Glad to see that's still the plan. Or not the plan, as the case may be."

"It's still a little bit annoying that Principal Blackwell's version of events says that I wasn't even locked in the locker." She thumped her head against the headrest. "It makes me look stupid, and might even weaken the lawsuit if their lawyer leans on it hard enough. That's why I wanted to talk to Blockade and get his side of things. I mean, if he fronts up and says, 'your honour, that locker was definitely locked when I tore it open', they've gotta pay attention, right?"

"Well, I know I'd pay attention if some guy in an eight-foot-tall power-suit testified to that sort of thing," Danny agreed. "It wasn't a bad plan. Your execution needed refining, was all."

She rolled her eyes. "I already said I was sorry for running out into traffic and nearly wrecking that guy's pickup."

"You did," agreed Danny. "But saying sorry to me doesn't pay for the thousands of dollars' worth of panel damage. Now, his insurance will probably cover it, especially as he wasn't breaking the road rules as far as I can tell. But he's still got to pay the excess, which is probably going to knock his finances around. Bottom line: you didn't totally wreck his life, but he is going to be affected by this for some time to come. If we can manage to avoid this as much as possible in future, that'll be a good thing."

Taylor thought about that. He was making some reasonable points, and he wasn't saying anything she could actually argue with. "I was half expecting you to say I needed to mow lawns or something until I'd earned the money to pay him back," she confessed.

"I could have led with that," he agreed. "But you're mature for your age, and you've acknowledged where you went wrong. Forcing you to perform punitive chores over and above the grounding wouldn't actually fix anything, and it would risk outing you as a parahuman. I'd prefer not to go down that road, thanks."

"Well, I'll definitely try not to do it again," she assured him.

He smiled. "I'd appreciate that. I don't have all that much hair left, and it can only take so much stress. However ..." He paused for a moment. "Have you thought about joining the Wards? Just as a suggestion?"

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that he had her welfare in mind, that it wasn't an attempt to shirk his responsibilities as a father. Also, he'd phrased it as a suggestion, not an ultimatum.

"Two reasons why not," she said. "First, once they did power testing and figured out that yes, it was me who improved Winslow's overall look considerably, they'd have us both over a barrel. I'm suspecting they'd take away all option for me to leave the Wards until they were done with me, or alternatively hit you with legal penalties until you agreed to sign me into the program for the foreseeable future. Also, I'm pretty sure that would sink the lawsuit for good."

He pursed his lips as he drove, tilting his head in a thoughtful manner. "That's a very good reason. What was your second one?"

She shrugged. "I just got out of one high school drama-filled hellhole. Going to Arcadia, I'm likely to encounter another, if not as horrific. Why would I voluntarily expose myself to a third one, this one with powers attached?"

"Ah. Good point." He nodded in agreement. "Wards, off the table. Understood."

"Good." She leaned back in her seat. "Thanks for being understanding."

"Hey," he said lightly. "I might not be the greatest dad in the world, but I'll always try to be there for you."

Closing her eyes, she smiled. "I know."

<><>​

An Inner-City Park

Firebird

"What the hell?" Still costumed up, as were Emma and Madison, Sophia glared at the both of them. "Why'd you wrap up the patrol?" She took a step closer to Emma, fists clenched. "Is this more bullshit about how you're the team leader now, so you get to give us stupid orders whenever you want?"

Emma knew damn well that trying to tell Sophia to calm down would invariably have the exact opposite result, so she did no such thing. Glancing around, she decided that the inevitable rubberneckers were too far away to hear what they were saying. Might as well just say it.

"Shadow Stalker," she said formally, "Blockade and I are concerned about you. We want to talk to you about things you've been doing and saying. Can we maybe go back to Blockade's workshop so we can chat out of costume?"

At that moment, she felt most strongly the lack of a classic superhero base. Having a location they could gather out of costume to talk frankly about cape matters without worrying about eavesdroppers was always a good thing. The closest thing they had in that regard was the abandoned warehouse Madison was using for her Tinkering, and that was somewhat lacking in creature comforts, not to mention uncomfortably warm when she was doing her good-steel pours.

"Why bother de-costuming?" Sophia snarked. "Pick a rooftop, any rooftop."

"That's not a good option for me." Madison wasn't protesting; she was stating a fact. Putting the ball back in Sophia's court. It wasn't that she couldn't get her suit up onto any given rooftop. The jump jets would see to that. The simple fact was, weighing in at four tons, she would be in danger of falling through any given rooftop, and they were all fully aware of it.

"Yeah?" Sophia gave the suit a derisive look. "Seems to me that's a 'you' problem, not a 'me' problem. If you could pull your head out of your butt long enough to build something lightweight, you wouldn't have this issue."

The bulky suit took a step forward. "You know that's not how my power works. Why are you being so difficult?"

Sophia twitched her head as though she were rolling her eyes behind the hockey mask. "Why are you being such pissy little snowflakes? You wanted to talk to me about Hebert, right?"

Emma looked around again. Their audience was still keeping its distance, but she couldn't guarantee that there weren't any high-tech microphones or Thinker powers being directed at them. "Her, yes," she conceded.

Sophia shrugged. "Then there's nothing to talk about. She's going down. We all know she's going down. You two weak sisters can wimp out all you like, but it's gonna happen."

"Okay, can we just take a step back here?" asked Madison. "Why? What's the endgame? What do you get out of this? What's the payoff?"

Sophia gave Madison's suit a look, her head-tilt expressing the puzzled surprise that Emma just knew Sophia was showing on her face. "Not sure what you're asking there, short stuff. I just told you what the payoff is. Hebert's going down."

"Yes, but why?" Emma tried to make the question sound as reasonable as possible. "What's the point?"

The expression Emma could see through the hockey mask now that Sophia was looking at her was reminiscent of a fifth grader trying to understand quantum theory; the words were all there, but she couldn't understand the order they'd been placed in. "What do you mean, why? The point of all this has always been to fuck with Hebert. But now she's happy, and she's got good powers, and she doesn't deserve any of that shit."

"But why doesn't she deserve it?" Madison was somehow able to tune her modulator to match Emma's reasonable tone. "We don't lose anything from it. We could just walk away. Be heroes. Leave her be."

"She doesn't deserve it, because she's Hebert," insisted Sophia, as though explaining how two plus two inevitably equalled four. "She deserves to be down in the dirt. We had her there. But we took our eye off the ball, and she got up again. She's pretending she's got a right to walk around with her head in the air, like she's better than everyone. She's acting like she deserves to have powers. Well, somebody needs to show her just how wrong she is, and that somebody is me."

This was getting nowhere. "You're too close to this," Emma said. "You're treating it like a zero-sum game, like her winning equals you losing. What if it wasn't like that? What if her success didn't affect you?"

Sophia shook her head. "You're not making any sense. Hebert is a loser. We're winners. We're strong. The strong belong on top. The weak deserve to be kept down. I thought I taught you that."

Emma hid a grimace as she remembered acting on those very words. Why did I even take that seriously? There was no way she would consider acting like that now.

"Bullshit." Fortunately, Madison had her exterior speakers turned to the lowest volume. "We're heroes. Heroes help everyone." She left the rest of it unspoken, but Emma heard it just fine: The ones who push people down are the villains.

It seemed Sophia had also heard the subtext, because she tilted her head slightly. "You really think we should back off on Hebert?"

Emma nodded, feeling a surge of hope. Holy shit, she's actually listening. "I really do. In fact, I think we should reconsider the whole thing. I mean, what's she ever done to us?"

"Also, if that power we saw was any indication, she's strong," Madison added helpfully. "Not weak at all. That makes her one of us instead of one of them, right?"

"… huh." Sophia rubbed her chin under the hockey mask. "Maybe we can back off for a bit until I've got this figured out." She raised a finger. "But she's not off the hook, not yet."

"That's all I ask." Emma let out her breath in a silent sigh of relief. It wasn't much, but it was a start. "Just think it over, okay?"

"I can do that." Sophia glanced from Madison to Emma and back again. "Still, we haven't kicked any ass today yet. How about we go find a Merchant drug den or something? I want to fuck up some deserving asshole's day."

"I can do one better than that." Madison sounded pleased with herself. "Pretty sure the Empire's going to be holding a dog-fighting ring tonight, somewhere. I'm thinking we find a foot-soldier and shake him down until he gives with the deets, then crash the party."

Sophia grinned. "Perfect."

As they prepared to leave the park, Emma looked up at the powersuit's glowing eyes and raised her eyebrows in silent query. Do you think that went well?

In response, the massive metal shoulders shifted up and down in a shrug. I dunno. Wait and see.

Sophia was their friend. They owed her that much.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin looked up from the latest iteration of his halberd as the screen over the workbench dinged with an incoming alert. He selected the ACCEPT option from his helmet HUD and leaned over the halberd again. "Yes?"

"Armsmaster, this is Lieutenant Harris. You asked to be copied in on any other incidents similar to the 'woman of stone' situation with Uber and Leet?"

"Yes, yes, I did. You have something?" He put the micro-probe down and straightened up to face the screen. The halberd could wait.

"We do. About thirty minutes ago, a woman and a man stepped into traffic in the Downtown area, right in front of a pickup truck. The driver was unable to avoid a collision. He hit the man square on, and the woman took a glancing blow."

"And the result?" Colin saw images incoming to his helmet, and blinked to accept them.

"The man bounced off his fender like a rubber ball, but the woman destroyed the panelling all the way down the side of the truck. It's like he scraped it past a telephone pole. What witness statements we have indicate that the woman didn't move at all."

"That fits, yes. Do we have any actual descriptions of the people involved?" Unconsciously, he leaned forward as he listened for the reply from the PRT officer on the screen. The photos opened up in his HUD, showing the wreckage of the side panels.

"Just a petite woman or a tall girl, and a taller man. They left the scene before anyone could get a name, or even take a picture. The driver said she had dark hair and was wearing white from head to toe, but none of the CCTV images we've been able to gather show anyone with that colour combination."

Colin thought back to the previous incident. That girl had been wearing white, too. The chances of it being the same one were getting better all the time. "Thank you anyway. Send me the final report, please. I'd appreciate it."

"Roger that, sir. Harris, out." The screen went blank again.

Thoughtfully, Colin put the images up on the screen and began to study them in detail. There was minimal damage shown to the pickup's fender, where the man had reportedly bounced off it, but Harris hadn't been overly exaggerating when he said the side-panels had been destroyed. Some had been torn off altogether, while others were just horribly bent inward. Even the wing-mirror had been ripped off and lay some distance behind the point where the pickup had stopped. That's probably where she was standing.

He went over the footage that had also been sent through but as Harris had noted, there were no girls in white showing up on it. There were a few with dark hair, and some tall men, but no white clothing in evidence.

Activating a second screen, he roughed out a 3D model of the street, then activated a program designed to place the various elements on it to recreate the scene. While he was working out the viewpoints shown by the various CCTV cameras, the first screen dinged again with a notification.

A witness has placed Blockade of The Real Thing almost directly across the road at the time of the incident – Harris.

That was definitely something. Leaving the computer to work out the final placement of the cameras, he called up the number Firebird had supplied as a contact. There was none for Blockade or even Shadow Stalker, but it would do for the moment.

Let's see what we have with this.

<><>​

Firebird

The bulk and heft of the Blockade armour might have made it difficult for Madison to get it into buildings with low ceilings, or onto rooftops, but it was tailor-made for intimidating the absolute fuck out of gangland lowlives. Emma knew the classic trope involved dangling them off rooftops until they spilled their guts, but some of these guys weighed a lot more than she did, and she didn't want to be faced with the choice of letting go or falling with them. She didn't want to accidentally kill them, after all.

Sophia had actually suggested something of the sort, only with two of them holding the guy, but somehow Emma suspected that wouldn't be nearly as scary. However, when Madison gripped the asshole's ankles with one metallic hand and hoisted him up until his head was dangling a good six feet off the grimy asphalt of the alleyway, he hastened to talk. Emma personally suspected it was the glowing red eyes and the robotic tone Madison affected that really loosened his tongue.

The location and time of the upcoming dogfight were just two of the details that they got from the babbling mook. Emma took note of the rest, because it was all useful data, but they could only deal with one thing at a time. After he ran dry, Madison began to lower him to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma noticed Sophia loading her crossbow.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed, moving so the guy wouldn't see what her teammate was up to. "He answered our questions!"

"And now he'll run straight to Kaiser and tell him what's going on!" Sophia whispered back. "I'll just nail him to the wall for a few hours."

"And the next guy'll refuse to talk to us altogether." Emma couldn't believe Sophia didn't get this. "Anyway, he won't say a word."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "And you know this how?"

Emma waited until fading footsteps heralded the exit of their interrogation target. "Because what idiot goes to the boss and says he's just spilled the beans on everything he knows about? Trust me; he saw nothing, he heard nothing, he said nothing. If he admits to speaking to us, he's dead."

The crossbow went away again, but Sophia gave Emma a dirty look. "I sure hope you're right about this. If we show up at that dogfight and find the whole Empire Eighty-Eight cape lineup waiting on us, it's gonna suck giant stinky elephant balls."

"Don't worry, Shadow Stalker," Madison jibed. "I'll protect you from those mean old Empire Eighty-Eight capes."

Just as Sophia gave the looming powersuit the finger, Emma's phone rang. "Hang on, I've got to take this." Stepping away from the other two, she pulled out her burner phone and looked at the number. It wasn't familiar to her, but she swiped the accept icon anyway. "Hello?"

"Hello, Firebird." She recognised the voice at once. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Armsmaster, hi," she replied, raising her voice slightly so her teammates could hear. "Sure. How can I help?"

"I was hoping to ask Blockade a few questions. There was a traffic accident on Leland Street about half an hour ago, and witness statements place him across the road at the time. Could you put him on?"

"We're currently out and about," Emma hedged, "but I can put the phone on speaker. One second." She tapped the appropriate icon, and gestured to Madison. "Blockade? It's for you."

"Blockade here," Madison said promptly. "What's the problem?"

"Did you witness a traffic accident on Leland Street half an hour ago? More specifically, did you happen to see who was involved?"

Sophia opened her mouth and Emma frowned, making a slashing cut-off motion with her free hand. She knew damn well what Sophia intended to say—Yeah, that was Taylor Hebert—and was quite willing to cut the call if she had to.

Madison, however, forestalled the danger by reaching down and wrapping her entire hand around Sophia's head, gagging her quite effectively. "Yes, I was in that location," she said as though nothing untoward were happening. "However, I was looking in a different direction when it happened. By the time I realised what was going on, I couldn't see who had caused it. The driver's airbags had functioned adequately and he was entirely unharmed, so I chose not to make a nuisance out of myself by blocking traffic."

There was a pause at the other end. "Ahh. Understood. Well, thank you for that."

Emma watched with mild bemusement as a wildly struggling Sophia went to smoke form and back again without managing to free herself. "Was there anything else we could help you with, Armsmaster?"

"No, that's it for the time being," he said with barely concealed disappointment. "Thank you for your time."

"You're welcome." She cut the call.

As Emma was putting her phone away, Madison released Sophia. "What the fuck?" blazed the ex-vigilante. "What did you do to your suit?"

"What do you mean, what did I do to it?" Madison managed to sound almost affronted. "My suit is working entirely within specs."

"I mean, I couldn't ghost through it!" Sophia glared at Madison, as though trying (and failing) to figure out how to kick the ass of an eight-foot-tall human-piloted robot. "How did you do that?"

"It's made from good steel," Madison explained patiently. "It doesn't let anything pass through it. I formulated it better than that."

"Steel doesn't work like that!" It was a screech of righteous outrage.

"Well, no. Steel doesn't. But good steel does." Madison's tone was as matter-of-fact as someone explaining that things fall down, water makes things wet, and the sky is occasionally blue.

"Argh!" Sophia kicked out at a stray tin can lying inoffensively nearby. It clattered and banged as it bounced off down the alleyway. "Tinkertech is such fucking bullshit!"

"No argument there." Emma made sure not to so much as crack a smile, no matter how funny she found it. "But how about we go after the Empire instead of each other?"

It was precisely the right thing to say. Sophia cracked her knuckles. "Let's fuckin' do that."

"Let's go kick ass and take names."

"Names?" asked Emma rhetorically. "Who needs their names?"



End of Part Fifteen

 

[Ack]

It might help to make this more explicit in the story. We're used to having the shards mess with people, but I can't think of any canon examples of capes becoming more sane as a result of getting powers, so it didn't occur to me that this was what was happening.

You may be thinking of Emma as getting balance, but I was thinking of it as just generic athleticism. You may be thinking of Madison as getting stability, but I was thinking of it as robustness-inflected Tinker powers.

Click to shrink...

Crossposted from SB:

Emma:

• The ability to express any purely physical skill to the maximum level of capability possible within her physical limits. She can also analyse what needs to be done.
• For example, if she needs to fight, she can fight to the limit of her own physical capability, and read an opponent's fighting stance and see what they're likely to do before they do.
• Likewise, she can handle any weapon and automatically make use of its options to its maximum possible capability.
• Her body has been pushed to its maximum physical capability (according to her age, weight and body size) in dexterity, strength, endurance and health, and will permanently stay there. As she ages and gains body mass, this will improve.
• Eyesight, hearing and other senses are now as good as they can be for her, and will stay that way. They will not deteriorate with age.
• She will automatically heal microfractures, concussions, minor cuts and bruises overnight, and will heal any nastier injuries as if receiving the very best possible medical care.
• Deeper cuts and broken bones will heal in days, not weeks.

Her whole attitude now is about balance and adaptation to new circumstances.

Madison:

• The innate knowledge of how to build forges and foundries and cutting devices, and operate them to create 'good steel' from common metals.
• The ability to Tinker up extremely durable devices (from good steel) and make them so they don't break or have egregious weak points.
• Her Tinker specialty is tied to 'durable and powerful but overly bulky' as opposed to building certain items. She can theoretically build anything, but she can't build it small or delicate, and she really needs to build it out of good steel. So, no plastic radio earbuds that pick up sound from half a km away (she can build a helmet that weighs 20 lb, can be used to headbutt Lung into submission, and will be able to listen in on Kaiser holding a meeting with the Empire 88 from all the way across town, but not the earbud).
• As a secondary power, she has more endurance and is much more resistant to heat exhaustion. She's also packed on some muscle, just from operating her forge.
• Finally, the basic knowledge of how to operate devices she builds for herself, such as her power armour or her weapons.

(Note that 'good steel' is equivalent to adamantium).

Her mental state is now about stability and reliability.

Taylor:

• Creates a black and white force field (she can manually adjust the pattern, or otherwise it looks like oil on water) that manifests within an inch of her body (including her hair, not including her clothing). Will go over clothing if it's under an inch thick and she wants it to, otherwise it will go under clothing.
• Force field is entirely impenetrable and can not be moved by any amount of force unless she wants it to. It will form automatically to protect her from harm, unless she doesn't want it to. New types of harm will be defended against, even if she is currently holding it off from another type. (She can't be feinted into dropping her shield against something irritating but harmless, then get hit by something that smooshes her).
• By touching something, she can extend a TK-like field around it, with a visible effect that makes it go monochrome, gives it 10x durability and internal integrity, and makes it massless with regard to her (negating all weight and inertia as far as she's concerned). The effect lasts until she lets the item go. If it's moving when she lets it go, inertia kicks in. If it's off the ground, gravity kicks in. Upper limit not yet known.
• Once the field encloses her completely, she's locked off in her own private pocket universe. She can vaguely feel physical impacts transmitted from the outer 'shell', but there's no direct communication, and she cannot be harmed by any means unless the dimensional barrier is first breached. If she's locked off like this, she's got a finite amount of air before she passes out or opens the field.
• The field allows her to 'jump' high and and far, and 'fall' slowly, but she can't fly.

Her mental state is now about doing what she wants to do, rather than bending over backward for a world that doesn't give a shit about her.

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Sixteen: All In

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



Firebird

The warehouse looked like so many in the industrial area of Brockton Bay; decrepit, run-down and in dire need of a few strategically placed demolition charges. However, vehicles of all descriptions were parked haphazardly in the weed-grown parking lot, most of which sported rebel flag stickers and other such insignia. From within the rusty structure could be heard booming thrash music. Emma decided that her first order of business once she was inside would be to wreck the speakers.

"So, this is the place, huh?" Madison's synthesised voice did not sound impressed.

"Well, what did you expect?" snarked Sophia. "A fuckin' arena with Nazi flags everywhere?"

"I wasn't doubting you." It seemed Madison had taken heed of Emma's request and was actively trying not to aggravate her. "I was just going to say something about how much of a shithole it was, and how much it suits the assholes inside."

"Well … yeah, that's true." Sophia slapped the power armour on the elbow, that being as high as she could reach on it. "So, are we gonna kick ass or what?"

Emma noted the lack of 'take names'. "Quick question before we start. Do you think our focus should be handing these guys over to the cops, or just beating the shit out of them to teach them a lesson about hurting dogs?"

"Pffft." Sophia sounded like she was rolling her eyes. "Half the cops are probably in on it. We'd be wasting our time, waiting on them to show. We beat the snot out of them, let the doggies go, maybe Mads turns a few of their cars into modern art, then we go on our merry way. Message sent."

"Do me a favour and use my cape name. I use yours." Madison's voice was very definite about this.

Again, Sophia's voice sounded like she was rolling her eyes. "Okay, fine, Blockade turns a few of their cars into modern art. Happy?"

"Yes." Madison paused. "I'm happy to go with kicking ass to pass on a lesson," she said. "Firebird?"

"I'm a little more dubious about destroying their personal property," Emma decided. "Don't touch their cars unless you have to do something like beat Hookwolf over the head with one. Let's be professional about this, not petty. Also, Shadow Stalker, once someone's ass is kicked, you move on. And no going for kill-shots. The cops are going to attend at some point, and I'd rather the Real Thing not be known for murdering people."

"They're fuckin' racist redneck assholes, not people." It was clear Sophia thought she was being funny.

Emma wasn't playing that game. "I don't care what they are. They're still people, and we only offer lethal damage if they're trying to kill us. Got it? Self defence only. Always assume someone's got a camera." It was something her father had drummed into her for other reasons altogether, but which had stood her in good stead.

"Jesus fuck, okay. Fine. Pull the stick out of your ass already." Sophia gestured toward the warehouse. "So, are we gonna break up their little testosterone party sometime tonight, or are we gonna have a tea party out here instead?"

"We're doing this," Emma said firmly. "Blockade, if you want to do the honours?"

"I thought you'd never ask." The looming power armour started toward the warehouse door at a steady, implacable pace. "Try to stay behind me."

"Yeah, right. Bullets can't touch me." Sophia turned to shadow and headed toward the wall of the warehouse, while Emma followed Madison.

"Is it just me, or is she intent on being a dick?" Fortunately, Madison kept the volume down on her speakers.

"To be honest?" Emma shook her head. "I'm starting to wonder if she hasn't always been a dick. If we haven't been dicks. But we're just starting to notice it, and she isn't."

"I … we need to talk about this more. After." It was easy to see why Madison was changing topics, as the guards on the doors had just noticed them. "Hi, guys. Quick question. Want to run away now, or get the snot beaten out of you first? Your choice."

Both the guards had guns out now, but Madison's armour was bearing down on them with a certain air of inevitability. She'd chosen not to bring along her big gun, mainly because there was nothing in the warehouse that was likely to require it. All she had was huge robot fists, which Emma had to admit were pretty damn frightening in their own right.

The guards glanced at each other, then up at the approaching power armour. One of them pointed his pistol at Emma; she'd been waiting for this, and threw one of her discs. It ricocheted off the ground between them, smacked him full in the face, then arced back over to land in her hand. The guard dropped his gun, then slowly fell over.

"Well, that's one of you." Madison kept walking forward. "Wanna make it a twofer?"

The second guard stared up at her. "Fuck this shit," he blurted, and bolted away off to the side. Emma kept an eye on him in case he caught a sudden case of bravery, but he vanished into the parking lot.

There was a sudden increase in noise from the inside, and Sophia's voice came over the radio. "Come on, guys, where are you?"

Madison shook her head and tromped forward, carefully stepping over the unconscious guard's body. "Incoming now."

Emma followed along, ready for action.

<><>​

Blockade

If there was one thing Madison loved about having powers, it was the feeling of invincibility she got from her Blockade armour. Once she was inside it, she didn't have to be scared of anything anymore. Guns were being fired at her, but the bullets simply careened off the good-steel carapace. She knew damn well that it would take more than a tank shell to even crack the outer casing, so she paid mind to Emma's injunction to Sophia and only backhanded them gently.

And then the crowd in front of her cleared, and she saw him. Hookwolf, the powerhouse of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Flanking him were Cricket and Stormtiger.

She keyed the radio button. "Guys, heads up. The capes are here. I got the murderblender."

"Well, shit," Emma responded. "This just got a whole lot more interesting."

"Might want to watch it, Blockade." That was Sophia. "We don't know if your Meccano toy there can stand up to Hooky yet."

Seriously, what the fuck was up with the negativity Sophia was spreading all over the place? "You do your thing, Stalker. I'll do mine." Ever since she'd assembled the first iteration of the Blockade armour, Madison had wanted a chance to truly let loose with it, to see what sort of damage a full-strength punch would really do. And oh look, there was a prime target.

"I got Cricket," Emma said. "Stalker, think you can take Stormtiger?"

There was a long pause, then Sophia answered. It sounded like she was gritting her teeth. "No. I can't. We're in over our heads, here. We need to back off."

"For fuck's sake, Stalker," said Madison impatiently. Sophia talked a big game, but the moment the odds were against her, she acted like it had always been her idea to go slow. Madison was starting to get sick of that shit. "If you can't handle your end with the capes, make yourself useful and go let the dogs out."

"You don't get to give me orders like I'm your personal servant!"

"It's part of the plan, Stalker," Emma cut in. "We got this part. You handle the dogs." Off to the side, Madison saw Emma tank an air-blast from Stormtiger on her throwing-discs. "Go!"

<><>​

Firebird

As Sophia finally got with the program, Emma backflipped over another air-blast and snapped a kick toward Cricket's solar plexus. It wasn't intended to hit, and neither was the elbow aimed at her collarbone. But with Cricket's attention divided, Emma's throwing disc bounced off the floor and smacked the curved-blade weapon out of her left hand. A moment later, Emma had both the disc and the weapon in hand.

"Nice," she said, clicking the disc into place and spinning the weapon around her hand to get the feel of it. "What's it called?"

Across the room, Stormtiger unleashed a barrage of attacks into the back of Madison's armour. In response, Madison picked Hookwolf up bodily from the floor where he'd been trying to grapple her down to ground level, and hit Stormtiger with him. They both went flying, and Madison tromped after them.

"It's called a kama, little girl," husked Cricket. "Put it down before you hurt yourself."

Emma just grinned. "Make me." Holding out her hand, she made the classic 'come at me, bro' gesture with her fingers. She could already see the outlines of Cricket's style, along with the holes that she could exploit.

The disorientation was as sudden as it was vicious, and she staggered sideways. Her inner ears were going haywire, her stomach was churning, and she was having a hard time distinguishing up from down. Or either one from sideways.

Cricket came in smoothly, like a huge stalking cat. Emma tried to keep her balance and regain her equilibrium, but it was getting harder all the time. She was barely able to get her throwing-discs in the way of a couple of desultory attacks the Empire villain threw her way to test her reflexes, and she knew she was up against it now.

What she didn't know was how Cricket was doing this. Whatever it was, she had to get past it, or this fight was going to go catastrophically. Madison had her hands full with Hookwolf and Stormtiger—Hookwolf anyway, as Stormtiger wasn't doing so well—and she was pretty sure Sophia was sulking about being told what to do.

She concentrated, trying to steady herself, deflected a kama strike with a disc, then totally missed the leg sweep that took her feet out from under her. Her reflexes were still good enough that she lit down rolling instead of utterly winding herself, but then Cricket was on top of her. A knee came down on either side of her body, pinning her, and then she was looking at the edge of Cricket's kama from way too close.

Cricket grinned, holding Emma's hands out of the way where she couldn't bring the kama or either disc into play. "Warned you," she rasped, tracing Emma's lips with the tip of the weapon. The slightest pressure, and blood would be drawn. "Playing with fire, little girl."

Emma had been here before. Held down on grimy concrete while some low-life tried to terrify her with the loss of her looks, cold metal trailing over her skin. But here and now, she was a far different person to that Emma, that helpless girl.

Before she got powers, the mere suggestion of being in this situation would've brought her to the edge of a total breakdown. Now, she was more balanced, mentally and physically. And she was stronger. Much stronger.

"Funny you should say that," she murmured, barely moving her lips.

"What was that?" Cricket took the blade away and leaned in, not close enough to be head-butted but close enough for Emma's purposes anyway. "Speak up, little girl."

"I said, funny you should say that. And the name's Firebird." Then Emma triggered the flame-jet under her wrist. It didn't have much range, but Cricket was definitely close enough. The flames went straight through the metal cage around her head and took her full in the face.

Letting out an agonised shriek, Cricket bucked up and back, trying to get away from the jet. At the same time, the disorientation ceased, giving Emma full command of her faculties once more. She twisted and bucked, then spun the kama in her hand so it slashed across the back of Cricket's arm. Cricket pulled away instinctively, and then Emma was free.

She went straight in for the attack, aware that she'd screwed up badly by underestimating her opponent, and not wanting to give her the chance to get the upper hand again. Cricket defended as best she could, but Emma had already noted the weaknesses in her style and bored straight through her defenses like a homing missile.

First she took away the other kama, then she delivered a hammer-blow to Cricket's solar plexus that put the woman on the ground. Every time Cricket tried to get up again, Emma smashed her down. It was like she was back in that grimy little side street, laying punches into the faces of the ABB punks who had terrorised her so deeply that she'd seen nothing wrong with turning on her best friend.

Every time she saw their sneering faces, she hit them again, and again, and again. Eventually, her vision cleared, leaving Cricket, beaten and bloodied, lying helpless on the stained concrete before her.

A large metal hand descended on her shoulder as she stood panting over her foe. "I think she's had enough," Madison said gently. "You okay? You've got a cut there."

Emma felt her face. It was barely a scratch, one that she'd barely felt at the time, when Cricket had been tracing the blade across her cheek. "It's nothing," she said, and looked around. Stormtiger was lying unconscious nearby, looking somewhat the worse for wear, but she could see nobody else. "Where is everyone?"

"I nearly had Hookwolf, but he escaped." Madison sounded irritated with herself. "All the normals bolted while we were fighting."

"And Shadow Stalker?" Emma looked up into the rafters, to see if their third member was lurking up there.

"Last I saw, she was letting dogs out of their cages. Oh, and I've already called the PRT. They should be here soon."

"Good," Emma said automatically. "Is anyone else hurt?"

"Nothing they won't recover from," Madison reported. "Bruises, bumps, a few broken bones. Pretty sure you gave Cricket a concussion, though."

Emma grimaced. "She's got some kind of disorientation power. I could barely stand up straight. Couldn't tell left from right. I had to put her down hard before she got it going again." Seeking to change the subject, she looked around. "Where the hell is Shadow Stalker? Surely it doesn't take that long to open a bunch of cages."

"She is kind of taking a while. You think she's sitting on the roof or something because she's pissed with us?"

Emma set her jaw. "If she is, then we're due a talk. I get her being salty about being kicked out of whatever leadership position she thought she was in, but her passive-aggressive bullshit is really starting to piss me off."

"Got it." Madison's voice came over the radio. "Stalker. Whereabouts are you? You done there yet?"

Nothing came back, not even dead air. Madison's suit turned its head to share a glance with Emma, then they started through to where the dog cages were stored. Half of them were open and empty, a few dogs still milling around, while the rest were still secured. Of Shadow Stalker, there was no sign.

"Stalker!" yelled Emma, not caring who heard her. "Stop playing bullshit games! Where are you?"

"Fuck." That was Madison. "Uh … Firebird? Just so you know, I might have slipped a tracking app onto Stalker's phone, the last time I updated it for her. And I just checked it. She's not on site."

Emma went straight past 'you did WHAT?' and 'wait, did you bug my phone too?' as well as 'why would you do a thing like that?'. All of these were valid questions (though the answer to the last one was becoming more and more obvious), but she could circle back around to them later. In the interest of cutting to the chase, she settled on, "Okay, so where is she?"

"About two miles away, and moving farther away in a straight line, or as straight as she can manage." Even with the synthesised voice, Madison sounded puzzled.

Emma understood her confusion. "That's weird. A straight line doesn't suggest a patrol pattern. Is she going home?" This was totally out of character for her. Sophia was usually a lot more hard-charging than that. Something was definitely going on.

There was a very brief pause, then the suit shook its head. "No. Wrong direction."

"Send me a screenshot." It was the only thing she could think of.

A moment later, her phone beeped and she checked the screen. Her eyes followed the line of Sophia's travel, then kept moving along that path until her eyes widened. "Shit!"

"What? What is it?"

She stepped up close to Madison and lowered her voice as much as she dared. "She's on a direct line for Taylor's house. That's where she's going. I'd put money on it."

"Oh. Fuck."

"Yeah. Fuck." Emma turned and sprinted for the door. Her next words were flung over her shoulder. "And if we don't get there as soon as possible, she's likely to do something we'll all regret."

<><>​

Outside the Hebert House

Shadow Stalker

Sophia crossed the road and vaulted the fence into the house-yard. It was a small two-story house, silent and dark, with a car parked along one side. She'd never actually been here before; she'd actually had to look up a phone-book website until she found D&A Hebert. Emma had once casually mentioned that Hebert's dead mom had been called Annette, so that had to be it.

As silently as the shadows she took her name from, she prowled around the outside of the building, getting the lay of the land. This wasn't just time-wasting bullshit; she was also going over in her head what she was going to do next. Emma and Madison didn't understand why Taylor had to be pushed down, so she was going to make them understand.

Hebert had to be the villain to their hero group. That had been the plan from the beginning, and it was still a perfectly good plan. If Emma and Madison were going to be weak sisters about it, then Sophia had to be the one to step up and carry it through to the end. In retrospect, giving the vial to Madison had been a mistake; no matter how tough she made her armour, she was still a weakling inside.

Ideally, Hebert had to be accused of an actual crime that she couldn't pull some bullshit alibi for, and that she would be seen as a villain for, not some poor misunderstood teenager. The last thing Sophia wanted was for the PRT to get all soft and gooey and offer her a place in the Wards or something. That would put Hebert so far out of her reach it would be ridiculous.

Also, it would be a good idea if she acted like a damn criminal, not some creampuff. It had to be something she was angry about too. And there was only one crime Sophia could figure out that would accomplish all her goals. Brand Hebert a criminal forever, and drive her into a rage so she just kept on digging the hole deeper.

Danny Hebert had to die. More to the point, Taylor Hebert needed to be seen to have killed him. The frame had to make her look like an unhinged murderer, not a victimised teenager.

Maybe grab a kitchen knife and stab him?

Reluctantly, Sophia let that one go. If he was the last one to touch it, so his prints were on it instead of hers, it would end up looking like a really weird case of suicide. Hebert would be angry, sure, but she wouldn't be seen as a criminal.

Unless … Her head came up. I take the knife into her room, wrap her hand around it, stab him to death, leave the knife under her bed with his blood and her prints. Cops do a search, find the knife, she attacks them … yeah. That'll work. Emma and Madison won't have a choice but to help me bring her down after that.

It was elaborate, sure, but Hebert was surely stupid enough to lash out and start attacking before they got as far as asking about stuff like motives. And then the Real Thing would be able to find out just how strong her powers really were.

Distant thunder rolled and she looked up at the sky. There was no overcast yet, but with the mountains to the west, any weather system that came in off the ocean tended to set in fast and dump inches of rain in a matter of hours; it was the tradeoff Brockton Bay made for mild winters. She did not want to be out and about in a sodden cloak and other gear. Okay, time to get this done.

Stepping up to the back door, she ghosted inside.

<><>​

Firebird

Emma clung to the handholds as the Blockade suit bored through the sky. About thirty seconds into the flight, she'd had the idea to call Taylor's house directly and warn them to take cover or flee, but there was a problem with that. The only way she had of communicating with Madison was via the radio, and if Sophia still had hers turned on, she'd be able to hear whatever they were planning.

Technically, she could pull her own phone out and make the call, but that had a better than even chance of losing the device to the slipstream she was currently experiencing, and that was even if the Heberts could hear her over the thunder of Madison's suit thrusters. Madison could make the call from inside the sound-insulated suit, but she didn't have Taylor's number. Note to self: if we come out of this okay, prep better next time.

Not that 'next time' had any guarantee of even happening right now. Having a member of the team going nuts and attacking an innocent civilian—whether Sophia went after Danny as a way of pushing Taylor over the edge, or went straight to murdering Taylor, they were both innocent by definition—was in no way a good look for the Real Thing.

And, her conscience prodded her, it was actually a bad thing in an objective sense too. Neither Danny nor Taylor had asked for any of this to happen to them. Or even what she and the others had done to Taylor at Winslow and before. Fuck, we were such shitty people. I caused this. I brought this down on them.

And then Madison cut the suit thrusters. They were in a ballistic arc, which would inevitably coincide with the ground if she didn't fire them up again, but at least they could talk.

"Thirty seconds out!" Madison's speakers boomed over the whistling slipstream. "She's in the house!" Emma was aware that she'd built several visual enhancements into the suit, including telescopic and infrared sensing. "I need to do a high-G burn to stop, but it'll be too late. I'll have to throw you!"

Well, shit. This is gonna be interesting. "Okay, do it!" she screamed over the noise of rushing wind.

Madison's large robot hand came up and over her shoulder, and latched gently but firmly onto Emma. She released the handhold and let herself be carried forward as the entire suit flipped over until the feet were pointing in the direction they were travelling. And then Madison lit off the thrusters again, and boy she was not kidding about the 'high-G' aspect. Emma sagged against the power armour's grip like a rag doll, barely able to move a muscle.

And then Madison raised her like a paper plane … and threw her. It wasn't even a strong throw, more like a light toss, but it redirected her momentum toward a rather familiar house. A rather familiar window. The window happened to be shut at the moment, but that was very definitely about to change.

Shit, shit, shit, shit … This was going to hurt. Emma instinctively knew how to take a fall, but coming in at this angle and this speed was going to leave bruises. Straightening out, she brought both discs up in front of her, and lowered her head to let the helmet take the brunt of the impact.

She came in through the window like a cannonball, spraying glass and bits of wood everywhere. Curling into a ball, she bounced off the floor—ouch—grazed the desk—ow—went straight through the closed bedroom door like it wasn't even there—motherfucker—tumbled down the length of the corridor, then rolled to her feet just in time to slam into (and through) the door to Danny's room.

And there was Sophia goddamn Hess, struggling with Danny Hebert while holding a big fuck-off carving knife.

<><>​

A Few Seconds Earlier

Shadow Stalker

Sophia straightened up from wrapping Hebert's hand around the handle of the knife. It had been so tempting just to sink the blade into her, deal with her once and for all, but that wasn't the plan. The plan had never been to kill her. It was to fuck with her until she wished she was dead.

Frowning, she raised her head and listened. Even inside, with the windows shut, the thunder was getting louder. But not in a normal way. It was like one long roll that just never ended.

Fuck. I know what that is. She'd ignored the radio calls, earlier, but it looked like they'd somehow figured where she was going, and were coming here. How the fuck did they figure it out?

It didn't matter. If she could make Hebert's father dead before they got here, with Hebert's prints on the knife, it would all work out. Hebert would lash out and make herself the villain, and the Real Thing would have the villain they'd been formed to fight.

The not-so-distant roar suddenly cut out. Sophia wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but it couldn't be good. Had they landed? Were they making their way on foot? Whatever it was, she had to get this done before anyone kicked the door in and interfered.

Ghosting through the bedroom door, she ran the length of the corridor as lightly as she could, and likewise passed through Hebert senior's door. Holding the knife just short of the blade was awkward, but she didn't want to smudge the freshly applied prints. She stepped up alongside the bed and poised herself for the first stab—

The thrusters—there was nothing else they could be—thundered to life again, a whole lot closer. They sounded like the suit was going to crash right into the house like a meteor, or pass right over the top. The second option sounded more likely. They're going to overshoot, the idiots.

Still, this meant she had a lot less time than she'd expected. She hastily stabbed downward, only to realise too late that the roar of the thrusters had woken up Hebert's dad, who had rolled aside just in time. She grabbed for him, and tried to pull him closer. He fought back, pulling away.

The whole house shook under an impact like a runaway train. Glass shattered, then wood splintered. Something thundered the length of the corridor, then the bedroom door was smashed in. Looking a little the worse for wear in the glow of a street-light coming in through the window, Emma stood there.

At another time and place, banter might have been exchanged. 'What do you think you're doing?' 'What I have to.' 'You don't have to do this.' 'It's for the good of the team.'

But the time for talking was past. Sophia drove the knife forward, aiming at the old man's throat, but he twisted away from the blow again. When she jumped onto the bed to get to him, a throwing-disc flickered across the room and smashed the knife out of her hand. Emma followed it with a running dive across the bed that drove Sophia into the wall.

Sophia went to shadow and escaped her grip, only to be slammed sideways by Emma's arm-guard even when she was supposed to be intangible. Emma forced her away from the bed and Hebert's dad, who was now on the far side of the bed, sidling toward the door.

The light clicked on. Hebert stood in the room, dressed in her pyjamas, staring at them both. "What—?"

"Get your dad out of here!" shouted Emma. "I'll explain later!"

The words crystallised an understanding in Sophia's mind. Emma's turned against me. I'm going to have to kill her too. This was getting messier by the second. Jumping back from her erstwhile teammate, Sophia pulled her crossbow and shot Emma at point-blank range with it. The arrow shattered on the throwing-disc Emma brought around just in time.

"Shadow Stalker, stand the fuck down!" bellowed Emma, but Sophia was done taking orders. She went to shadow so she could reload again, then saw Hebert dragging her dad from the room.

Oh, no, you fucking don't. Ducking back from Emma, Sophia loosed the broad-head arrow at the dad, right in the neck where it would tear through arteries and veins, and she'd have to watch him bleed out.

It hit him, barely sliced him at all, then fell to the ground.

What the fuck? Sophia struggled to reload before they were out of sight, but Emma hit the crossbow with a throwing-disc, smashing it in half.

Okay, enough was enough. It was time to do the 'strategic retreat' thing, regroup, and come at them when they weren't expecting it. Sophia backed off, then dived out through the wall of the house.

As she flitted away through the shadows, one thought was uppermost in her mind.

They didn't beat me. I don't lose. They betrayed me. And they'll pay for that.

All of them.

<><>​

A Few Minutes Later, Downstairs

Taylor

All the lights in the house were on, and Blockade was making steady rounds of the yard. Dad was sitting on the couch with a freshly applied dressing on his neck. The cut wasn't deep, but it could definitely have been fatal if I hadn't been applying the protection aspect of my power to him.

Firebird was doing the same as Blockade, going from door to window and back to door again, patrolling the interior of the house. I stopped her as she went past me for the umpteenth time. "How about that explanation, now?"

Dad, still somewhat in a state of shock after someone had tried to murder him in his sleep, nodded. "I have to agree with that. What the hell is going on?"

Drawing a deep breath, Firebird turned to the both of us and unbuckled the helmet. I gasped as she lifted it away, and I saw Emma's face underneath. But not the mean, vicious Emma I knew from school. This was a more careworn Emma, with something in her eyes that I hadn't seen in a long, long time.

Guilt.

"We absolutely do owe you that, yeah," she conceded. "But first … we owe you an apology. I owe you an apology. For everything I've done, for everything we've done. For what Shadow Stalker was about to do. It's all my fault."

She gave me a searching look, and sighed gently at whatever she saw in my expression. I didn't say anything; the very fact of Emma apologising for anything was astonishing.

"Yeah, I get it," she said. "You're wondering if this is another bullshit trick. It isn't. The bastard of it all is, you don't even know yet everything we've done to get at you. Well, that's all done now. It's over. Except for Shadow Stalker going nuts. I did not see that coming."

"But—why?" asked Dad. "I don't know her. I'm pretty sure I've never met her. Why did she want to kill me?"

Emma shook her head. "It's not about you. It's about Taylor. It's always been about Taylor." She looked at me and grimaced. "Sorry about that. Again."

"I still have no idea why, though," I confessed. "Why is Shadow Stalker trying to get at me by killing my dad? Why are you two protecting us? What's going on?"

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Emma seemed to brace herself. "Okay, so, from the top. A little while ago, Sophia Hess showed up at my place with a bunch of vials …"



End of Part Sixteen

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Seventeen: Going Forward

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

Taylor

"Wait," said Dad, interrupting the flow of Emma's ongoing … confession, the best word seemed to be. We'd just gotten up to the part where Madison (and boy, was that a surprise) had thrown Emma at the house. "I have a question."

Emma stopped pacing back and forth—she seemed to have a need to do that—and leaned against the edge of the table. We'd moved into the kitchen by mutual unspoken agreement, and I'd made tea while Emma talked. At some point, Madison had parked the power armour in the back yard (in the form of a big metal box that promptly disguised itself as a small garden shed) and come inside; she was sitting at the end of the table, cradling a cup in her hands.

"Okay," said Emma. "What do you want to know?" There was no reserve, no guile, left in her.

"When you three started this amazingly ill-conceived venture," he began, and they both flinched. Neither one protested, though. "It seems to me that you were all on the same page. You were all perfectly happy with forcing these powers in a bottle on Taylor, and having her play the part of the villain in your little masquerade. So how did you get from there to here?"

Emma frowned. "That's … a tough one. I'd like to say, 'I have no idea what I was thinking', but that would be a lie. I know what I was thinking. It's just … not the way I think now. To be perfectly frank, it's a little scary. I can see now my thinking was all screwed up, but then I thought it was normal. When I first got powers, I legitimately thought I was being a hero, despite what we were intending to do to you. It's like there was a disconnect in my brain. But the more we went on, the harder it was to ignore the wrong in what we wanted to do."

"Sophia had no trouble at all, though," Madison observed from where she sat. "This isn't any kind of excuse, or a reason, for what we did. I'm just saying that any time Ems or me tried to talk about how maybe it might not be a great idea to pull that shit on you, she jumped all over us and talked us right back into it. And we caved because … I guess we hadn't climbed all the way out of the hole yet."

"Yeah," sighed Emma. "We weren't quite there when it came time to give you your dose, but we were close. I mean, Madison suggested just talking to you instead of just shoving it down your throat. Offering you the chance to be a member of the Real Thing instead of being our designated villain." She chuckled wryly and shook her head. "Not a hope in hell, right?"

"Damn right," I agreed. "Even if I'd believed you, I would probably have told you to shove it up your ass and see if you could develop a whole new powerset."

Madison snorted. "And we would've deserved it. But we let her talk us back around into doing it, like we always did. Mainly out of habit, I guess? By then we were used to bending over backward every time she had one of her little shit-fits, just to keep her happy. Anyway, after Winslow got trashed, Emma and me got to talking and we both decided that we needed to back the fuck off, because you didn't deserve everything we were trying to do to you, much less what we'd already done. Sophia tried to push back, but this time we weren't taking her crap anymore. Ended up with her trying to pull rank as 'leader' of the team, and me and Emma telling her she wasn't. Somewhere around then, we started figuring out exactly how bad we'd been in the past and how, with whatever progress we'd made, Sophia was still back at the starting line."

"Running hard in the other direction, from what I gathered," Dad interjected.

Emma grimaced and chuckled at the same time. "I can't argue with that. Anyway, we stopped listening to her, every time she tried to push us on this. But that was also kind of a mistake, because then she stopped listening to us. Which is basically what led us to tonight." She drew a deep breath. "But what really scares me is that I used to think like that, and I thought it was normal. And I really don't know why I changed. So, there's a chance I might go back to thinking that way, and not even care."

Madison put her cup down and scrubbed her hands over her face. "Fuck, yeah. That is terrifying."

A helicopter flew overhead; not directly over the top of the house, but not too far away, either. We could see the reflected glow of its floodlight through the windows. As one, we looked up, but the chopper kept going.

"Okay, so you have no idea how you went from psychotic to normal in just a few weeks, except that getting powers from a weird vial had something to do with it. Gotcha." I sipped at my own tea. "We can circle back around to that. What I want to know is, what made you go psycho in the first place? Because there weren't any super-powers involved then, that's for damn sure."

Emma nodded. "Actually, in a bizarre way, there were. Sophia was already Shadow Stalker back then. Dad and me … well, remember when you were at summer camp and you and I got cut off on that phone call? We got attacked by some ABB assholes, looking to initiate one of them. The idea was that she'd cut up my face some, maybe take out my eye or my ears, or whatever made them feel like real gangsters." She paused. "Huh. Used to be, I couldn't even think about that night without shrivelling up inside, but now it doesn't bother me. Anyway, Sophia was watching while they were talking about what they were gonna do, but it was only after I shoved one of them that she came in and kicked their asses."

"She just watched?" asked Dad. "I thought this was back before she went crazy."

"She always was crazy," Madison said suddenly. "But it's a sneaky kind of crazy. Really good at hiding. What Emma went through broke her. I can see that now. Sophia came along and put her back together, but wrongly. Infected her with the crazy. She needed validation. I can see that, too. Sophia always needed the validation. It's probably why she's driven to win. She can't stand being seen to lose."

"And what about you?" I asked Madison. "What broke you?"

"Nothing." Madison shook her head regretfully. "I was just weak, I guess. I had Sophia's need for validation, but without the aggressive streak. Emma and Sophia, they formed this little two-person cult at school, and I basically joined it. Started drinking the Kool-Aid by the gallon. I was so desperate to belong that I didn't care who the target was, so long as it wasn't me." She looked up at me. "I am so damn sorry for everything I did, every last hurtful thing I said. I don't even have the excuse Emma's got. It didn't take an ABB asshole holding a knife to my face to turn me into a psycho. I got there all by myself."

"Yeah, you did." I kept sipping my tea, looking at her. The expressions on her face and Emma's continued to intrigue me. I'd seen them happy, vindictive, and gleeful. Guilt and regret were new looks for them. "The question for me is—"

"We're going to have to shelve that for the time being." Dad was standing now, looking through the doorway into the living room. The helicopter was back, and its floodlight was now shining in through the windows. "In about one minute, we're going to have the police in here, asking all sorts of awkward questions. Taylor, do you want Emma and Madison outed and arrested, yes or no?"

The temptation was very strong to say yes. A month ago—hell, a week ago—I would've said yes. But their actions in the last hour had pulled such a massive one-eighty on everything that had gone before—saving Dad and the entire confession—that I had to hesitate.

"Not yet," I said firmly. "Costume up. We're gonna tell it like it is, except that you've got no idea why Shadow Stalker came after Dad." I would've said more, but red and blue flashing lights were now visible on the road outside. "Go!"

Madison was out the back door like a sprinter. I watched as she got to the 'garden shed'; it dismissed its disguise, then unfolded to allow her access. Emma just took up her helmet and pulled it on, vanishing behind the façade of Firebird once more. She gave me a puzzled look as she fastened the chin-strap. "After what we did to you, I can't see how you can—"

"—forgive you?" I shook my head. "I haven't, and I probably never will." There was a sharp knocking at the front door; Dad went to answer it. "This conversation is on hold until later."

<><>​

Danny

The police were relatively easy to deal with. He'd done it before on occasion, usually to do with rambunctious members of the Dockworkers' Association. Presenting them with a nice simple narrative, speaking plainly and politely, and showing respect tended to work. They were concerned over the dressing on his neck, but the moment he mentioned that it had been inflicted by a parahuman, he could see the light go out of their eyes.

The police hated parahuman crime, there was no doubt about that. Master and Stranger abilities put the most ineptly written locked-room mysteries to shame, and that was before Breaker and Mover powers got in on the act. But they hated even more the fact that parahuman criminals, once identified as such, were strictly the jurisdiction of the PRT. No ifs, buts, or maybes.

So, once it was determined that the third member of the Real Thing had apparently gone insane and attempted to murder him in his sleep, they did everything but throw their arms up and leave the room. There were no arrests to be made here, no promotions to be had. Still, they followed due diligence and recorded the trail of destruction left by Emma as she smashed her way through Taylor's bedroom window and two separate doors. They also interviewed him about the incident, as comprehensively as they could.

No, he said, I have never met Shadow Stalker. I can't think of any rational explanation she might have for attacking me in my own house.

She wasn't let in. From what I can understand, she can walk through walls.

I watched her leave the same way.

I've never met the Real Thing before either. They said they thought something was wrong with her, and followed the tracking app on her phone.

She's apparently disabled or deleted the app since then. Besides, they wanted to make sure I was okay, and that she didn't circle around and come back for another attempt.

Yes, this cut was indeed inflicted by Shadow Stalker. She shot an arrow at me. Fortunately, Firebird broke the crossbow so the arrow didn't hit me with full force.

No, I don't want to press charges on Firebird for the damage to the house. My insurance might cover it. I'll have to check.

We didn't call 9-1-1 because I was shaken and my daughter was busy dressing the wound. Besides, we saw the helicopter and knew you'd show up eventually.

No, you'll have to ask the Real Thing about Shadow Stalker's secret identity. They never told me.

<><>​

Taylor

Dad was sitting on a chair in the living room while a paramedic checked the cut on his neck and applied a fresh dressing, when we saw the new flashing lights against the window. These ones were green and white, which meant the PRT was on site. I saw the officer who had been trying to interview Dad (and getting the same answers over and over) shrug and put his notebook away.

Radios crackled, letting everyone know that the big boys had arrived and it was now time to vacate the premises. The general attitude of those leaving the house varied between 'not our problem anymore' to 'why do they have to keep sticking their noses in, anyway', but I didn't give a damn either way.

I'd answered all the questions I could early on, more or less the same way Dad had; truthful, but uninformative. Unless I missed my guess, they suspected we knew more than we were letting on, but so long as we all stuck to the same story, they had nothing. And of course, given that the PRT had jurisdiction, they couldn't threaten to drag us down to the station and sweat it out of us.

As the police vehicles pulled out, along with the paramedics, the first PRT troopers entered the house. Emma came with them, still in costume as Firebird. Madison, piloting the Blockade suit, stayed outside; nobody wanted to find out the hard way that the floorboards wouldn't take the weight of her suit. However, one other cape accompanied them: Armsmaster.

Before I got my powers, I would've been overawed by this moment. Despite being a Tinker, Armsmaster was one of the more visible members of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. He was known for patrolling solo on his Tinker-enhanced motorcycle, and his halberd was reputedly packed with more optional extras than the most ridiculously cinematic Hollywood spy's car.

But now, it seemed, I was setting a much higher bar for anything to impress me. Madison, in her Blockade armour, could fly halfway across town in a single jump. Emma, my best-friend-turned-worst-enemy-turned-I-had-no-idea-what had powers of her own that made her into an action movie star. Even Sophia Hess, whom I had merely thought was an overly violent jock with a fixation on Emma, was actually Shadow Stalker, an edgelord villain with delusions of heroism. Oh, and I had powers too, courtesy of a Stupid Supervillain Plot™ hatched up by the three aforementioned.

Or to put it another way, in just one week my life had gone from being normal-ish (with a dash of bullying) to something that even the most avid producer of Saturday morning kids' shows would reject as being too far-fetched. (And, just saying, these were the same people who had brought to our screens the immortal Li'l Mousey's Time Travel Adventures with Li'l Armsy and Ug-Ug the Caveman Cape Kid).

(Immortal as in, as much as you tried, you could not forget that you'd actually watched it).

"Mr Hebert, Miss Hebert," Armsmaster began, breaking into my train of thought. "The police will be turning their findings over to us in short order, so we shouldn't be here too long. What we really need is to verify what Firebird and Blockade have already told us."

Dad and I waited for a moment, but he'd finished talking. Fortunately, we both had a good idea of what Firebird had told them, or at least the bare bones of it. Also, given that most (if not all) of it was the truth, we didn't have to pick and choose details.

I took a deep breath. "Well, what happened to me is that I got woken up by a loud noise over the house and a huge crash as Firebird came in through my window and out through the bedroom door. Honestly, I thought a meteor had hit the house or something." That much was actually true. "I got up and went to see what was going on, and in Dad's bedroom, Shadow Stalker was fighting with Firebird and Dad was near the door. Firebird shouted for me to get Dad out of the room, then Shadow Stalker tried to shoot him with her crossbow, but Firebird hit the crossbow and broke it, so the arrow only cut him a little bit. Then I got him to the bathroom, where we keep the first aid kit. Firebird came and found us, and said that Shadow Stalker had made a bolt for it. Then they stayed around until the police came."

Dad nodded. "That's more or less the same as happened to me, except I woke up to a maniac in a black costume trying to stab me with my own damn kitchen knife. Then Firebird hit the house like a bomb and got between me and Shadow Stalker. Saved my life."

Armsmaster turned toward Emma. "You don't have any Mover powers, do you?"

Emma shook her head. "No, just acrobatics and all the skills. Why?"

"The aerial insertion." Armsmaster shook his head. "You took a risk there. Ninety-nine out of a hundred people would've gotten broken bones out of that."

"As I said," Emma repeated, "all the skills." She folded her arms. "Go ahead, ask me the question you really want to ask."

Armsmaster nodded to acknowledge this. "Shadow Stalker. Do you have any idea why she would've gone off the rails so badly, and why she targeted Mr Hebert of all people?"

"That's definitely a problem, yes," she said, both truthfully and misleadingly. "When she first approached Blockade and me, back before we were a team, we were kind of dubious. But it worked. We did a lot of good."

"That's true," he agreed. "Your takedown of the Merchants was impressive for a newcomer team, and tonight's takedown of Cricket and Stormtiger was good too."

"Thanks." She put her thumb to her lips and chewed the nail pensively. "But after that … it began to feel like we were starting to lose touch with her. We had more arguments, especially about how we were going to be doing things, who was actually the team leader, stuff like that. Blockade and me … we didn't know how to handle it. I thought maybe we could talk it out."

I just stood there silently, trying not to show anything more than polite interest. I'd known Emma could spin a line of bullshit, especially whenever I tried to complain about her latest asshole stunt with me, but this was masterclass fuckery, right there. Every word fitted in with the explanation she and Madison had given us, but the way she phrased it made it sound totally different from reality.

"I know how that can go, yes." Armsmaster was evidently buying the explanation wholesale. "So, what do you think caused her to fixate on Mr Hebert as a victim?"

"That's something we're going to have to ask her, when we catch her," Emma said with finality. "Though to be totally honest, with the way she's been going, you might not get anything resembling a straight answer."

"That's also a distinct possibility." Armsmaster made no sign of writing anything down—he was probably recording everything via his helmet's electronics—he switched to another topic. "One more thing. Shadow Stalker, no matter her previous good works, tried to murder an innocent tonight. I'm going to need you to give us her secret identity, so we can catch her before she succeeds in murdering someone else."

Emma's lips tightened. "I'd really rather not do that, for several reasons. Blockade and I are uniquely equipped to capture her and keep her captured, and that's just what we intend to do."

Armsmaster's tone became slightly harsher. "Firebird, I wasn't asking. Withholding basic identifying information such as her real name risks you being charged with obstruction of justice."

"I know you weren't," Emma replied tightly. "But hear me out. First, how did you intend to contain her? So far, the only thing I know of that stops her is 'good steel', a type of metal produced only by Blockade. Second, Blockade and I are socially connected to Shadow Stalker's civilian identity. Handing over her real name essentially outs us to you with a simple computer search. I'm not willing to go there. Third, even as a hero she was vindictive and more than a little bloodthirsty. If she finds out that we outed her, she's likely to go to our homes and get revenge on our families, and I'm absolutely not willing to risk that."

"We can take them into protective custody—" began Armsmaster, but Emma cut him off with a horizontal chop of her hand through the air.

"What part of 'she walks through walls' did you not get? She's still got one crossbow, God knows how many arrow stashes, and a vindictive personality. She even tried killing me before she left. Whatever kind of hero she used to be, if she ever was one, she's not one now."

"Do you think she'll make another attempt on Mr Hebert's life?" Armsmaster seemed to have forgotten that Danny was sitting right there.

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. She might decide that someone else is a more worthy sacrifice, or whatever twisted rationalisation is going through her mind. Blockade and I are going to be sticking close to the Heberts for the moment anyway, in case she does come back."

"Understood." Armsmaster didn't look or sound thrilled. "I'm going to repeat myself regarding her civilian identity. It would be far easier for the PRT to apprehend her if we knew who she is and where she lives."

"And I'm going to say this again." Emma spoke flatly. "You are not legally allowed to coerce me into unmasking if I haven't been charged with a crime, and handing over Shadow Stalker's would essentially out me as a matter of course. So, I refuse. With all due respect, of course."

"If we charged you with obstruction for not outing Shadow Stalker, we could unmask you legally, and thus uncover Shadow Stalker's secret identity in the same way," Armsmaster pointed out.

Dad cleared his throat, then winced. "I have friends in the media," he said. "I'm sure Director Piggot would absolutely love to see in tomorrow's headlines that the PRT and Protectorate are deliberately setting out to unmask a teen hero group as a power move. That would go down so well with your public relations department. I'm pretty sure we'd be able to hear the veins popping from here."

I could hear the restrained surprise in Emma's voice. "Ahh … thank you."

Dad tilted one shoulder, carefully. "Well, you did save my life back there."

Armsmaster's lips thinned to the point that they almost vanished. "Very well. Thank you for your assistance. And when we catch Shadow Stalker, we will be unmasking her."

"Oh, I get that," Emma agreed. "But the difference is, we won't have."

Abruptly, Armsmaster turned and left the house, his heavy footsteps making me wonder if he might yet pull a potential Blockade and fall through to the basement anyway. But he made it out of the house without catastrophe, along with the PRT troopers. I went to the door and swung it shut behind the last of them, then came back into the living room and collapsed onto the couch.

"Uggghhh," I groaned. "My life was much simpler before you force-fed me that damned vial."

"Sorry," Emma said almost reflexively, and I gave her a medium glare.

"Saying sorry isn't worth much," Dad added. "It's better to actually show you're sorry. Do something to prove it. Help fix matters. Also, tell your parents. Does Alan know yet, or Zoe?"

Emma shook her head. "No, and no. It … well, it's never really been the right time."

I sat up on the couch. "Well, it's the right damn time as of here and now. You and Madison need to break it to them. Tell them everything."

Up until now, Emma had been taking the strain pretty well, but I saw the colour drain from her cheeks with that one. "Shit," she whispered. "Dad would have a heart attack. And an aneurysm. Mom would ground me until I was seventy."

I raised my eyebrows. "And you think you don't deserve all that?"

Emma took a deep breath. "You're right. We do. We'll do that … but we still need to catch Sophia before she does something even more stupid than she has so far."

"I'll help." I stood up. "Funny, that's the one thing that we haven't touched on so far. I did get powers out of that vial. Some pretty damn special ones." Holding up my hand, I clenched my fist and covered it with a white protective layer, then let stripes run up and down it. "And I personally think I owe Sophia a kick in the teeth or two."

"Uh …" Emma looked dubious. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

I gave her a side-eye. "Remember Winslow? That was me."

Emma blinked. "Shit. Okay, then. You actually have useful powers then. We were wondering. So, how's this going to go? You're actually okay with a team-up?"

I snorted in derision. "Hardly. You two idiots will be my sidekicks. And once Sophia's in the bag … then, we'll see."

Slowly, Emma nodded. "Fair."



End of Part Seventeen

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Eighteen: Communications

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


Taylor

I dusted my hands off. "Okay, first things first. We have to locate Sophia right the fuck now. As it is, she's a danger to Dad, and I'm not gonna let that shit stand. Also, Dad, I'm thinking you're going to have to go to a motel or something for the next few days."

Dad nudged me. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Absolutely." I was good for any and all suggestions right then. As boldly as I'd grabbed for command, it wasn't exactly something I had much—or any—experience in.

"Sophia's a danger to more than just me." He paused, waiting for me to get it, then went on when I gave him a confused look. "As far as she's concerned, Emma and Madison just turned on her. She might just go after them in retaliation. Emma, you and Madison need to call your parents now, explain as much as you need to, and tell them to get out. Does Madison have any sisters or brothers?"

"No," Emma replied. I knew that her sister Anne was attending college in Boston, so she'd be safe at least. Pulling her phone out of a pouch on her belt, Emma paused. "What should we tell them?"

"Whatever will get them out of harm's way as quickly as possible," Dad said grimly. "We should really have done this before we opened the door for the police."

I nodded. "Right." He had a really good point. "Emma? You'd better make those calls now."

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

It should have worked.

It should have worked.

It should have worked.

Sophia would've been muttering to herself, but she was spending more time in shadow form than otherwise, and speaking was impossible in that state. As it was, she gritted her teeth (when she had them) and clenched her fists (when they were able to be clenched). She was pissed off to a degree that she'd rarely reached before, and it was all down to Hebert, Emma and Madison.

The plan had been perfect. With Hebert's father dead, the bloody knife under her bed would've made it an open and shut case, especially once the cops found her prints on it. Hebert would've either wimped out and let them arrest her like the dweeb she was, or she would've put up a fight. And that was when the heroes (being her, Emma and Madison) could swoop in and take her down. Winslow plan, version two point oh.

But Emma and Madison … Sophia didn't even know what was going on there. They'd been down for fucking over Hebert … hadn't they? Oh, sure, there'd been that bullshit over stepping back for a bit, but that was surely about Emma flexing once she'd yanked the top spot out from under Sophia. They had no reason for going soft on Hebert. If there was one, Sophia would've known about it. She was perceptive like that.

She paused on a rooftop to catch her breath and regain her bearings. There was no roar in the sky to show that Madison was airborne again, and Emma's armour pieces caught the light from various angles, so she couldn't be as sneaky as Sophia.

Still, they had figured out where she was going, and gotten there pretty quickly. That had to be Emma's doing; as far as Sophia knew, Madison didn't even know where Hebert lived. But how the fuck did they figure out where I was?

Sophia was not a tech person. She could use a radio and a phone, but the ins and outs of them were a mystery to her. Press the button; it does the job.

But she did know enough to be aware that radios and phones alike could be used to track a person's location. In fact, phones had to do it so they knew which cell towers to link up to and shit. And radios … well, tracking bugs basically were radios, right?

Dropping down into an alleyway between the houses, Sophia took out her radio and turned it all the way off, then removed the batteries and dropped it on the concrete. Next, she pulled out her phone and peered at it. She wasn't sure how to get the batteries out of it, so she dropped it on the ground and stomped on it a few times. The screen cracked across and she stomped again, satisfied that she'd dealt with the electronic snitch.

Leaping to the rooftop again, she continued across the rooftops, trying to figure out where to go and what to do. While she'd get Hebert eventually, first she had to deal with her traitorous ex-teammates. Whatever bug had gotten up Emma's ass about Hebert—it had to be Emma, because Madison barely said a word that the other two didn't approve of first—Sophia had to stomp on, and hard.

There was going to have to be a meeting of minds, and by that Sophia meant a solid beatdown. Emma and Madison had totally lost their way when it came to The Real Thing's purpose, and it was up to her to kick their asses until they figured out where they'd gone wrong. But Emma's kung-fu power bullshit and Madison's good-steel bullshit made that far too hard, so they were going to have to come to her, on her terms.

Of course, if she found out that they'd outed her to the cops or the PRT, then someone was going to have to die. What they'd done was bad enough, but that sort of betrayal was totally unforgivable.

Not for an instant did it cross her mind that her avowed intention of ruining Taylor Hebert's life purely because she'd decided Hebert needed to stay down in the dirt was in any way an unacceptable course of action. Even if it had, she wouldn't have cared. Sophia Hess did what Sophia Hess wanted to do, and if that happened to screw over Hebert's pissy little existence, then it sucked to be her.

Okay, so do I grab Emma's parents or Madison's? The best way to get Emma and Madison to come to her—and accept what was coming to them—was to grab people they cared for. That way, they were less likely to try to pull some bullshit stunt, when all she really wanted to do was show them where the fuck they were going wrong.

Once she started considering the question, the answer was simple. She'd never met Madison's parents and had never been inside their home. The Barneses, on the other hand, she absolutely had met, and she even knew where their master bedroom was. One downside, of course, was that Alan Barnes knew who she was under the mask.

With a little thought, she decided that wasn't so much of a problem as it could've been. Emma's dad knew exactly what she was capable of, and would make sure his wife didn't try anything stupid. And afterward, once she'd brought Emma and Madison back into line, Emma herself would convince them not to say a damn thing to anyone. As far as Sophia was concerned, snitches got a hell of a lot more than stitches.

If she was right, Emma's house was in … that general direction. Running to the edge of the roof, she turned to shadow and glided across the gap to the next house.

It was all going to work out the way she wanted. She was going to make absolutely damned certain of it.

<><>​

Alan Barnes

As far as Alan was concerned, Sunday evenings were best occupied by reviewing his notes for the cases he was going to be addressing on Monday, and adding any insights that had come to him over the weekend. Zoe, used to this practice, had watched some TV then gone to bed. Emma had eaten supper and retired even earlier than normal, mentioning something about studying for her entry exam into Arcadia.

He had to admit, he was pleasantly surprised by the change that had come over Emma in the last few months. She was more energetic, her academic marks had taken a distinct jump from the previous school year, and she'd actually spent more than a few afternoons discussing the socio-political situation of Brockton Bay with him. If he had to describe it in a nutshell, he would've said his little girl was maturing into a fine adult.

Which was why he frowned when his phone buzzed at his elbow and he saw that it was her number. The house wasn't all that big; what did she have to call him for that she couldn't just walk downstairs and tap on his study door? Oh, well. Let's see what this is about. Rolling his eyes, he picked up the mobile and swiped the icon to answer. "What's the matter? Couldn't sleep?"

"Dad." The grim note in her voice shook him to his heels. Emma had never spoken like that in his hearing. "You need to listen to me and do exactly what I say. Do you understand?"

"I … no, I don't understand." Alan shook his head. What's Emma playing at? "What's going on?"

She took a deep breath. "Dad, there will be time for questions later. You need to get Mom now and leave the house. Go to a motel or something. You're in mortal danger if you stay in the house."

"Leave the house? Why? What are you talking about?" Emma wasn't making sense. Besides, she was in the house, too. "What do you mean, mortal danger? And what about you? Don't you need to leave too? Why are you calling me like this?"

"Jesus Christ, Dad, can't you switch off the lawyer for once and just listen? I'm not in the house. I'm a superhero. Firebird, from the Real Thing. Shadow Stalker has … she's gone nuts. She might be targeting you, so you need to get Mom now and get out of the fucking house before she gets there!"

Emma ended with a shout, forcing Alan to hold his phone away from his ear. He was still having trouble correlating his peaceful surroundings with the grim, forceful tone that his daughter was using. Besides, Shadow Stalker was a hero. She'd saved him and Emma, after all. He'd been reading about the team she'd joined, and thought they were doing a lot of good. "Emma, if this is some kind of weird prank …"

"It's not a prank, Dad. I really am Firebird. Sophia Hess was my teammate, but she … look, I'll explain everything afterward, but the bottom line is, she already tried to murder Taylor's dad tonight, and we think you might be next on her list. So, I need you to get Mom and leave the house right the fuck now. Please, just do what I say. You can ground me forever afterward."

The intensity in Emma's voice was getting through to him. Wait, she tried to murder Danny? That was a step-up in the story, one he wouldn't really expect from a prank. In any case, there was a simple way to check on this. Standing up, he left the study and headed for the stairs. If Emma was still in her bedroom, giggling over the prank she was playing on her dear old gullible dad, he would absolutely ground her forever. But if she wasn't …

"Okay, I'm going upstairs now. Are you really Firebird?" He could kind of see it, especially with the red hair and the fact that Sophia was a known member of the Real Thing, but her other best friend was Madison, and he was pretty sure Blockade was a guy. "And who's Blockade, anyway? A boyfriend I don't know about?" If she was trying to pull a fast one, there would be an indignant squawk in three … two … one …

No squawk came. "Dad, you need to hurry up. Blockade's Madison if you really have to know, but that's not important. We don't know how far Sophia is away from the house, and we really don't know what she'll do once she gets there."

Madison? Blockade was Madison? Okay, now he was starting to swing back toward this whole thing being a prank, even though she hadn't given him the expected reaction. Madison was petite and cutesy and sweet, and was about as far removed from his idea of someone who got around in a set of chunky, blocky power armour as he could imagine.

Drawing in a breath preparatory to denounce Emma, he reached her bedroom door and yanked it open. It was dark inside, without even the tell-tale glow of a phone screen to break the gloom. But Emma lay in bed, apparently asleep. "Nice try," he said, and flicked the light on.

It wasn't Emma. In the dark it had looked like her, but with illumination came the discovery of carefully piled pillows under deceptively arranged covers. A flutter of movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to see that one of her windows was open a couple of inches, the breeze from outside stirring the curtain.

"Now do you believe me?" demanded Emma. "Now get Mom and get out of there!"

Alan stared at the pillow dummy for far too long as he tried to equate that with what he'd thought to be true. His thoughts, jolted into staccato motion, lurched through the inevitable chain of logic until it reached the inevitable end.

Emma's not here.

She snuck out.

She's actually Firebird.

This isn't a prank.

Shadow Stalker is coming here to hurt us.

Fuck.

Leaving the door open and the light on, he spun on his heel and hustled along the corridor to his bedroom. With any luck, Zoe would still be awake. "Okay, I get it," he said rapidly into the phone. "I'll call you once we're clear."

"Good. Just hurry. Please." She ended the call, and he slid the phone into his pocket.

He wasn't thinking in terms of a prank anymore. Even though he knew it was technically possible that she'd snuck out specifically to make the phone call, such an action didn't jibe with her recent uptick in maturity. She was both smart and responsible, and had to know it would invite repercussions out of all proportion to any benefit she'd get out of it.

When he opened the bedroom door, the reading-lamp was on; Zoe, leaning back on her pillows, had a romance novel open in front of her. She looked up as he burst into the room, a look of surprise crossing her face.

"Alan?" she asked. "What's the matter, dear?"

"Get up." He headed around to his side of the bed, where he kept his wallet and keys … and a small automatic pistol, one that he hadn't touched in months. He'd bought it in the aftermath of the horrific episode with Emma and the ABB, but he'd never even had occasion to point it at someone, much less fire it. "We have to go. Now."

She stared at him in confusion, which rapidly mutated into alarm as he produced the firearm as well as the other items. "Alan? What are you doing with that?"

"Zoe, we're in danger," he snapped, shoving the wallet and keys into his pockets. The pistol, he kept in his hand. "Get up! We have to go now!" How much effect the pistol would have on Shadow Stalker, he wasn't sure. But merely holding it gave him a sense of security he sorely lacked otherwise.

The repetition seemed to get through to her. She pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed, then patted her clothing down. "I need to get changed …"

"No time!" He pointed at the door, now fully infected with the urgency Emma had been displaying. "There's someone coming to hurt us! We need to get out of the house, now!"

She finally did as she was told, only pausing to slide her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers. "Who is it? One of your clients? Someone you got a settlement against?"

"It's …" He hesitated, even as he led the way out the door. She didn't know Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker, and explaining that and Emma's role as Firebird and her desperate warning would take far too long. Zoe only knew Sophia as 'that nice friend of Emma's' and had no idea about how violent Shadow Stalker could get on her nightly patrols. "… complicated. I'll explain later."

"Why don't we call the police? The doors are locked, aren't they?" Halfway down the stairs, she stopped and turned. "Emma!" she called. "Where's Emma?"

"Emma's safe. Come on," he urged. "The house isn't secure enough. They can get in before the police arrive."

"But … I don't understand. What do you mean, she's safe? Where is she?" Still, she let him hustle her through into the garage, where he hit the fob to unlock the car doors.

"I told you, Emma's safe." He could see the questions in her eyes and tried not to shout at her. "Just trust me and get in the car! Please!"

As Emma's tone had gotten through to him, his seemed to get her attention. "Alright, but I'm going to want to know everything after this, mister." She hurried around the hood of the car and opened the passenger-side door. Climbing in, she closed the door and started putting her seatbelt on.

Alan closed the door leading into the house, then got into the driver's seat. He hit the garage-door opener, then started the car. While the door was rolling upward, he kept an eye on the mirror as he fastened his own seatbelt. This wasn't easy with the pistol in his hand, so he dropped the firearm in the centre console before he managed to click the tab into place.

The garage door finished rumbling upward and no shadowy figures had appeared in the opening, so he put the car in reverse and rolled out, down the driveway. A click of the opener had the garage door rolling down again, but he refused to feel safe until he'd backed out on the road and put the car in Drive. Smoothly accelerating off down the road—he loved the feeling of power in the late-model sedan's engine—he took several turns at random before finally pulling over in a quiet side street.

"Now will you tell me what's going on?" demanded Zoe.

"In a minute," Alan muttered, pulling his phone out. He knew that cops loved booking motorists for cell-phone infractions—and they really loved booking lawyers for anything at all—so he made sure that the park brake was on, the engine was off, and the keys were out of the ignition before he woke the phone up. Emma's number was at the top of the Recent Calls list, which made it easy. Hitting the button, he waited for the call to go through, the dial tone clearly audible in the silent vehicle.

"Dad?" It was Emma's voice.

"It's me, honey." He smiled. "We're out of the house. Safe and sound."

A hand reached over from the back seat and plucked the phone from his hand. At the same time, a razor-tipped arrow pricked him just behind the line of his jaw. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," purred Sophia Hess.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

Sophia was a goddamn genius.

She'd been about to head into the house and confront Alan Barnes directly, along with Zoe, but then she'd had second thoughts. They'd be in their home territory, and she was reasonably sure she'd smelt gun oil on at least one of her visits there, so he probably owned a pistol. The last thing she wanted or needed was to get shot in the back by one of her 'harmless' hostages because she didn't know where he kept the fucking thing.

No, it was a much better idea to wait for Emma to warn them, then let them drive her away from their nice comfortable well-lit sanctuary. Though whenever she'd seen this in the movies, she'd always scoffed. Who didn't check their back seat footwell when they were in danger? Now she had her answer: everyone, it seemed.

"Shadow Stalker." Emma's voice had a venom to it that Sophia could almost admire. "Leave my parents out of this. This is between you and me."

"Pfft, yeah, as if," Sophia scoffed. "If I left you alone, you'd come after me. Or out me. You haven't outed me, have you? Because if you have, you're gonna be down one parent. Trust me on this. I don't deal well with betrayal."

"No. We told the police and PRT nothing." Emma's tone was flat and harsh. "All they know is that Shadow Stalker tried to kill Danny Hebert, and we don't know why."

Sophia grimaced. That was bad enough, but it technically didn't count as outing her. It just made her cape identity into a villain. "Okay, fine," she forced herself to say. She could clear her name. In fact—the epiphany burst on her all of a sudden—Emma would even help her. And then they could go back to making Hebert into the villain of the piece.

"Nothing about this is fine." Emma wasn't giving up on this. "Surrender, and we'll get you the therapy you need. My parents don't need to be any part of this."

Therapy? Sophia didn't need therapy. She was going to win. "Fuck surrendering." She smiled tightly into the phone. "Meet me near Winslow. Bring Hebert and that useless father of hers. No cops or PRT, or they die. Got it?"

She was already discarding the original plan of beating sense into Emma and Madison. Well, maybe she'd beat up Madison a bit. Outside her armour, she'd be a pushover. Fighting Emma was a whole different story; she'd never encountered someone as fast and deadly.

But if she held Alan and Zoe at arrow-point and ordered Emma to kill Danny Hebert while she filmed it …

Yeah, that'll work. It would turn Hebert against Emma forever, and it would bind Emma and her parents to silence about how the elder Hebert really died. Madison wouldn't dare say anything that might get Emma arrested either. With a little nudging, they'd change their statement to the cops about how Taylor was the real culprit and Sophia was the misunderstood victim in all this.

And then the Real Thing could be a team again, with her in charge, and with Hebert as the loner psycho villain they could chase down and beat up as many times as they wanted.

Just the way it should be.

I am a goddamn genius.



End of Part Eighteen

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Nineteen: Hostage Situation

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


Taylor

I knew the bad news as soon as the expression on Emma's face changed. "Shadow Stalker," she snarled. "Leave my parents out of this. This is between you and me."

There was a pause as Sophia answered; I could just about hear her voice, but not what she was saying.

Emma shook her head. "No. We told the police and PRT nothing. All they know is that Shadow Stalker tried to kill Danny Hebert, and we don't know why." There was a brief pause. "Nothing about this is fine. Surrender, and we'll get you the therapy you need. My parents don't need to be any part of this."

It was a good try, but even I knew it wasn't going to work. Sophia Hess? Surrender? In what universe? Emma had to know it too, but she gave it her best try anyway.

It wasn't good enough.

"Got it," she said curtly. She drew breath to say something else, but Sophia must have ended the call because she didn't speak. The hand holding her phone dropped to her side, her expression bleak. "She wants us to meet her at Winslow. We're supposed to bring you and your dad, or Mom and Dad die."

"I'm pretty sure that's my cue to ask, 'what does she want me there for?' quipped Dad, "then for someone else to say, 'nothing good'."

I shook my head. "This is no time for jokes, Dad."

"Wasn't joking. Can you think of even one good reason for her wanting me at this meeting?" He shook his head. "Because I can't."

"I can't either," Emma confessed. "She can't want extra witnesses. And she's already got my parents as hostages."

"She won't want him as a hostage." I was certain of that. "She's tried to kill him once already. Whatever else she has in mind, I don't trust her not to try to pull that shit again."

"I hate to say you're right, but ... you're right." Emma looked at me with pained eyes. "So, what do we do? If Madison and me don't bring you and your dad along, she will kill one of my parents."

Snapping at her that all this was her fault really wouldn't have helped anything. Instead, I tried to think of a solution. Preferably, one that didn't end in anyone I cared for getting hurt.

"The way I see it," Dad said, "we've got three choices. First, we do exactly what she says, and try our best to sidestep any bad endings."

I didn't like that idea at all, but he wasn't finished.

"Second, we bring the PRT in on this and hope they don't fumble the ball so badly that Alan or Zoe die."

Emma looked extremely dubious at that, and I didn't blame her. How were the PRT supposed to contain someone who could walk through walls, much less prevent her from coming back for a second try?

"Third, we pretend to co-operate, and spring a trap of our own." He rubbed his forefinger across his lips. "Now, I'm going to assume Sophia is familiar with your capabilities, and Madison's as well."

"Yeah." Emma nodded. "She's been doing her best to outshine us any way she can, but we've been pushing back. I can kick her ass in any kind of straight fight, and I'm pretty sure she can't phase through good steel. So, whatever happens, she'll be trying to plan around that."

The conclusion was obvious, at least to me. "She'll order you to disarm and lose the armour, for starters."

"That's for starters," Dad acknowledged. "But what's her endgame? And what's the point of trying to kill me? I've never even met her before."

"It's not about you." Madison stepped in through the back door and closed it behind her. "It's about Taylor. Now that Emma and I have come to our senses, she's the only one left riding the Taylor hate train, and she's determined to stay on until the last stop."

"I think you've got it," Emma agreed, then turned to me. "She wants to keep you as the designated villain for the Real Thing, but there are problems with that. The major one being, the original plan to paint you as a villain kind of fell through."

"And that's why she was using the carving knife instead of an arrow!" It all became clear to me. "Murder Dad, frame me with the knife. Either I submit to arrest or go on the run, looking for the real killer. Meanwhile, as the real killer, she's also part of the superhero team that's hunting me down. I'd almost be impressed if I didn't want to kick her face in so badly."

Madison frowned. "I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be hard to clear you, but I'm also certain Sophia doesn't spend much time reading up on police procedures and forensic investigation."

"Let's not test it out, shall we?" Dad shuddered theatrically. "How about we just take it as given that she's got yet another flawed yet grandiose self-serving plan cooked up that involves me dying, Taylor being forced into the life of a villain and her coercing the two of you back into being her meek little pseudo-superheroic minions? I happen to be violently opposed to the very first step in said plan, so I suggest we work on a way of cutting it off at the pass."

I remembered the way that my powers seemed able to selectively ignore the laws of physics as needed, and I smiled. "I think I have an idea. But I'm going to need you two to protect Dad until I can take Sophia down for good."

Madison's head came up at that. "You figure you can take Sophia down? I'm the one with good steel, remember?"

"See this?" Again, I formed the black and white glove covering my hand. "I don't think anything can get through it. Anything. And with it, I'm as strong and fast as I need to be."

"Really." Madison reached down into her boot and pulled out a foot-long blade made of the same shimmery-gray metal that the Blockade suit was composed of. "This is the smallest weapon I'm able to make out of good steel, but you could run over it with an Abrams tank and not even scratch the finish." Flipping it into the air, she caught it by the tip of the blade and offered it in my direction.

"Well, okay then." It seemed to be the time to put my money where my mouth was. Reaching out, I accepted the knife and looked it over. It was sleek and deadly, and the edge looked sharp as fuck. "Um, what if I break it?"

She smiled confidently. "You won't break it. Even if you did, I can make more. But you won't. I had a long and involved argument with Armsmaster over that very topic."

I had a momentary shiver of doubt—she seemed very sure that her 'good steel' could beat anything I could throw at it—but then I quashed it. Winslow was a heap of rubble, and Dad was alive, because of my powers. If I didn't have faith in myself, what could I have faith in?

Putting the point against one palm and the pommel against the other, I began to press my hands together. Emma clenched her teeth, sucking air inward as she watched, apparently certain that I was about to impale my hand. That wasn't going to happen; the instant I felt pain, I would stop. But I had to do this. I had to prove that I was strong enough to stand up to anything Sophia or the others could throw at me.

At first, nothing happened, and Madison's shoulders relaxed slightly. I applied more force, seriously impressed at the tensile strength this stuff was showing. "Wow," I said. "If this thing was normal steel, it would be crumpled in a ball by now."

"I'm impressed with that white covering," Emma confessed. "Good steel doesn't play. It should've gone straight through by now."

"It is kinda tough, yeah, but—" Madison began, then stopped as the knife … creaked.

I was applying more force with my power than I had ever used before, magnitudes more than I'd needed to rip Winslow off its foundations. This was actually an effort. While I could do it, I couldn't guarantee that I was able to rip through any thickness of good steel like I could with ordinary steel, concrete or anything else I'd tried it with. Where normal matter crumbled or shredded with barely any resistance, this stuff pushed back.

Slowly, as Madison's jaw dropped from sheer disbelief, I pushed my hands together, the knife blade bending until it formed a half-circle. And then, with a kpang, it snapped; the pointy end rocketed straight down so fast I was pretty sure it broke the sound barrier. It hit my left foot and stopped dead when it hit the protective covering that formed in front of it, then fell over onto the floor with a clatter.

Still holding the pommel end of the knife, I bent over and picked up the pointy end. It was bent over right at the tip and the rest of the blade had a more gentle curve, as did the remainder of the blade on the other half of the knife. "Here," I said, handing both halves back to Madison. "That stuff's tough as hell. I can see why you thought I wouldn't be able to break it. I nearly couldn't."

"Jesus Christ," whispered Emma. "I wouldn't have thought that was possible."

"It shouldn't be." Madison stared at the broken ends of her knife with the expression of someone whose entire worldview has just been tossed down an elevator shaft. "Nothing breaks good steel. Nothing."

"If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure my power just says, 'More force? Yes,' when it's trying to do something like that." I raised my eyebrows. "Anyway, are you satisfied that I'm stronger than I look?"

"Uh, yeah," Emma said, then elbowed Madison in the ribs. "Mads?"

Madison blinked and then looked at me. Where before she'd been contrite, now she was showing active respect. "Yeah, I am. So, what's your plan?"

I drew a deep breath. "So, we need to make Sophia think we're doing exactly what she wants us to …"

<><>​

Alan Barnes

"Okay, pull over here." Leaning forward between the car seats, Sophia gestured with the pistol she'd grabbed from the centre console where Alan had dropped it. While it didn't make her any more lethal than she already was—he'd seen her in action—it made for a handier weapon than the crossbow in close quarters.

He obediently stopped the car where he'd been told, then applied the park brake and turned off the engine. "What now?"

"Pass the keys back here." His heart sank; with the keys out of the ignition, using the car as a means of getting away from the clearly unbalanced cape was no longer on the cards.

He was smart enough not to try to toss them in her face; her mask would take the impact, then she'd probably shoot him somewhere painful, just to make a point. As he was passing them back, he caught sight of his wife's terrified face. "Listen, you can let Zoe go. She doesn't know anything damaging about you. If I told her not to say anything to anyone, she'd stay quiet."

"How very fucking noble of you," Sophia snarled. "You don't get out of it this easily. She gets to share in the consequences of the mistakes you've made, and this way, if you make a break for it? I shoot her. Is that clear?"

"I get it, I get it." Alan wished she'd stop reiterating the threat about shooting either one of them. It honestly sounded like she was working herself up to doing just that, and she just might pick Zoe to make an example out of. "But remind me again; what mistakes have I made that she's paying for?"

"Emma." Sophia sounded like she wanted to punch something. "You totally failed to teach her to never betray her friends. She's stabbed me in the back, and I am going to make sure she understand how big a fucking mistake that was."

"I apologise for her actions," he said at once. "What did she actually do to harm you?"

"She stopped me from doing something that needed to be done, to set things right." That sounded alarmingly vague, but he wasn't sure if he wanted her to clarify it. The less she talked about her crimes, the less danger Zoe was in. "Which means that it's her job to get it done, this time around. That way, nobody needs to say a fucking word about anything that's not their goddamn business. Understood?"

"Totally." He spoke with his warm reassuring courtroom voice, the one he used to convince sceptical judges that his clients were as pure as the driven snow, your honour. "And then Zoe and I get to go home, right?" It was a long shot, but if he could plant that idea in her head as early as possible, she might even go through with it.

"Yeah, probably. If you behave." That wasn't totally reassuring, but he had to hope she'd keep her word, or that Emma would somehow be able to pull off a miraculous rescue. "Okay, out of the car. And Barnes, remember: if you run, I shoot wifey."

"I won't run." He climbed out of the car and waited as Sophia zip-tied Zoe to the passenger-side door, passing the tie through the open window. Off to the side, dimly illuminated by the distant city glow, the heap of rubble that had once been Winslow lay like a slain giant. Not for the first time, he wondered who had blown it up, and why.

Just as Sophia was fastening his wrists to the driver's side door, he heard a distant thunder in the night sky, steadily getting louder. She tilted her head and he heard the triumph in her voice as she spoke.

"Here they come. Now pay careful damn attention. I want you to remember everything you see."

Leaning into the car, she fumbled with the keys before managing to turn on the ignition. Then she flicked the headlights on, illuminating an area of ground in front of the vehicle. With a self-satisfied hmh, she stepped aside, awaiting whatever that was making that noise.

It gradually got louder and louder, then cut out briefly. When it resumed, it was much louder and he was able to pick out an orange flare in the sky, apparently travelling straight towards them. Jesus Christ. He'd heard a rumour that Blockade's power armour had jump jets, but this was ridiculous.

At the angle it was travelling, it didn't seem to be going very fast, but then he noticed that the flare was getting bigger.

A lot bigger.

And louder.

He wasn't totally sure if this was due to it getting closer, or increasing thrust, but the analytical part of his mind kept insisting that 'both, definitely both' was the correct answer. It was a fascinating sight; he just wished he wasn't sitting in the front-row seats for the show, so to speak.

Dust and gravel and pieces of dead grass blew up around him as the Blockade armour came in for a landing. His ears were numb from the roar of the thrusters, and he had to use his free hand to shield his face from the flying debris, but it was still a magnificent sight.

The jets, or rockets, or whatever the suit used to propel itself, cut out just as it settled on to the impromptu landing pad. In the ensuing silence, his ears rang almost as loudly, as if they were trying to make up for the difference. Brightly illuminated by the headlights, it was even more impressive than when he'd seen it in the news, especially after that dramatic entrance.

Shadowed figures slid off the back of the suit, and Sophia stepped forward into the light. Alan guessed her intent was to be menacingly silhouetted. "You bring Hebert?" she called out challengingly. "You better have." With one hand, she straight-armed the pistol back toward Alan's face.

"I'm here," Danny Hebert said, stepping out from behind the Blockade armour. "You don't need to hurt anyone. Just let them go." There was a new dressing on his neck, which Alan connected with Emma's mention of a murder attempt.

Emma was at Danny's side; or rather, Firebird. He had to admit to himself that he never would've recognised her in costume if she hadn't outed herself to him. The metal accoutrements to her costume, especially the throwing discs on her forearms, gleamed with moving, dancing flames as she stepped forward.

"Like the man says." Her tone was hard and flat. "Nobody else has to get hurt, tonight."

Sophia brought up the crossbow she had in her left hand, aiming it at Danny Hebert's face. "Shut up. You don't get to tell me what to do." She tilted her head, apparently trying to look past them. "Where is she? Where's Hebert? I told you to bring her!"

Emma smiled. "Oh, she'll be here in a second."

"Don't try to play games with me!" shouted Sophia. "I told you what would hap—"

And then Taylor arrived.

<><>​

About Thirty Seconds Before

Taylor

It was crowded on the back of the Blockade armour, but I didn't care. While Dad clung to the hand-grip with both hands, his eyes tight shut, I maintained a hold with just one and looked around with interest. I wasn't quite sure how high up we were, but the lit-up cityscape below was fascinating.

Madison's voice suddenly crackled in the borrowed earpiece I was wearing. "Turnover in ten."

Cheating a little, I formed a shell around my face to cut the noise of the thrusters—and the slipstream—so I could reply without shouting. "Gotcha." Then I reached across and tapped Emma on the shoulder.

Emma got the message immediately and gave me a thumb's up, then swapped handgrips so she'd be closer to Dad. I waited a few more seconds, bringing my legs up under me to save time. At the same time, I pulled up the protective covering all over my body and changed the tinting to dead black.

The thrusters cut out, and the suit began to turn over. Emma grabbed Dad to make sure he stayed on board, and I ... jumped. I used all the physics trickery I'd learned my powers could pull not to drive Madison and her passengers straight down into the ground, while vaulting far higher than my legs would've been able to send me with all the training in the world. Spreading my arms and legs, I glided, virtually weightless (according to my power, anyway) while watching the Blockade armour falling away below me.

It was easy to see where we were supposed to go. There was an elongated pool of light, made by a set of car headlights near the rubble of Winslow. But I couldn't see Sophia, and I couldn't see Emma's parents. I kept gliding, assisted by tiny fins and airfoils that popped out of my arms and legs.

Madison landed the suit in the middle of the lit-up area. Even from my altitude, I could tell she'd touched down as lightly as a four-ton butterfly. Emma and Dad got off the back of the suit; the plan at that point was for Emma to tell me where Sophia was, but it got better than that. Sophia actually stepped into the light, casting a huge shadow, but with one arm pointed back into the darkness.

I'd been about to land right in front of her, but it was possible for her to still kill one of her hostages even if I punched her out on the spot, so I changed my aimpoint. Emma, at least, I trusted not to let her shoot Dad. Angling over slightly, I made my final adjustments, then told my powers that it was okay to let gravity take over for a bit now.

And I dropped, a whole lot faster than any rock. Afterward, I realised that deciding to fall was not the same as turning off the 'ignoring gravity' aspect. I needed to be on the ground, so my powers moved me to the ground very quickly indeed.

For the next half-second or so, I couldn't see a thing, then my vision cleared. I was standing next to Mr Barnes' car, and in fact next to Mr Barnes, still wearing my all-black colouration. More or less by instinct, I grabbed his shoulder and exerted my protection over him.

At the same time, I heard Sophia's voice. "—what would happ—what the fuck?"

She fired off a shot not from her crossbow (which I was kind of expecting) but from a pistol. It wasn't clear whether she was aiming at me and was just a terrible shot, or she was actively trying to pull a fuck-you on Emma, but either way the bullet hit Mr Barnes in the forehead … and flattened against the bone underneath.

Okay, I wasn't having any more of that. Surging forward, I grabbed the pistol before she could fire again, and squeezed. Unlike the good-steel blade, it squished like modelling clay between my fingers; Sophia let go just in time before her fingers would've been trapped, and stared at me.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, bringing the crossbow around to point at me. Not that she was waiting for an answer; as soon as it was in line with my chest, she pulled the trigger.

The arrow bounced, of course, and I caught it. Then I shifted my outer covering to the pattern I'd come up with at the bank. It looked pretty cool, I figured, even heroic.

"Your worst fucking enemy," I retorted, unable to help myself. And to be honest, as corny as the line was, it was accurate. I doubted anyone hated Sophia more than I did right then, as much for the murder attempt on Dad as for the months of torment. And whatever she did, I could counter. I was literally the worst person in the world for her to have as an enemy.

She looked down at the empty crossbow, then up at me. I dropped the destroyed pistol on the ground and reached out to grab her arm, but she'd already decided that discretion was the better part of whatever twisted value system she ascribed to. By the time I completed the action, she'd bolted for it.

"Shit," said Madison. "If she gets to the houses, we'll never catch her."

Fuck that. Free, with time to plan and room to move, she'd be an ongoing threat to Dad, Emma, Madison, and their respective parents. Emma was already prepping one of her throwing discs, but I had a weapon of mine all ready to go. Holding the arrow like a dart, I threw it as hard as I dared at the flitting shadow; as when I'd dropped out of the sky, my vision blanked for an instant. The krak of the arrow breaking the sound barrier echoed back from the distant houses … and did nothing.

I'd either missed or she'd gone to shadow at just the right moment. Okay, fine. Make me chase you.

Glancing around at Emma, I snapped, "Shield!"

She acted on instinct, bracing herself with one of the throwing discs held in front of her. I leaped up and kicked off the shield in the same way that I'd launched myself off Madison's suit. Arrowing across the open ground, I caught up with Sophia in just a few seconds. She looked over her shoulder and went to shadow again, but deep down I knew it wouldn't matter.

For a split second, I was tempted to punch her head clean off, but at the last instant I changed my aimpoint, swinging my fist low and connecting with her hip. Even though she was in shadow, I felt something break. Transitioning back to solid, she let out a shriek and fell headlong. At the same time, I let myself stop, landing lightly on my feet.

"Wow, damn," I said, looking down at the way her leg was twisted. "That looks painful."

She glared at me, then went back to shadow; I reached down and picked her up by the scruff of her ghostly neck. She struggled feebly, but I wasn't playing that game. With her alternating between shadow and solid, and not liking it either way, I hauled her back to the others.

When I got there, I saw that Mr and Mrs Barnes had been freed, and were rubbing their wrists. They stared at Sophia as I tossed her into the pool of illumination thrown by the headlights. She was flickering between shadow and solid, but she stopped anyway when Madison put out her powersuit's foot.

"Okay, you caught her," said Dad. "What happens now?"

"I don't know," I confessed. "Alive, imprisoned, she might escape and come back for revenge. Or, you know, we could put an end to her here and now."

"Do you really want to do that?" asked Mr Barnes, putting his hand on my arm and ignoring the growing bruise the bullet had left on his forehead. "It makes for a terrible precedent." He paused. "You do want to be a hero, right?"

I turned away from him. He made sense. Too much sense. I didn't want someone talking me out of erasing Sophia Hess. Everyone here had been targeted by her; they should've been talking me into it.

Sophia was fully solid now, but she wasn't snarking at us so I figured she'd passed out. It looked like she was still breathing, so there was that. Emma knelt next to her, examining the damage, then glanced up at me. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do, but I'm asking this. You want to take over leadership of the Real Thing? Mads and me wouldn't argue."

"I'm hardly a hero," I confessed. "I damaged stuff. I broke things." Like Winslow. "Right now, if Sophia gave me half an excuse to finish her off once and for all, I'd take it."

"And she'd welcome it." I hadn't noticed Madison climbing out of her suit. "Right now, crippled and unconscious, she's weak. She hates weakness. If she was conscious, trapped here in front of us, she'd do her best to taunt you into killing her. For her, it's preferable to the alternative. Juvey then adult prison, with one hip that'll never work properly again? That would be hell on earth for her. You've won. If you kill her now, you hand the victory straight back to her."

I sighed. "Okay, fine. Call the PRT. We'll hand her in." I turned and pointed at Madison. "But I will totally be taking over the leadership of the Real Thing, and I expect you assholes to do what I say. Got it?"

"Got it." She nodded seriously. "But what do we call you? I mean, I like the stripes, but there's not really a theme there."

"What, like a tiger?" I rolled my eyes. "Get real. But sure, there's a theme. My whole look is black and white."

"So, what do we call you?" asked Emma.

I considered the question. "I was thinking … Monochrome."



End of Part Nineteen

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twenty: Confessional

[A/N: This chapter beta-read, and vastly improved, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


Taylor

After Emma put the call through for the PRT, we all stood around awkwardly. Sophia was groaning and moving a little, but with the damage I'd done to her leg she wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry, even if she went to shadow. Madison climbed back into the Blockade suit and stood over her, ready to grab her if she did something stupid. Emma had already zip-tied her hands behind her back.

"You're fucked." It was Sophia's voice. I could hear the pain as she spoke through gritted teeth. "You know that, don't you? You are so totally fucked beyond all belief."

Emma shook her head. "I'm thinking you've got it all backward there. You're the one who tried to kill Mr Hebert, and Taylor and I are witnesses to that. You also held my parents hostage. You are going to prison. Oh, and I'm officially kicking you off the team."

I wanted to chuckle at that last bit, but I wasn't really in a laughing mood. Besides, Sophia hadn't sounded like she was just trying to make a threat. There'd been something more in her voice.

"Yeah, you go ahead and do that," Sophia gritted, her breath audibly hissing between her teeth. "The moment I'm in gen pop or whatever, I'm telling everyone who you are. Firebird and Blockade will be so totally fucking outed by the time I'm done. I'll even tell the PRT and the cops how you talked me into feeding Hebert that stupid fucking vial to give her powers so you could have your very own supervillain to kick around, because picking on Hebert without powers got too boring."

Mr and Mrs Barnes stared at each other, then at Emma, but Dad got there first. "It's a long story," he told them quietly. "I'll fill you in and you can yell at them later."

"You were the one who stole the vials," Madison said, the suit's voice emulator still making her sound like a guy. "We wanted to back off. You were the one who kept pushing forward."

Sophia chuckled harshly, then bit off a groan. "Yeah, right. Who are they gonna believe? The one who's going to juvey anyway, or the heroes trying to pretend they're as pure as the driven snow? Nope, I'm telling them everything—my way. You're all fucked. I'm gonna make sure of it."

Mr Barnes stepped forward then, and crouched down next to her. "You can do that, if you want. It might even work. But you know something? Emma and Madison have every reason to not want their secret identities out there in the public eye. Yours will be going out there; we can't change that now. But if you expose them, they've got no reason not to expose everything you've done, and give the jury a good solid motive to hang all your actions on. As it is, you broke into Danny Hebert's house and tried to murder him, and you held me and Zoe hostage. But if we can't give them a solid motive for why you did it, and we can't do that without handing everyone's secret identities over to the PRT, then they'll be less likely to throw the book at you."

"Still sending me to juvey," Sophia reminded him. "Get me out of that, and we can talk."

"Sorry, no can do." Mr Barnes shook his head. "You're in too deep. You've done too much. But if your lawyer can spin it as a one-time mental break, you'll probably be out when you turn eighteen. Premeditated attempted murder as revenge on three innocent civilians? That's bad. Exposing the identities of PRT-recognised heroes? That falls under the Vikare Act, especially if either of them gets hurt as a result. You wouldn't have a chance of getting out before you're thirty at a minimum."

She literally growled at him. "You can't tell me what to do. I can fucking say what I want, to who I want."

"No. You can't." He reached down and pulled her mask off. "I'm going to need some cloth here, so I can finally fulfill a long-held fantasy. To be able to physically gag someone who isn't following my advice."

I leaned down and tore a strip of cloth off the hem of Sophia's cloak. The cloth was tough, but that didn't matter. When I handed it over, he fastened it in place, despite her struggles and attempts to bite him.

"Sophia," he said seriously as he stood up. "Keep going the way you are, you'll just dig your hole deeper. You can spill everything you know and put yourself in prison for fifteen or twenty years just to spite Emma and Madison, or you can keep your mouth shut and tough it out for three in juvey. Just think about it."

"PRT's here." Madison pointed at the vehicles that were just rolling on to the property. Mr Barnes backed away from Sophia and went to stand next to his wife.

The PRT vans, two of them, pulled to a halt. One had red cross markings on the side, which made sense in retrospect. Emma had mentioned Sophia's injury during the call.

Half a dozen PRT troopers climbed out of the other van, along with two of Brockton Bay's Protectorate heroes; specifically, Assault and Battery. I'd always thought that was a deeply unfortunate naming theme, given that it was the name of a crime, but they seemed to be okay with it. From the other van, two PRT troopers wearing the red cross pulled one of those rolling wheeled stretchers.

"Hi," said Assault cheerfully. "Seems you folks have had a bit of a problem with Shadow Stalker. Thought she was part of your team?"

Emma glanced at me, asking silently if I wanted her to take the lead. I gave her a nod; the PRT and Protectorate wouldn't know me in my current costume, whereas Firebird was familiar to them.

This was just for convenience; as per Emma's offer and my acceptance, I would be assuming leadership of the team, sooner rather than later. There was no other circumstance in which I would be willing to tolerate their presence for one second longer than necessary, once the current crisis got dealt with. I might have had fewer fucks to give overall since I got my powers, but there was a fucking limit.

The reason why I'd even accepted her offer was equally simple. Their team, while it may have been formed under false pretenses, had actually accomplished some good things. On the downside, they'd also forced me to get powers and had (before we stopped her) nearly allowed Sophia to murder my dad and Emma's parents. It was clear to me that unless The Real Thing was to be disbanded and Emma and Madison tossed to the wolves (and trust me, I was absolutely tempted) they needed an adult (translation: me) watching them, just in case their heel-face turn wasn't as definitive as we thought it was.

The thing that finally convinced me to keep them together was the understanding that debuting as the new leader of a pre-existing team gave me a certain amount of up-front credibility, as opposed to having to start fresh as a solo hero. I'd heard that could suck.

"She was," Emma said. "Until tonight. She's been acting out for a while, you know? But we just assumed it was Stalker being Stalker. Until she broke off in the middle of our raid on the Empire and headed off to who knows where. We didn't know what she wanted in the Hebert house, but I figured it wasn't good. When we stopped her, she took off and grabbed Alan and Zoe Barnes there, and forced them to drive out to Winslow, then taunted us to come save them. Oh, and by the way, she was threatening to out us to all and sundry, so we've gagged her. Just so you know."

"Any idea why she picked those particular targets?" I got the impression Assault wasn't quite buying it. "I mean, three people at random out of everyone in Brockton Bay?"

Emma let out a small huff of breath. "You'll be unmasking and identifying her soon enough, so I can tell you that her name is Sophia Hess. She goes to, or rather, went to Winslow High, along with Taylor Hebert, the daughter of the first victim. During the fight, Taylor figured out who she was. Afterward, she told me they didn't get along. Like, at all. So my wild-ass guess here is that after Winslow got rubbled, Sophia got pissed that she didn't have Taylor to kick around anymore and just up and decided to go after her, but found her dad first?"

"Okay, I get that an obsessive type of personality might go after someone she's been bullying for so long," Battery observed. "But why the Barneses? Where do they come into this?"

Dad cleared his throat. "Alan Barnes and I are old friends. If Shadow Stalker's been … well, stalking Taylor long enough, she'd know that. So, she grabbed them to draw me and Taylor out. But I told Taylor to go stay with friends. I didn't want her in the line of fire."

"Okay, that makes as much sense as anything does with capes these days," allowed Assault. "Kinda explains why she made you drive out here too." He rubbed his chin. "Any idea what made her go off the deep end like that?"

At the same time, Battery took a closer look at Mr Barnes. "What happened to your head? Was that Shadow Stalker? Do you need medical attention?"

"Yes, it was," he said with an easy smile. "She gets a little rough when you don't move fast enough for her, so I've found. But it's just a bruise. Nothing more serious than that. Didn't even break the skin."

Emma frowned in response to Assault's question. "I'm really not sure. She's been doing this a lot longer than Blockade and I have, but maybe that means she feels more entitled to do whatever she wants? I thought I knew her, but I really don't."

There was a burst of what could've been muffled swearing from Sophia as the medical techs got her onto the stretcher, but I wasn't sure whether that was due to the pain from her hip or what Emma and her father were saying about her. I was willing to bet on a fifty-fifty chance, but at least she wasn't carrying out her earlier threats.

Something clanked when Battery kicked it, and she looked down. Bending, she picked up the gun I'd crushed. "Okay, what the heck is this? A Smith? Nine millimetre? How did it get like this?"

"Ah, that would be me," I said, stepping forward. "You can call me Monochrome. I, uh, I caught the action tonight and stepped in to help. They like my style well enough that I'm apparently replacing Shadow Stalker on the team."

Which was the most ironic aspect of all this. As the most experienced of them, Sophia had considered herself the team leader. I was the least experienced, but I would actually be the team leader, where she hadn't been.

Battery nodded and examined the crushed pistol. "Brute, I'm guessing?"

"More or less, yeah." I gestured at the ground. "There's probably a flat bullet somewhere around here. She got a shot off before I grabbed the pistol."

"There's something else you need to know about Shadow Stalker," Emma said to Assault. "She's got family in Brockton Bay; mom and a brother and baby sister. We don't want her identity as Shadow Stalker getting out to the wrong ears."

It only took him a second or so to get it. "Ah, right. Okay, we'll get them into protective custody until we're sure nothing's leaked." As a cape himself, he would definitely know about the value of a secret identity. And while the Empire Eighty-Eight had been going downhill over the last couple of years since the Triumvirate captured Night, Fog and Purity, they still had dangerous members.

"Also, Shadow Stalker knows my secret ID as well as Firebird's," Madison put in. "We'd really rather that didn't get out."

I could understand why she was saying this. As much as I disliked her, she was doing her best to fix the shit she'd helped cause, and I had to give her credit for that. While what Mr Barnes had said might stick, it also might not, so it was a good idea to reinforce it.

Assault was evidently not a stupid man, and I could see the cogs turning over in his head. "I see. I'll institute zero voice contact for all non-cleared personnel. Once she's in our custody, I'll make sure she understands the consequences for sharing that sort of sensitive information."

Emma grimaced. "We've already tried telling her that, but she's promised us that she will be shouting our secret identities from the rooftops just as soon as she gets the chance. So, if and when you do ungag her, be aware that whoever's in the room is going to learn everything she has to say. And she's got a lot to say."

"Understood. I've encountered people like that before. She'll learn, or she won't. We've got contingencies in the Vikare Act for this sort of thing." He hesitated. "However, on the off-chance that this whole thing has more to do with your secret identities than you're saying, holding back crucial information might lead to difficulties in the case against her."

"Difficulties? I don't like the sound of that word." I didn't blame Emma for saying that. Neither did I.

"Well," Assault said. I got the impression he was launching into a spiel he'd used before. "In situations like this, when cape and civilian identities are both involved, getting charges to stick tends to be a lot easier if you're willing to officially share your secret identities with the PRT. It helps us to connect all the dots and put together a coherent picture to show the DA when he's building his case. Otherwise, her lawyer might lean on how she's got minimal officially confirmed connection to the victims, especially since the school that Stalker and Mr Hebert's daughter used to go to has since been demolished, thus making it Ms Hebert's word against Stalker's. They may well even go for the Mastered defence."

"Can they do that?" I asked Mr Barnes in a low tone. "I mean, pretend to have been Mastered to get away with attempted murder?"

"There have been cases," he confirmed, keeping his voice equally quiet. "But usually, as soon as any proof of prior connection or motive shows up, that defence is discredited almost immediately."

Which made sense, but also fed straight into why it was technically a good idea to let the PRT know our secret identities.

Technically.

I didn't want to give them my secret identity straight away, mainly because I'd only had it for an hour or so. Also because I didn't know exactly what they'd do with it; would it go into a database, locked away from human eyes, or would they look further into it, and discover that I lived just around the block from where Uber and Leet had crashed their damn car into me?

If our identities came out, how long would it take before the PRT found out how the entire founding membership of The Real Thing used to bully me unmercifully? Would it kill the case by throwing doubt on Emma's and Madison's testimony? Would Sophia's lawyer then make a big thing of the fact that I was now leading the team, having kicked Sophia to the curb for having attacked my father? I couldn't help thinking that each new detail we revealed to help nail Sophia to the wall would make it harder to keep a focus on the basic facts of the case.

But the die was cast, and we'd see how things went.

<><>​

An Hour Later
Barnes Residence

Danny

They trooped inside, Madison last of all. She'd left the suit in a nearby park; the last Danny had seen it, it was doing an amazing impression of an electrical junction box. Alan, waiting by the door, pushed it shut and locked it.

"I'm making hot cocoa," Zoe said, heading for the kitchen. "Who wants some?"

"Please." Emma dropped her helmet on the floor and more or less fell into an armchair. "I have a feeling we're all going to need it."

Madison went into the kitchen as well. "I'll help you."

"We're going to need to call your parents as well." Danny lowered himself onto the sofa, while Taylor leaned on the back of Emma's armchair. "They deserve to know what's going on."

"Already done." Madison's voice floated out of the kitchen. "I rang them from the suit. They should be getting here any moment now." Almost perfectly on cue, there was the squeak of brakes from the curb outside.

"And I just sat down," grumbled Alan, levering himself back up out of his chair.

Danny eyed him as he passed by. "You're calmer than I expected, given what you've heard tonight."

Alan just chuckled wearily. "I am all adrenaline'd out, my friend. But trust me. When the time comes to yell, there will be yelling."

He opened the door just ahead of the knock; there stood two people Danny had never met. On the young side, they bore more than a passing resemblance to Madison. Or rather, she did to them.

"Rod, Marcy, come on in." Alan stood aside to allow them entry, then shut the door again. "This is Danny Hebert and his daughter Taylor. Madison's okay, she's in the kitchen, helping Zoe mix up some of her famous cocoa."

Danny got up with a grunt and shook Rod Clements' hand. "Pleased to meet you, but I can tell Madison didn't give you many details about what's going on. Trust me, I've seen that look in the mirror."

"Many details?" Marcy spread her hands in confusion. "She didn't give us any. Much less an explanation for why we had to leave the house, or why she was over at Emma's house at this ungodly hour."

Alan chuckled darkly. "Oh, yeah. I know how that feels."

"Not the only one, believe you me." Danny seated himself again. "Okay, now that everyone's here. The only people who know everything that's been going on are Emma and Madison. Taylor and I know most of it, Alan and Zoe know a little bit, and you two are more or less totally in the dark. So, let's get this started. Taylor?"

Danny watched as she stood straighter, rolling her head on her neck. The anger he'd seen in her didn't seem about to pop like a volcano, but it permeated her being, infusing her with strength. "Okay, back last year when I started at Winslow, I thought it was gonna be a whole new beginning. It was, but not the way I thought. See, these two," she gestured to Emma as well as Madison, who had just emerged from the kitchen, "decided it would be a great idea to join forces with Sophia Hess and make my life hell for exactly zero good reason whatsoever. Now, you can get the full details about that out of them, but long story short, I just basically endured it until they decided to kick the whole thing into high gear at the start of school this year." She looked at Rod and Marcy Clements, gave them a brittle smile, and leaned on the armchair with her elbows again. "Emma?"

"What she said." Nothing like the superhero now, Emma curled her back and lifted her feet off the floor, almost as if she were hiding in a foetal position from those sitting opposite her. "I was everything she said," she admitted, hiding her face in her hands. "In the beginning, I thought we were doing it to toughen her up, but that was a lie. We were bullying her, and I used everything I knew about her against her …" She climbed around and knelt up on the armchair to look at Taylor. "And I swear, if I could take it back, I would. I'd even swap with you if I thought I could."

"Me too," Madison added quietly from the kitchen.

"Keep going," Taylor growled, sounding utterly uninterested in their lamentations. He didn't blame her; as far as he could tell, this day had been a long, long time coming.

Emma bowed her head and turned to sit back on the chair. "She has every right to hate us for what we did. You see, Sophia's Shadow Stalker and…"

"Wait, what?" Rod and Marcy Clements shouted, leaping to their feet. "Emma, you can't just out a hero…"

"She's no hero," Alan snarled with a shake of his head.

"Please, please, let me finish," Emma begged, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the adults in the room. "Before I lose the courage to keep going."

The adults settled. No one was happy, but information was key and it was clear they were all preparing themselves for something worse.

Emma clenched her fists and pressed them into her eyes. "I met Shadow Stalker the night she saved you and me from the ABB. Remember that, Dad?"

Alan nodded, resolutely.

"And when she unmasked to me, I wanted to be like her. I was willing to do anything to make her like me, even turn on my best friend before that."

Emma dared another glance up at Taylor, who was still scowling down at her. "I—I can't…" She bowed her head and wept again. "I'm so sorry."

"I guess that's my cue," Madison said, coming into the living room from the kitchen with Mrs Barnes in tow. She handed out a mug of cocoa to each person, then sat down beside Emma. Emma curled into Madison, and it was Madison who squared her shoulder to support her friend.

"I came in later," she went on. "Where Emma used her knowledge to attack Taylor, I enjoyed it. At the time, it was fun to think up new ways to screw with her, but at that point, that's—" She paused and shook her head. "No, I'm not going to say that's all, because there's nothing 'all' about it. We pulled every conceivable prank on Taylor to try and break her." She looked over her shoulder. "But you just wouldn't break. It floored me that you wouldn't break."

She turned back to the adults. "And this is where it gets really bad. Sophia turned up with three vials … of which Emma and I decided to take one each. I know!" She shot out, when her parents opened their mouths to lecture her on ingesting unknown substances. "We'd figured out that the vials belonged to Cauldron. Have you ever heard of them?"

"I have," Alan said. "Thought they were a myth."

Madison and Emma both shook their heads. "No. They're real, and when we drank the liquid, we got powers and formed a superhero team with Shadow Stalker." Now, it was Madison's turn to falter, and Emma lifted her head. "The plan was that if we forced Taylor to swallow the third vial, she could become our very own villain that we could kick around at will."

Danny rubbed his brow, but the other four parents were not as non-verbal. "You…you WHAT?" they all demanded, at varying degrees of volume.

Danny stood up and went over to Taylor, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. "Baby, I am so, so sorry," he said, pulling away just long enough to kiss her forehead before dragging her in for another hug.

Emma and Madison were now hugging each other as both sets of parents railed on them. Only Mrs Barnes paused long enough to raise her hand to her mouth to cover her gasp as she turned to Taylor. "And they did it," she said, just loud enough to be heard.

Taylor nodded from inside her father's arms. "They did."

Rod and Marcy Clements then caught up. "So, all three of you have powers?"

Madison took point once more. "Yeah," she admitted in a brittle tone of voice. "I'm a Tinker, and Emma is more action packed than Armsmaster wishes he was. Along with Sophia, we became the Real Thing."

"But there was a side effect to the powers," Emma added. "Ever since we got them, we started to question what we were doing. Even when we made Taylor take her vial, Madison wanted to just offer it to her. Give her a chance to be one of us for reals. But Sophia wouldn't let us, and at the time we still followed her lead."

"It took us until recently to realise it was all sorts of wrong, and we started pushing back against Sophia," Madison cut in. "And eventually, Emma said 'enough'."

"I should have said it sooner," Emma admitted. "But when I did, Sophia and I argued over it. It was made even worse when Mads suggested bringing Taylor into the team instead of fighting her. That's when Sophia lost it. Like, psychotically lost it."

Madison chimed in, "Which brings us to tonight."

Danny stepped to one side of the sofa, walking Taylor with him. It was crazy, him thinking that he could protect her now when in actual fact Taylor was far more powerful, but his emotions were sky-high and he didn't care how stupid it looked. "I'll take it from here."

He watched as the two girls melted into the couch, probably in the hopes that no one would notice them. "From what I understand, Emma and Madison were out mopping up some Empire capes—let me finish," he insisted, as once more, the four parents surged at the new information. Inwardly he knew he might have done that deliberately, for it was one thing to know your daughter had powers. It was something altogether different to know that those same girls were sneaking out at night and fighting established villains while you think they're fast asleep in their beds.

"Shadow Stalker then broke away from them after they argued some more and came to my house. She grabbed a carving knife from the kitchen with every intention of murdering me in my sleep. I woke up to Emma busting in through Taylor's bedroom window like a bomb, before she chased Stalker off." He turned to his friend. "Unfortunately, that's when she made her beeline to you."

"Batter up," Alan grumbled, still scowling at his daughter who had the sense to keep her head bowed low. "Emma called me to warn us, but the problem was, Stalker was already hiding in our car. So when we left, we took her with us. We still had no idea what was going on at that point, but for some reason, we were taken to Winslow and held hostage. Her demands were simple. Bring Danny and Taylor to her."

"So, what happened?" Marcy Clements asked, when it seemed no one wanted to pick up the conversation.

Taylor shrugged from inside Danny's arms. "I happened. That vial they shoved down my throat? Gave me powers that let me kick Stalker's ass in very short order." She turned in Danny's arms to face the girls. "You're not my friend anymore, Emma. I doubt you ever will be again. But you've offered me the leadership of the team and fine, I'm gonna take it. You need someone making sure you don't fuck up again. But first, you've gotta survive whatever your parents have in store for you. Good luck with that."

"Indeed," Rod growled.

<><>​

Alan Barnes

Danny stepped away from what was probably going to be the scene of a double filicide, even if the girls did have powers.

"Well, Taylor and I need to get home so we can have some sleep before the night is over. But before we go, I did want to point out that although your girls have done some pretty egregious stuff, they did save my life, and they also helped Taylor save you. From the sounds of it, they've already figured out the error of their ways, so you might want to use that as a starting point." At Taylor's growl, Danny gave her a tighter hug. "I didn't say to give 'em a free ride, hon."

"Taylor," Marcy called, as Danny and Taylor headed for the door. "I'm sure we'll be saying this plenty of times in the near future, but from the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry this happened to you, and that our daughter caused you this pain."

Taylor looked up from her father's shoulder. Pinching her lips together, she nodded without a word.

"Would you like us to drop you home?" Rod asked, causing them to pause again.

At that, Taylor's lips kicked up a fraction. "That won't be necessary, thank you."

"Alan. Zoe," Danny said, acknowledging each of them. He then looked at Madison's parents and nodded at them.

Out on the porch, Danny's skin and clothes turned shades of grey and Taylor was black and grey from head to toe. They stepped out onto the lawn, where she crouched slightly and then they vanished, shooting upward faster than Alan would've thought possible.

Distantly, he thought he heard his friend whoop.

"So," Zoe said, turning back to the girls who hadn't moved from the couch. "Where do we start?"

"How about in the morning?" Alan suggested with a yawn. "It's been a long night and I'm not in the mood to make it go on any longer."

Rod nodded. "You got it." He turned to his wife and child. "Let's go home."


End of Part Twenty

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twenty-One: A New Era

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



Monday Morning, September 13, 2010

Office of Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE

Emily sipped at her first coffee of the day—she could handle the stuff, if she went light on it—as she settled into her office chair. The 'skim sheet', a listing of the highlights of the previous 12 hours that she'd be dealing with, was ready to hand; she picked it up after switching on her computer. Long experience had her setting down the cup before she took in the information on the sheet. If there was anything particularly egregious on the page, she didn't want to be dealing with it and wiping coffee off her keyboard and screen.

The very first item made her thankful she followed the practice, even as she paused and read it through twice more. "What the actual fuck?" she muttered.

A vigilante before becoming part of The Real Thing, Shadow Stalker had been known for her violent tendencies for a while now, but she'd been getting better … hadn't she? Her association with Firebird and Blockade—both of whom Armsmaster had nothing but glowing praise for, for two different reasons—had seemed to be stemming the worst of her behaviour, at least until last night. But then she'd apparently gone axe-crazy in the space of hours, attempting to murder some random citizen in his bed, then holding two more hostage in the middle of the night.

It got even better. The dry, concise phrasing told her that Stalker (whose shadowy form the PRT still didn't actually know how to confine) had been captured and handed over to the PRT by her own (ex)teammates, and was currently under sedation in a cell because they had no idea what else to do with her. Armsmaster had added a note that he was working on 'countermeasures', but there were no other details.

Taking a hit of her coffee—this was going to be one of those mornings, she could already tell—she deliberately moved her eyes onto the next item on the sheet. Prior to whatever mental break Stalker had had, The Real Thing had busted up an Empire dog-fighting ring, and the PRT had been called in to scoop up Cricket and Stormtiger, both of whom had been through the wringer. Stormtiger had cuts, bruises and a few broken bones, while Cricket had first-degree burns all over her face and no hair from the neck up, as well as a moderate concussion.

As far as Emily was concerned, it was no more than either of them deserved, for all the pain and suffering both of them had handed out to their considerable number of victims over the past few years. She had to admit, The Real Thing could not only talk the talk, but they could also walk the damn walk, especially considering that they'd apparently chased off Hookwolf during the course of the fight. Hookwolf didn't normally run from battle; given the damage to Stormtiger, Blockade must have been handing out whoop-ass in industrial quantities to make him change his mind.

Emily Piggot wasn't one to personally express approval of capes applying excessive violence, but in Blockade's case she would've been happy to shake the man's hand; anyone who could make that damn Nazi turn tail and run was okay in her book.

Except Lung. Lung could go fuck himself.

With a sigh of faint satisfaction—it was nice to have at least two asshole capes off the street for the moment, however long that lasted—she went back to drinking her coffee and reading the rest of the sheet. The rest of it was somewhat more boring, but these were all details she'd have to remember to address, this being the point of the skim sheet.

At one point, as she set the cup down, it jittered slightly and she saw ripples forming in the liquid. She paused, waiting for something else to happen, but apart from a barely audible rumbling that quickly faded away, there was nothing. Making a mental note to check it out if it happened again—it was almost certainly a cape doing cape things—she went back to reading the sheet.

Her intercom buzzed. "Ma'am, Trooper Mendelsson here to see you."

She frowned slightly. Mendelsson was a solid troop, but per her recollection, he'd been rostered for guard duty on the roof. "Send him in."

The door opened to admit Mendelsson, who was carrying a cloth shopping bag of all things. "Ma'am," he said, coming to attention and saluting.

"At ease, Mendelsson," she said at once. "What's this about?"

"We just had a cape land on the roof, ma'am. Blockade, of The Real Thing. He had this for us. Said it would help keep Shadow Stalker in one place, ma'am."

Emily's interest, already piqued, increased considerably. "Really." It was both a question and a statement. She supposed that a Tinker who had spent time with the recalcitrant cape would have more of an insight on how to contain her shadow shape. Still, it was impressive work. "What is it?"

"Cuffs, ma'am." Trooper Mendelsson placed the bag on her desk, then gently eased the three items out of it. Two were indeed heavy cuffs made from a shimmering grey metal, sized for a teenage girl. To her moderately trained eye, they looked adjustable for a snug fit. They possessed no integral lock, but with their hasp-and-loop securing system, any ordinary set of handcuffs could be used to make them into a set of wrist (or ankle) manacles. While she was no judge of such things, they looked sturdy enough to hold anyone. Anyone who couldn't become shadow, at any rate.

The third was a simple block of the same metal, four inches by two by one. She frowned, eyeing it. While she could understand the utility of the cuffs, the function of the block was a mystery to her. "What's that for?" Perhaps to supply power to the cuffs?

"It's for Armsmaster, ma'am." She couldn't see Mendelsson's face, but she thought she heard a smile in his voice. "Blockade said to give that to him so he wouldn't 'borrow' one of the cuffs for testing. He said this is what he calls 'good steel', and Shadow Stalker can't phase it, or phase through or around it. Put one of these cuffs on her, and she isn't going anywhere. Ma'am."

"Ah." She'd heard the phrase 'good steel' before; Armsmaster had included it in his report to her about his encounter with Blockade. It was apparently what the suit and Firebird's throwing discs were made of, and Blockade claimed it was unbreakable. Armsmaster had expressed his doubts, but hadn't been able to secure a sample to test this out.

Well, now he had one. And the PRT also had a potential way to prevent Shadow Stalker from simply walking out of the building through the nearest wall; at least, one that didn't involve the ethically dubious method of 'keep her sedated indefinitely'. She nodded in approval. "Well done, Mendelsson. Dismissed. I'll take it from here."

"Ma'am." The trooper saluted and left her office.

Taking up her phone, Emily speed-dialled a number, connecting to Armsmaster's lab out on the Protectorate base in the bay. It rang exactly once before being picked up. "Yes?" She took no offense from the brusque tone; he got that way when he was working on anything he thought was important.

"How quickly can you get here? I've got something here I think you'll be interested in."

<><>​

Nine Minutes and Thirty Seconds Later

Armsmaster

Colin turned over the block of metal in his gauntlets, studying the play of light on the surface. "It certainly looks the same as what Blockade uses in his suit," he admitted. "And so do the cuffs. I'd have to get this back to the lab and do durability tests before I can give you hard numbers on what it can stand up to."

"Assume I'm less interested in its overall ability to withstand damage, and more interested in how well it can contain Shadow Stalker." Director Piggot hefted one of the cuffs in her hand. "For something that was constructed in the last eight hours, it looks damned good. But will it work as advertised, or will Shadow Stalker just leave it on the ground and walk away?"

If there was anything Colin was familiar with when it came to Tinkertech, it was the difference between expectation and cold hard reality. His tech rarely failed; that much he knew. When it did fall short, it was because it had encountered something (or someone) that it just wasn't rated to handle. Which was why he had three separate halberds, each with a different set of internal mechanisms, set up for different potential opponents or conditions.

Most other Tinkers were a different story. They built their tech to do something—to shine in a given area—rather than to be good in a specific way. As such, they often assumed their area of expertise made them unbeatable in that field. Sometimes it did … and sometimes it fell flat. This never ended well.

Kid Win's tech was an exception to the rule, but not in a good way. The boy had yet to figure out what his tech was intended to do, so he didn't excel at anything. Even if it was supposed to be something special—as Colin's tech was able to be hyper-efficient—nobody knew what that was, either.

Blockade's tech, as far as Colin could figure, specialised in being durable (and bulky, but mainly durable). That included the very metal with which it was constructed; as he'd explained to Colin on their first meeting, if some 'jerk villain' could break his stuff with their powers, then it wasn't strong enough.

Colin had his doubts about that. Everything was breakable, for a suitably loose definition of the word. He himself was making progress on a nanothorn concept that seemed capable of cutting through even the most durable of materials, though he was only able to make it work for a few seconds at a time. Its interaction with the block of 'good steel' would definitely be recorded and passed on to Blockade.

But that was for later. Right now, they had a pair of cuffs to test out.

<><>​

Director Piggot

Shadow Stalker, minus mask and costume, looked almost peaceful as she lay on the bed within the cell. Given her potential to spill the secrets of the members of The Real Thing, from spite or just a desire to secure some kind of deal, everyone present had signed an NDA to the effect that they would not speak of anything they learned from her to non-approved persons. Sophia Hess's own identity had been included within that NDA, because it made sense to cut down on what otherwise threatened to be ever-expanding paperwork.

Amusingly enough, if there was room in this situation for humour, Stalker had been enclosed in a full-pelvis cast to keep her hip immobilised until it could undergo proper medical attention, so for the moment it looked like she was wearing a giant diaper. This was why they were testing out the cuffs immediately; medical intervention was best left until the patient could be taken off sedation after the fact, to avoid any potentially problematic interactions.

"How do we contain her once she's awake, if the cuffs don't work?" Emily asked.

The question was one she needed an answer for before they went any further with the trial. On the other side of the polycarbonate window, right at that moment, the cuffs were being fitted, then connected together by handcuffs which were then linked by a chain to a ring-bolt in the floor. Stalker was still out to it though they'd removed the IVs, leaving just the life-signs monitoring patches under the gown they'd given her for modesty.

Armsmaster gestured at the oxygen mask dangling from the ceiling. "From my study of her activities, she never spends long inside solid objects, so my supposition is that she still needs air, no matter what form she's in. As soon as the tech exits the room, we'll be able to flush the oxygen and replace it with nitrogen in seconds, if we have to. If she wants to breathe, she'll have to use that mask. Which requires her to be solid."

"Hm. Okay. Carry on."

Armsmaster spoke a few words into his microphone, something about administering an antagonist, and the tech wrapped a Velcro band with a small device attached to it around Stalker's upper arm. He then moved unhurriedly to the airlock-style exit door and tapped in the code to let himself out.

Once he had cycled through and the outer airlock door had closed, Armsmaster said, "Commencing test."

The device strapped to Stalker's arm must have done something, because her eyes snapped open and she stared around. She tried to reach up to rip it off, but the cuffs didn't quite allow enough play to pull it off. However, this made her aware of the cuffs; half-sitting up, she looked more closely at them, then at the floor where the chain was secured, then finally at the polycarbonate window and the spectators beyond.

"What the fuck?" she demanded, her aggravated tone reaching Emily quite easily, even via the speakers. "What is this shit? Where am I? Why am I cuffed up?" She felt at her face. "Who unmasked me, goddamn it?"

Armsmaster leaned toward Emily. "She'll be able to hear you," he said softly.

"Good." Emily cleared her throat. "Good morning, Shadow Stalker. You've been unmasked because that's routine for all capes we place under arrest for criminal activity. You are in a holding cell in the PRT building, where you will remain until your arraignment. Have you been Mirandised yet?"

"No, I damn well haven't been Mirandised yet!" Stalker seemed to be building a fine head of steam. "This is bullshit! I know my rights! I'm a goddamn hero! You've got no call unmasking me like that! What even am I under arrest for, anyway?"

Emily had written down the names in her notepad, and she'd used a Miranda card as a bookmark. "You've been accused of attempted murder against one Danny Hebert, and of the false imprisonment of Alan and Zoe Barnes with threats of violence, and assault and battery against Alan Barnes. At the moment. We might have determined more charges before you see the judge this afternoon."

Stalker shook her head violently. "No! No! That's bullshit! I've been framed! They're just jealous of me, and they want me off the team!"

"Be that as it may," Emily forged on, turning her eyes to the reference card. "You are currently under arrest, and I've informed you of the charges. You have the right to remain silent. If you should choose to give up this right—"

It was just about then that Stalker must have realised she wasn't bluffing her way out of the situation. The shift to shadow form was fast, even though she still had to be suffering from the effects of the sedative. However ... the cuffs did not shift; they remained stubbornly solid, though still clasped around Stalker's ghostly wrists.

Then came the next problem; with Stalker's initial lunge off the bed, the cuffs had nothing between them and the floor, so that was where they fell with a loud metallic clatter. Instead of slipping free, Stalker went with them, her shadowy form going prone on the floor. She went solid almost at once then back to shadow again, wrenching and jerking at the cuffs. While she was in shadow form, they wouldn't budge, only moving when she was solid.

"Add a count of attempted escape in there," Emily observed, watching the proceedings with interest. "It seems to me that she can't move them at all when she's in her Breaker state. Do you concur?"

"I do," agreed Armsmaster. "This is utterly fascinating data, right here. Those cuffs should be easily within her weight limit, but even if they weren't, she should be able to slide right out of them. Why can't she, do you think?"

Emily snorted. "You're the cape and the Tinker in the room. I have absolutely no idea, and zero desire to bend my brain into pretzels trying to think of an explanation. When you figure it out, submit a report."

"I'll certainly do that." Armsmaster paused, as Shadow Stalker went solid again, inside the cell. She was lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, hair snarled down over her face, glaring at them.

"Okay, fine. Get me out of these stupid things, and we'll talk. I've got information you're going to want to know."

"The cuffs stay," Emily stated. "We're not so stupid as to just let you just drift out through the wall when you decide you want to go."

"Then get me medical attention for my hip. Get me Panacea. I'm telling you, The Real Thing isn't nearly as neat and tidy as you think they are. I can give you all the down-low, but I want healing first."

"What sort of information are you talking about?" Armsmaster didn't sound very interested. "We've already been warned that you're likely to try to disseminate the real identities of your ex-teammates far and wide. That isn't going to buy you any special treatment."

"That's only part of what I've got to tell you. And I want a lawyer, too."

"That reminds me." Emily took out the card again. "I've already advised you about your right to remain silent. If you should choose to give up this right, anything you say can and will be taken down to be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. And if you decide to answer questions now, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney." She slid the card back into the notebook and replaced it in her pocket. "Do you understand these rights as I have read them out to you?"

Shadow Stalker pressed her lips together and breathed through her nostrils, evidently not wanting to answer, but eventually gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah, I understand."

"Excellent." Emily gave her a faux cheerful smile. "So, with those rights understood, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Get me back up on the bed and fix my fuckin' hip first, and then we can talk." Shadow Stalker grimaced. "The painkillers are really starting to wear off now, and it fuckin' hurts." She paused. "Oh, and anything I tell you about what they've done, I've got immunity for. That's how it works, right?"

Emily glanced sideways at Armsmaster. He seemed to think for a second, then nodded fractionally. She agreed with his assessment; with the cuffs proving their worth, Stalker was far less of a flight risk, so getting Panacea in to heal her hip wouldn't be nearly as risky. "If you give us good information about events we don't already know about, we'll definitely take your cooperation into consideration when it comes to the charges you'll already be facing."

Stalker shook her head. "Fuck no. Immunity down the line."

"Not how it works, and you know it." Emily gave Stalker her best 'don't try that shit with me' look. "We'll take it into consideration, and that's the best assurance I can offer. Otherwise, you can maintain your right to say nothing to anyone, until we can get a lawyer with the clearance for your specific circumstances."

Stalker turned her head away. "Okay, fine. Just so long as you listen to what I've got to say about those two-faced bitches."

"Oh, we'll listen." Whatever it was Stalker wanted to talk about, there was a good chance that the more she ran her mouth, the deeper she would mire herself in legal troubles. And Emily was always in favour of taking advantage of the mistakes of other people.

<><>​

Monochrome

The Boardwalk, A Little Bit Earlier

Emma (in her Firebird costume) and I looked up as Madison's Blockade suit came in for a landing nearby. "Done," she reported. "They should have no trouble holding her now."

"That's if they actually try it out." I didn't know if they would or not. "If she gets out again, I'll probably have to kill her, and I don't really feel like doing that." I would if I had to, especially to protect Dad, but it wasn't my go-to.

"I'm thinking they will." Emma sounded sure of herself. "After all, what have they got to lose by trying?"

I nodded. "I hope you're right. Let's patrol."

"Come on up," Madison invited, as grip-handles extended from the shoulders of her power armour. "Better field of view, and it'll look kinda cool."

Emma looked at me and I shrugged, seeing no problem with it. "Sure, okay." Leaping upward lightly, I landed on the suit's right shoulder and grasped a handle. "If you want to do all the walking, that's fine by me."

"Works for me, too." Although Emma had to do a little parkour work to get up next to where I was, she still managed it with impressive ease. Whatever changes her power vial had made to her were subtle but absolutely undeniable.

"Wait," I said before Madison could move off. "I want to try something." I'd applied my protection to various items before, but never something made out of Madison's 'good steel'. Shifting my weight, I pressed my hand flat against the armoured shoulder of the suit, and exerted my power for a moment.

"Whoa, that was weird. All my readouts just went strange."

"No shit," I breathed, lifting my hand away from the metal. "That was … I'm not sure if that's even possible, what I just saw."

"What's not possible?" asked Emma. "You just did your durability thing, didn't you?"

"Yeah." I shook my head. "Normally when I do it, stuff becomes about ten times as tough, right?"

"What you said," Madison confirmed. "What happened with the good steel? Didn't affect it at all?"

"Oh, it affected it." I stared down at the metal shoulder I was perched on. "It went from 'stupidly tough' to 'can't touch this'. I'm pretty sure that if I tried to break it when I was enhancing it, it wouldn't break."

"Well, that's definitely an interesting power interaction," Emma observed.

"Isn't it just?" Madison sounded equally intrigued. "Uh, Monochrome, if Firebird offered to teach you how to use some kind of simple weapon, like a staff or a sword or something, would you be okay with that?"

I looked across at Emma. Before I knew who she was, I'd watched the footage of her doing all sorts of fancy tricks with Armsmaster's halberd, and thought she was pretty damn badass. But if she could do that with a spear with an axe head, surely she could teach me to use something a lot simpler. "I guess. But why?"

Emma answered for the both of them. "Because no matter how strong you are, you can always do with that extra bit of leverage and reach that a weapon can give you." She paused. "Especially an unbreakable one."

That was … an extremely good point. And after all, one of the reasons I'd decided to take over the team was to ensure their strengths were put to good use. This sounded like a damn good use. "Okay, we'll see how we go with that."

"Excellent. I'll forge you up a staff once we finish the patrol."

"Don't forget we're on lawn care duty today," Emma cautioned.

"Lawn care duty?" I looked curiously across at her.

"Yeah." She hunched her shoulders. "Our dads talked to your dad, and he decided that we need to come over and do some weeding and mowing. My dad's already paying to repair the damage I did."

"Maybe by then we'll have our applications back, too." Madison sounded hopeful.

"You're both going for Arcadia, too?" I glanced across at Emma and got a nod in return. "You realise I won't stand for any more of that shit you pulled at Winslow, right?"

"Yeah." She hunched her shoulders again. It seemed to be a thing she did whenever she remembered how much of a colossal bitch she'd been to me. "And like we keep telling you, we've changed. That's not us. Not anymore."

"You told me that once or twice before, just to catch me by surprise and fuck me over," I reminded her. "So, you'll excuse me if I don't totally take you at face value this time."

"That's fair," conceded Madison. "We've made a lot of progress, but we've still got a long road to travel yet."

Emma nodded. "One day at a time."

<><>​

Armsmaster

Panacea stood in the infirmary, her hand on Shadow Stalker's arm. The ex-hero was masked up—no sense in requiring more NDAs than necessary—but she was still firmly manacled to the floor via the good-steel cuffs.

Colin had spent a little time in the lab before the New Wave healer showed up, running a few preliminary tests on the sample of good steel that Blockade had gifted him. While he still didn't believe in anything being truly unbreakable, that belief now had a few dents in it.

Nothing touched the stuff. Nothing. Not his best diamond cutting wheel, not his high-intensity laser, not the plasma blade on his primary halberd, nothing. The laser had warmed it to a fine heat, but even at max intensity, with just as much energy pouring out of it as went into it, there was no sign of weakness or deformity.

And when he'd activated the nanothorn effect and brought the block in contact with it … the nanothorns broke. He'd never encountered anything they couldn't disassemble on a subatomic level, until now.

It had to be breakable. He just didn't know what with.

"Done," announced Panacea, lifting her hand away and stepping back from Shadow Stalker. "Your hip is entirely repaired. Just so you know, I had to draw on the muscles around it for repair, so you're going to have a limp until you can build them up again."

"Hey, no, fix the damn hip properly." Shadow Stalker pulled uselessly on her manacles. "This is bullshit."

"I'm not being paid for premium service, you don't get premium service." Panacea waited until the cell door opened, then stepped through. "Just so you know, she's got another issue. Somewhere along the line, she's managed to pick up a whole lot of asbestos particles in her system. Right now it's not overtly life-threatening, but in time she's going to end up with major problems if it's not removed."

"You can't take it out now?" asked Director Piggot.

Panacea shrugged. "Sure, but it'll count as another operation. Plus, it's spread all the way through her system, including her brain. Taking it out would be a basic service, but repairing the damage it's done so far would count as a premium service with a brain charge on top, because I've essentially got to give her everything a going-over."

It was just another aspect of life in Brockton Bay that the one major independent hero team had a rogue healer in residence. Panacea charged the minimum rate that NEPEA-5 allowed, with extra for short notice. She was defined as a surgeon, and thus charged two hundred dollars per hour or part thereof. This was surprisingly affordable, considering that there were zero other charges surrounding this, and Brandish refused to allow what she called the 'medical insurance protection racket' to get its hooks into her daughter's cash flow.

Over and above all that, she had 'basic service' where the base problem was dealt with and the patient sent on their way, and 'premium service' where the client was given a top-to-toe total fix. The second took more time and more effort, so she naturally charged extra for it; also, what she called the 'brain charge' multiplied the cost of the entire operation by ten if she had to make any changes to the brain.

The Director closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "This just keeps getting more complicated. Take the asbestos out of her. Basic service only. However she got that shit inside her, she's lived with the results of her own stupidity so far, she can keep on living with it."

"Copy that." Panacea waited until she was let back into the cell, and set to work. Moments later, she came out again, carrying a plastic baggie that contained a respectable pile of asbestos fragments. "Done. Mom'll be sending you the bill."

"Understood." Director Piggot nodded. "Thanks for coming down at short notice."

"Hey, I'm being paid overtime rates for this and it gets me out of school for half an hour; plus, I just got paid twice. Trust me, I can live with that." She gave Colin a brief wave on the way past. "See you guys around."

After Panacea had entered the elevator taking her up to the first floor, Director Piggot turned back to Shadow Stalker. "Your hip is fixed, as per your request, as is the problem you hadn't even told us about. Now, if you're going to talk, talk."

"Okay, fine," grumped Shadow Stalker. "The first thing you gotta know is that Blockade's not a guy. She's a chick named Madison Clements."

Director Piggot folded her arms. "I'm pretty certain we already warned you that blatantly outing your ex-teammates isn't going to buy you any favours."

"No, no, it's relevant, I swear." Stalker sounded genuine, so the Director nodded for her to continue. "She's friends with Emma Barnes, who you've probably already figured out is Firebird."

Colin was already doing face and body matches, and came up with a ninety-five plus percent chance that Stalker was telling the truth. "Even if this is true, you're giving us nothing we'd be inclined to act on."

"Well, no, but how about this?" Shadow Stalker leaned forward. "Emma and Madison used to bully the fuck out of another girl at high school."

"The same one you bullied?" asked the Director before Colin could. "Taylor Hebert?"

"Uh …" Stalker saw the trap looming before her, and shut up.

"You were friends with Emma and Madison before they ever got powers, weren't you?" Colin pressed. "Bullying is bad, but in itself it isn't an indictable crime. You're going to have to try harder than that."

"Okay, okay. How about how they got their actual powers? And what they were going to do with them?"

Director Piggot gestured with two fingers. "Go on."

"Well, it started when I, uh, we found some weird vials …"

<><>​

Director Piggot

As the sordid tale unfolded, Emily figured she could pick the exact spots where Shadow Stalker was eliding over her own part in the affair. There was no way, she figured, that Stalker would have taken such a passive role in the whole situation, especially given the way she'd gone after the Hebert girl's father so single-mindedly. But she didn't call the girl on the lies, preferring to let the tale play out and give Stalker all the rope she needed to hang herself.

It was interesting to learn that Taylor Hebert herself had some kind of powers, though Stalker seemed intent on downgrading them, as though Hebert didn't deserve any kind of respect whatsoever. Emily had her own theories on the matter, but chose not to air them at the moment. It would've been far too much of a distraction.

"Interesting," said Armsmaster, after she trailed to a halt. "So, assuming Ms Barnes and Ms Clements are indeed as bad as you say they are and you're the misunderstood hero in all this, why did you attempt to murder Danny Hebert?"

"I didn't!" The denial was automatic, almost to the point that Emily could have sworn that Stalker herself believed it. "That was Emma!"

"Danny Hebert says otherwise," Emily said bluntly. "And so does the arrow you left behind, with his blood on it."

"I told you before," Stalker insisted desperately. "They're trying to frame me! All of them!"

"Okay, we're done here." Emily glanced at Armsmaster and hooked her head toward the exit. They both headed toward the elevator, ignoring Stalker's swearing and shouts and excuses.

Once the doors had closed behind them, Armsmaster looked at her, tilting his helmet. "How much of that did you believe, Director?"

"The basic details, mainly." She smiled tightly. "Her account of who was responsible for that whole thing happening? Not in the slightest." But still, she'd follow up on what she could, with Taylor Hebert.

If The Real Thing was hiding anything else, she'd find it.



End of Part Twenty-One

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twenty-Two: Cards on the Table

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



Hebert Household

Taylor

Putting down the book I'd been reading, I got up from the sofa and went to the front door. Madison was still kneeling beside the flower garden, industriously weeding. The basket we'd scrounged up from somewhere now had a lot more weeds in it, and the stretch of garden bed to her left looked better than it had in more than a year. From the back yard, I could hear our aged lawnmower chewing its way through the matted growth that Dad occasionally trimmed when he had the time for it.

The mower hadn't wanted to start at all, but Madison had partly disassembled it, made a few minor adjustments (I hadn't even known she was carrying a toolkit), then put it back together. Emma had yanked on the cord and it had roared to life, whereupon she'd set to work cutting the lawn down to size. I had to admit that building an eight-foot set of power armour was impressive, but getting that old mower to work properly was damn near miraculous.

I still wasn't sure how I felt about Emma and Madison coming over and doing our lawn care for us. Sure, they'd screwed with me for months on end without respite (along with Sophia, but she was another story). Part of me wanted them to pay for what they'd done, another part of me wanted nothing to do with them, and a third part saw how earnest they were at trying to make amends and kind of wanted to see how dedicated they were to that idea.

As the first and third parts tended to end up with the same result, the second part was usually overruled. I compromised by telling myself that I'd keep a close eye on both of them, and the first time either one tried to pull shit on me, I'd yank the rug out from under both of them. Not that I expected or hoped for this to happen, of course; I was just going to be ready in case it did happen. Whoever made up the saying 'once bitten, twice shy' had nothing on me.

The mower engine fell silent at the rear of the house, and I headed through to the back door. I didn't think it needed more fuel but I wasn't an expert on lawnmowers, or any other kind of machine. When I opened the door, I saw the reason; the lawn had been completely mowed, making it look better than it had in months. Emma, trundling the mower across the smooth green expanse to the little shed we used to shelter it from the elements, looked over and waved with a cheerful smile.

I came down off the steps and strolled over toward the shed. "It's done?" I asked, though the evidence was right there in front of me. "That was a lot of mowing."

"Not really," Emma said, expertly manhandling the mower into the shed. "It was kind of fun, actually. I haven't really had the chance to switch off inside my head since … well, you know since when. A little bit of repetitive physical exertion while I work things out in my own mind goes a long way, you know?"

That in itself was a huge difference from the Emma I'd known before. She'd been moderately fit, just enough to maintain her muscle tone for modelling, but not to the point that she would casually refer to wrestling the mower through our stubborn grass cover as 'kind of fun'. Hell, she wasn't even really sweating hard. And from what I could see of her arm muscles, she was ripped.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it." I gestured at the house. "I've got some chilled lemonade in the fridge. I'll go and tell Madison she can take a break too."

"You can try, but she'll probably say no unless she's done with weeding." Emma followed me up the stairs again. "She's gotten to be really hard to budge that way. Me, I'm thinking I'll wash my hands and face before I sit down."

I nodded. "Knock yourself out. You know where the bathroom is." You should, I thought snarkily; you stayed over enough times, back when we were actually friends.

The look she shot me was full of regret, making it plain that she'd picked up on what I hadn't said. "Thanks."

Steadfastly refusing to feel bad for digging the knife in a little, I went to the front door again. As Emma had predicted, Madison was still steadily weeding away. She'd made noticeable progress since I'd last looked, and it wasn't far to the end of the garden bed.

"Come on in and have a break," I said. "Emma's finished the mowing and she's washing her face. I've got fresh lemonade."

She looked around at me from under the sun-hat she was wearing. From what I could see, she was sweating even less than Emma had been. "I haven't got far to go," she said. "I'll be done in ten minutes, maybe less."

Well, Emma had predicted that too. "Okay, I'll hold you to that. There's a half-bath under the stairs if you want to wash your hands when you're done." I went back inside and closed the door.

Again, I was struck by the sheer contrast between the Madison I'd been victimised by for at least a year, and the one currently weeding Mom's garden bed. That Madison hadn't missed a trick when it came to looking cute and appealing, from using cosmetics to make her eyes look bigger to wearing denim skirts and going bare-armed even in winter. This one had no problem with putting on shapeless gardening clothes and marring the polish on her perfectly manicured nails with garden dirt.

Heading through the living room into the kitchen, I got out three glasses, then took the pitcher from the fridge and poured two of them full of fresh-squeezed lemonade. We had cookies too, so I put some of those on a plate then sat down to wait for Emma.

She came into the kitchen about thirty seconds later, and her eyes lit up at the sight of the glasses of lemonade. "Mmm," she said, dropping into a chair and taking up the one I'd put on her side of the table. "You always make the best lemonade."

I wasn't sure if that was an attempt to reconnect with the old friendship we'd once had or just a passing comment, so I left it alone. The lemonade was pretty nice; as Emma well knew, it was a recipe Mom had once taught me.

I nudged the plate of cookies so she'd know it was okay to have one. "You've, uh … you've really done a great job on the lawn today. Dad'll be pleased."

She shrugged and took a cookie. "Like I said, it was easy. A lot easier than it would've been before I got my powers, anyway." She rolled her eyes. "Can you see me mowing any lawn, the way I was then? I was a total diva."

Well, she wasn't wrong, but I didn't want to make her think I was getting soft on her any time soon. They'd originally formed this team with the express purpose of making me into their own personal super-powered punching bag, and I wasn't quite ready to let bygones be bygones over that yet. Or over the twelve months of bullying they'd put me through prior to the Great Super-Powers Bullshit Plot.

"Mmm-hmm," I said non-committally, and picked out a cookie of my own. Taking a bite, I washed it down with a mouthful of sweet, tart chilled lemonade. Lingering over the drink meant I didn't have to say any more right then, saving me from being drawn further into the nascent conversation.

Emma must have figured out what was going through my mind, because she switched conversational gears effortlessly. "So, I think you'll like whatever Madison puts together for you. I've gotten a lot of use out of my throwing discs. No matter what I put them through, they don't bend and they don't break." She raised an eyebrow at me. "Except where you're concerned, of course."

Was she trying to draw me out and form a connection? I couldn't tell, so I nodded. "It'll be helpful." There; I'd answered the question without committing to getting deeper into the back-and-forth.

Again, she picked up on my stonewall tactic with impressive ease. She took another drink from her lemonade and sat there silently for thirty seconds or so before she spoke next.

"Taylor, this isn't going to work." Her voice was quiet and patient, not whiny or complaining or accusatory.

"What?" I looked at her questioningly. "What isn't going to work?"

"This." She gestured from me to herself, and out toward the front of the house where Madison was still presumably weeding. "You, as team leader."

"And why not?" My hackles started to rise. "You need someone there to keep an eye on you, and make sure you don't backslide. You said so yourself."

"Yeah, I did." She spread her hands and looked me in the eye. "And what's the most important quality a team leader needs to have?"

"Uh …" I was caught on the back foot for a moment. "Knowing what you should and shouldn't do?"

"That's up there, sure," she agreed. "But the most important aspect is communication. Being able to listen, and being able to make yourself understood. If you shut us out, if you shut me out, we'll never be able to communicate, and we'll never know what you want from the team. Feedback; it's important."

"Oh." I hadn't thought about it quite like that.

"I mean, I get it." She smiled understandingly. "You're still pissed at us. I don't blame you; if I could go back in time, I'd be first in line to smack my younger self upside the head. But you can still talk to us without feeling like you're letting us off easy. And we need to know what you want from us. It's not like there's any Thinkers on the team to read your mind, you know."

"Well, yeah. Good point." And it was. I took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm still … well … trying to figure out how I got to this point, to be honest. And how to handle it now that I'm here."

"No harm done." She leaned back in her chair. "So, did you have any ideas for exactly what kind of weapon you want Madison to forge up for you?"

The front door opened and closed while I was still thinking about that. "Just me!" Madison called out.

"We're in the kitchen!" Emma replied.

"Cool, I'll just wash up!" I heard the door to the half-bath open—it was a cramped affair, with one corner of the door cut off to make way for the stairs, and the toilet under the lower section—and the sound of splashing water as Madison cleaned her face and hands.

I got up and went to the fridge to get the pitcher of lemonade. Madison's glass was already on the table, so I poured it full, then topped up Emma's glass and mine while I was at it.

Moments later, Madison came into the kitchen, looking somewhat fresher than she'd been out in the garden. "Garden's finished. You've got some nice flowers there."

"They were Mom's choice." I said it as a simple fact, not for sympathy. "I've tried to keep the garden up but …" I ended with a shrug.

"Yeah." Emma looked down at the table. "That's on us. Sorry."

"Not totally." I felt obliged to be honest about the matter. "After she passed, Dad and me … well, we got wrapped up in our own heads for a bit there. Dad took longer to come back than I did. But every time I tried to tend to the garden after that, it reminded me that she was gone, so I … just stopped doing it." I took a deep breath, recalling the conversation I'd had with Emma earlier. "Because turning your back on a problem is a perfect way of dealing with it."

"Well, I'll be happy to come over and do some weeding whenever," Madison offered. "I came up with two more designs in my head while I was doing it." She sat down and took up the glass of lemonade. "An auto-defence gun turret that walks to a spot, sits down, and defends the area, and an armoured vehicle for breaching defended buildings."

"Breaching them?" I asked. "How?"

Madison chuckled. "Drives straight through the wall. When you've got enough traction, most obstacles are visual cover only." She took a sip of the lemonade. "Ooh, this is very nice. Really hits the spot."

"I know, right?" Emma took another drink of hers. "The perfect mix of tart and sweet. I'd come over and mow the lawn just for this."

I'd just nudged the cookie plate Madison's way when the phone on the wall rang. Frowning, I got up. Dad had to know that I'd be okay at home, even with Emma and Madison there. And if it's not him, who else would be ringing here at this time of day?

Well, wondering about it wasn't answering the phone. I picked up the handset. "Hello, you've reached the Hebert residence. Taylor speaking."

"Good afternoon, Ms Hebert." It was a woman's voice, one I didn't recognise. "This is Director Emily Piggot, of the Parahuman Response Teams." The voice, no; the name, definitely yes.

"I, uh, hello, Director," I stammered. "Uh, if you're looking for my father, he's still at work. I can get you the number, if you want."

"That won't be necessary." She sounded sourly pleased with herself. "I already have that number, and I've already contacted him. However, it is you that I'd like to talk to at your earliest convenience."

I blinked. Shit, she knows everything I've done, she knows about the truck, she knows about Uber and Leet, she knows about fucking Winslow, I am so dead. Fighting to quell my raging panic, I breathed in through my nose. "Uh, I mean, what about?"

"The events of last night, for the most part." I heard a rustle as a page turned. "Also, we've gotten a statement from Sophia Hess, and we'd like to run it past your recollection of events."

Even as unobservant as I was, that sounded awfully like 'we want to see just how badly she lied'. Unless they were taking her word for whatever bullshit she'd spun for them, and they just wanted me to come in so they could arrest me.

"Um … am I going to need a lawyer for this?" This was the first time I'd ever asked this question in my life. Considering the school I'd very recently attended, I was lagging behind by several grades. But as an old union man, Dad had always impressed on me one very simple rule: never talk to the police without a lawyer present, no matter how innocent you thought you were.

"Interestingly enough, your father asked that very same question. I gave him the same answer I'm going to give you—I personally don't see any need to bring one, but do so if it makes you feel more comfortable—and I believe he was arranging that matter after we finished the call."

"Right. Thank you. Uh, so did you want me to come over to the PRT building and wait for him there?"

"That would seem to be reasonable, yes." She paused. "I have you pencilled in for three PM; that is, one hour from now."

"Okay, right, I guess we can do that. I'll, uh, I'll see you then."

"Yes." She hung up then, and I stared at the phone before putting it back on the hook.

When I turned to face Emma and Madison, Emma was talking on her phone while Madison was working to finish her lemonade. My heart rate was still elevated as I came to sit at the table. "Well, that happened."

"What happened?" asked Madison. "Is someone asking about us?"

"In a way." I clasped my hands in front of me to stop them from shaking. "That was the Director of the PRT. Reading between the lines, Sophia's made a statement that the Director doesn't believe for a heartbeat, and she wants me to come in and vet it."

"Shouldn't your dad be there too? And maybe a lawyer?"

Madison was definitely more switched-on than she'd been back in the bad times. Or maybe it was just the calm, matter-of-fact tone she used. Had the cutesy ditz persona just been an act all this time? I had no idea; nor did I much care. "Yes, and yes. She told me Dad was arranging one."

Emma finished her call and put her phone away. "He is. My dad. He says your dad's gonna come by on his way from the Dockworkers' Association offices and pick us all up. Dad's going to meet us at the PRT building."

"How does he feel about representing me in a situation that might involve getting you in trouble?" I had to ask the question.

Emma snorted. "You saw him last night. When he found out what we'd done, he was pissed."

"Yeah, true." I nodded. "Well, if my dad doesn't have a problem with it, I don't either."

"Besides," Madison chimed in, "this gives you a chance to put Sophia away for good."

I looked at her and shook my head. "I'm not disagreeing with you. It's just so damn weird to be on the same page as you guys. Like I've fallen into the Twilight Zone or something."

"Look at it from our side." Emma spread her hands. "As far as I'm concerned, the way I feel now is perfectly normal. So when I look back at how we used to be, that's the damn Twilight Zone."

Madison nodded. "Damn right."

<><>​

PRT Building, Fifty-Nine Minutes Later

Danny Hebert

Despite the fact that Taylor was (as far as Danny knew) entirely impervious to any physical attack, she still looked jittery and nervous as they sat in the conference room, awaiting the Director's arrival. Alan Barnes sat on her other side, closed briefcase on the table, looking every inch the confident, prepared lawyer. Danny wasn't quite sure what he needed the briefcase for except as a prop, but it was an effective prop all the same.

"Relax," Alan advised her quietly. "We've got this. Just remember; if she asks you anything, check with me before you give her new information. And if I say we're done here, shut up altogether."

"O-okay." She straightened in her seat and pressed her hands flat on the table. "Thanks for being here."

He let out a grim chuckle. "Hey, I'm not blameless in this little circus, so I figured I'd help out where I could."

The door opened and Director Piggot entered, followed by Miss Militia. The PRT soldier who'd been standing guard outside the door stayed where he was. Piggot stumped over to the head of the table and seated herself, while Miss Militia took up a position behind and to her left. The superhero's weapon of choice seemed to be an ornate sabre at the moment, which Danny decided wasn't too intimidating.

"Good afternoon," the Director announced. "I apologise for the delay. We'll begin with introductions. I'm Emily Piggot, the regional Director for the East-North-East department of the PRT, and behind me is Miss Militia, the second in command of the Protectorate branch assigned to this department."

Danny knew damn well she was aware of the identity of everyone in the room, but he decided to play along. "It's nice to meet you, Director, Miss Militia. I'm Danny Hebert, this is my daughter Taylor, and that's Alan Barnes. He's acting as our legal counsel today."

Piggot nodded once, briefly. "Mr Hebert, Ms Hebert. Mr Barnes, I presume you're the father of Emma Barnes?"

They'd already figured Sophia had revealed everything she could in a fit of spite, so Danny wasn't totally surprised by the question.

"I am, yes." Alan nodded. "She's down in the lobby with Madison Clements, browsing the gift shop." He indicated his phone, lying on the table. "Did you want me to call them up here?"

"Don't bother." The Director placed on the table a briefcase almost the twin of his, and snapped the latches open. "Ms Hebert, I have here the collated transcript of several interviews with Sophia Hess. I would like you to go through it and advise me of any corrections that you believe are warranted."

Taylor glanced at Alan, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. "I, uh, sure, I can do that."

"Excellent." Taking the stapled pages from her briefcase, Piggot laid a pen on top. "If anything requires more than a simple note, tell me directly. You've already been advised that everything in this room is recorded, correct?"

Danny nodded. "We were told that, yes." Reaching out, he slid the statement over to Taylor

"Good." Piggot folded her hands in front of her. "In your own time, Ms Hebert."

Wordlessly, Taylor took up the pen and started reading through the statement. Almost at once, she snorted and made a brief correction, then kept going. Several more times on just the first page, she changed just a couple of words at a time, then stopped at the bottom. Leaning over to Alan, she had a brief whispered conversation with him, then turned back to the Director. "Uh, just so you know, anytime I change something that I didn't see for myself, I'm putting in Emma or Madison's initial so you know who I got it from, okay?"

"Understood." Piggot nodded. "Please continue."

Page after page went by under Taylor's pen, as she corrected the account already there. At one point, Alan tapped the sheet and cleared his throat. She nodded and made a few more corrections. Finally, she flipped back to the first page and nodded. "Okay, that's it."

"Thank you." The Director accepted the annotated statement back and skimmed through it. A few times her eyebrows rose, but she said nothing about what she'd seen. She kept going until she reached the end, then put the statement back in her briefcase. "I appreciate your time. Would you be able to answer a few questions for me before you go?"

Danny froze. The phrase 'answer a few questions' rarely boded well when asked by a law-enforcement officer. He glanced at Alan, who had already drawn breath to address the subject.

"Director Piggot, before my client agrees to any such thing, is she under arrest?"

Piggot shook her head. "No, Mr Barnes, she is not. She is free to go at any time. I would just like to clear up a few points of ambiguity within the statement itself, and about the events of last night."

"Very well." Alan didn't let down his guard. "What's your first question?"

"Ms Hebert." The Director leaned forward slightly. "You did not dispute Sophia Hess' statement that you and your father were involved in a traffic incident yesterday, where a pickup truck suffered moderate damage to its panelling down the right-hand side."

Taylor glanced at Alan, who nodded. "That's true," she said, her voice sounding like her throat was dry. "That was me. I stepped into the road without thinking. I'm sorry."

Danny heard Alan draw in his breath between his teeth at the unsolicited extra statement. He tensed, waiting for Piggot to land on Taylor with both feet, but instead she asked another question. "In that case, were you also involved in the incident where Uber and Leet totalled their car, not so long ago? In a suburban park, just one block from your house?"

Wait, what again now? Danny stared at Taylor, as did Alan. "Taylor?" he asked.

Taylor shrank into her seat under the sudden scrutiny. "Uh … maybe?"

"Hmm." Piggot eyed Taylor closely. "Have you been involved in any other breakages, accidental or otherwise?"

"Director." Alan spoke sharply. "If you're going to attempt to trick my client into admitting wrongdoing, I'm going to have to insist that you direct all such questions through me."

Piggot sighed. "Very well. Please ask your client if her powers involve teleportation. Specifically, the ability to teleport large masses at once."

Alan turned to Taylor, and offered his notepad. "Write the answer in here and pass it to me."

"Don't bother." Taylor faced the Director, looking her in the eye. "I don't have teleportation powers."

Piggot studied her for a moment. "May I ask what your powers are?"

"You may ask," Alan interrupted before Taylor could speak. "My client is under zero obligation to inform you about anything that cannot be derived from observation. Specifically, anything that could be used against her at a later date."

"Very well." The Director nodded in acknowledgement. "Now, about these supposed vials that granted you your powers. What can you tell me about them?"

"Very little," Taylor admitted. "I never saw them, either before or after the act. All I can tell you is that it was literally the worst thing I've ever tasted. If you spent a month wearing the same socks without ever taking them off, then strained stagnant pond water through them, it would still taste better than whatever was in that vial."

"And where they came from?" Piggot was reaching now, for anything to go on with. "What do you know about that?"

Taylor shrugged. "Apparently, Sophia claimed to have retrieved it from the site of a firefight between two groups of out-of-town capes. Of course, Sophia is provably delusional and psychotic, so I'd take anything she says with a distinct grain of salt."

"I already do," growled the Director. "Now, as for your current … ah … teammates. From Sophia's account and your lack of denial, they appear to have committed crimes against you. Do you wish to confirm that at this point in time?"

"No." Taylor didn't even hesitate. "From the way they're acting now, I would suggest you look into Sophia's powerset to see if she possesses the ability to subvert non-capes into acting like her. Maybe her smoke form has minor psychotropic effects if inhaled. In any case, from the moment they got powers, they started shaking off her influence. This is most evident in the fact that when Sophia tried to murder my dad, they acted to save him."

From the way Piggot sat back, she had clearly not thought about that aspect. Neither had Danny; he'd taken Emma's swing back toward the light as proof that she'd just gotten over Sophia's bullshit. But now Taylor's suggestion had him wondering if there wasn't actually more to it.

"That's … something we'll definitely look into." The Director touched her fingertips together. "Now, then. About last night. Why did you lie to Armsmaster and the police about what had happened? Why did you hold back information from them?"

Alan Barnes cleared his throat. "I think you will find that my client acted to preserve her secret identity, and those of her teammates, as well as the lives of myself, my wife, and Blockade's parents. When Ms Hess got to me and Zoe anyway, they acted with wit and alacrity to save our lives and bring her to justice. If you intend to hound her over a few white lies, then where does it stop? Superheroes need to keep certain things secret in order to be effective."

Taylor held up her hand, as though she were in class. "May I ask a question, Director?"

Piggot tilted her head. "Certainly."

"The cuffs and the block of good steel that Blockade supplied. How did you go with them? Blockade's gonna want to know."

The Director's eyebrows raised slightly. "That material has engendered frustration wherever it went. The cuffs worked exactly as advertised, giving us a safe method of maintaining Shadow Stalker and similar capes as prisoners. Armsmaster apparently has yet to make a mark on that block, which I find even more impressive than the cuffs. Would Blockade be interested in providing more of that sort of thing as needed?"

Taylor grinned. "I'd have to ask. Just one thing: she doesn't make stuff that's lightweight."

"So I gathered," Piggot conceded dryly. "Well, that's everything I wished to cover."

"Good." Alan Barnes gave the Director a searching look. "Is this going to happen again? Are you going to be pulling my client in for questioning, however polite it may be, every time some cape does anything unusual? Because I'm reasonably sure I can build a case for harassment out of that."

"No." Piggot shook her head. "This is not going to be an ongoing thing. Though if I ever find out that your client did have a hand in the destruction of Winslow …"

"… I will expect you to have ironclad proof to hand." Alan rose. "Okay, we're done here."

Danny stood as well, and he and Taylor followed Alan from the room. The elevator trip down again was just as quick as it had been going up. They walked out through the lobby, Emma and Madison falling in behind them.

"So, how—" began Emma as they exited the doors, but Alan snapped his fingers.

"Not here," he warned. "This is a public space."

Silently, they went on to Danny's car and got in. He started the engine and turned on the radio. Once they were out on the road and driving away, Alan drew a deep breath. "Okay, we can talk now."

"So, how'd it go?" asked Emma. "Are we in trouble?"

Taylor shook her head. "Not as far as I can tell. But the Director really, really doesn't want us to do that again."

"And the good steel?" asked Madison. "Did you find out about that?"

Taylor grinned. "Both Sophia and Armsmaster are pissed off at it."

"Yess!" Madison fist-pumped. "I told him it was stronger than anything he had!"

"Well, we get to walk away this time," Alan reminded them. "Sophia named you in her statement, but Taylor struck your names out under my instruction, which means that the Director doesn't have official confirmation, so she can't use that information against you."

"So, unofficially they know who you are, but officially they have to pretend they don't." Danny shook his head. "I will never understand cape culture."

Taylor shrugged. "So long as I can be a hero, and make sure these two miscreants stay on the straight and narrow, I'm good. Right, guys?"

Emma and Madison spoke at the same time. "Right."



End of Part Twenty-Two

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twenty-Three: Escalation Central

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



Friday Afternoon, September 17, 2010

Monochrome

I stood on the deck of the half-sunken bulk carrier, angling my weight to adjust for the fact that it was listing by several degrees. From where I was standing, I could easily see what was left of the Boat Graveyard, and the city beyond. The ship's original name was lost to posterity, but it was known as the Gatekeeper. This was mainly because it had blockaded the entrance to the port for years until Alexandria made a flying visit (literally) and shouldered it around ninety degrees, allowing the gradual clearing of the Graveyard to begin. It would be awhile before Lord's Port was fully open for trade again, but at least that was a promise for the future.

The Gatekeeper was the only one that couldn't be moved by normal means, mainly because it was full of water and solidly aground. As such, it was the one piece of real estate I knew of that was big enough and flat enough (though with physical and visual obstacles) for us to have this sparring session, while not risking accidental bystanders or official attention if we broke any bits off it. The Real Thing was on thin enough ice with the PRT as it was, so there we were.

Or rather, there I was.

I held in my hands the staff Madison had forged for me. Made of good steel (of course), it was six feet long and was (in my inexpert opinion) nicely balanced. Emma also seemed to think so, though she also considered it too heavy for her to use in serious combat. For most of its length, the staff was oval in cross-section rather than perfectly round, but there was a purpose to that. There was a solid cylindrical section about the size of a Coke can at each end, and grooved hand grips right where I might want to hold it, but apart from that it was a length of basically unbreakable metal.

I quite liked it. Madison had put thought and effort into its construction, and it showed. The solid ends gave a wider strike area, while the speed I could swing it meant that the strike would hit hard. Theoretically, I could also throw it, though it would be more likely to go through things rather than bounce back like Emma's throwing discs.

The rules for our training-slash-sparring session were simple. If Emma or Madison tagged me, they scored a point. The same went for Emma; if I got a solid hit in on her, I scored one. With Madison, however, it was more stringent. Her suit was powerful enough to take a simple hit, so tagging her properly meant I had to knock her off the boat. At the same time, I had to be careful with my strikes, to make sure I didn't inadvertently splatter Emma with a blow intended for Madison.

This would be a good test of my powers and my reflexes. I wasn't at all practised in martial arts, though Emma had been giving me some valuable pointers in staff fighting over the past few days. There was no way I could match any but the simplest manoeuvres she'd demonstrated for me, but at least I had the basics of how to swing it without tangling my own legs up or thwacking myself in the back of the head (both of which I'd done, to Madison's vast amusement).

I didn't have to wait long before the exercise began. Emma hadn't yet shown herself, but one of her discs whipped out from behind a derelict winch, arcing in the air on a path that would intersect where I stood if I didn't move my force-field-clad ass pronto. I almost leaped up toward the drunkenly sagging superstructure but at the last instant, I dropped low instead, warned by some obscure instinct.

The disc flashed over my head, then hit a nearby shipping container and rebounded from it with a hollow boom. I watched, suddenly pleased with my decision, as the disc passed through the spot I would've been in if I had done the leap as I'd originally planned. Jeez, she almost caught me napping with that one.

Well, at least I knew where she was now. Keeping a careful eye on the winch as the disc dropped down behind it again, I began to circle around, holding my staff ready to deflect any random flying pieces of good steel. I'd known Emma was good, but her opening moves had raised my estimation of her capabilities by a considerable amount.

Only the faintest scrape of metal on metal behind me warned me in time. I whirled, bringing up the staff, and only just managed to knock aside Blockade's reaching hand; the power armour had unfolded itself from what I'd thought was a weather-worn wooden crate lying on the deck. That holo-disguise was terrifyingly effective, under the right circumstances.

"Nice moves," Madison observed, continuing to advance on me. I backed up, unwilling to commit myself to knocking her over the side when I couldn't see Emma or what she was up to. "Thought I had you there for a minute."

"So did I." I knew damn well what she was trying to do—distracting me so that Emma could pull some other sneaky shit—but it was almost impossible to not engage with her. Besides, I could keep an eye out all around even while I spoke to her. "You two really planned this out."

"That's the general idea." She took another ponderous step toward me, the footstep shaking the deck. Was she trying to herd me toward the winch, so Emma could jump out and tag me?

It felt like an obvious plan. Too obvious. They were coordinating on the sly with their radios so I wouldn't know what they were planning, but I already knew Emma was behind there. Madison was in the open, doing her best to draw my attention, which meant that Emma was doing something that needed the attention drawn away from her.

Right now, I was alongside another shipping container and the winch was only a few yards away. What seemed obvious about this situation, but wasn't?

Realising my mistake almost too late, I hooked the end of my staff under the side of the shipping container and flicked upward. It lurched over and fell on its side with a resounding crash; at the same time, Emma leaped off the top of it where she'd been almost in position to reach down and tag me, landing lightly several yards away.

"Good," she complimented me. "You're really starting to think on your feet. I like that."

This time, I didn't answer back. I was starting to learn. Instead, I prowled closer, keeping half an eye on Madison. Remaining at distance with Emma was a losing strategy; she'd already proven herself way too good with those damn throwing discs, so she had the ranged game all sewn up.

Almost negligently, she flicked one out at me now. I brought the staff up and around like she'd taught me, and managed to intercept it in midair; with a clang, the disc ricocheted back across the space between us, where she caught it out of the air like she'd meant to do it that way all along.

Which, of course, she had. Because she was that much of a smartass.

"Heads up!" boomed Madison. "Deadly poison gas incoming!" At the same time, I heard a hissing sound, and saw one of the hoses attached to her armour spewing a cloud of steam in my direction. This was one of the other ways she could tag me.

We all knew my force field would (probably) protect me from airborne hazards, but it would do nothing for any civilians that I was trying to protect. Which was why Madison had designed the staff like she had. I grasped the staff so that the oval cross-section faced one way in the upper section and the other way in the lower section, then began to spin the whole thing like an airplane propeller … or a fan. We'd theorised that if I spun it fast enough, the oval shape would act like an air-foil.

As the steam rolled toward me, I continued spinning the staff. Soon it was moving as fast as I could get my hands to respond, but I didn't know if that was fast enough. So I concentrated and tried to make it go faster.

That was when my vision blanked unexpectedly. It had done this a few times before, when I was about to do something that might actually hurt me. We'd figured that this was my power's way of protecting me, though I wasn't sure why it was doing it now.

Besides, being blind was a good way to get snuck up on, so I relaxed the need to spin the staff quite so fast. Right on cue, I could see again; the staff was still spinning in a blur in front of me, which was good. I would've hated for it to go propellering off into the harbour or something. Hastily looking around to see where the others were, I spotted Emma down on one knee, holding her hands over her ears. Madison wasn't going that far, but she was definitely enveloped in the same steam cloud she'd sent my way.

"What?" I asked, bringing the staff to a halt. "What did I just do?" Even as I asked the question, I heard a distant drawn-out k-kk-kkrakk-kk-k echoing from the buildings of Brockton Bay. It sounded like thunder, but the sky was clear of all but a few innocent white fluffballs of clouds. "What was that?"

"Sonic boom," Madison supplied helpfully. "You spun the staff so hard the ends broke the sound barrier."

"Loudly," added Emma, coming fluidly to her feet and taking her hands away from her ears. "Let's not forget the loudly aspect." She was talking a little nasally. "I think my eardrums just met in the middle of my head."

"Whoa, shit, sorry." I looked at the staff with concern. Just spinning it had hurt Emma, and I hadn't even touched her with it. "I did not know that would happen."

"I kind of thought it might, but not to that extent." Madison shrugged. "My bad. Should've warned you. Sorry."

"I'll be fine." Emma wiggled her pinky finger in her ear. "I recover real fast from this sort of shit. Five-minute break, and then we start again?"

"Sounds good to me." I found a bench-like section of the winch to sit down on. "I never saw you curve your discs like that before."

"Simple aerodynamics." She took a seat next to me. "Figuring out the rebound direction was harder. I really thought you'd go for high ground."

I wasn't at all surprised to have my 'trap' supposition confirmed. "Nearly did, but it felt too much like the obvious thing to do. And if it's obvious …"

"Then the other side's thought of it, too." Madison nodded. "Sun Tzu goes into this sort of thing a bit. I guess you could call it managing the expectations of your opponent. Don't just anticipate what he's going to do. Figure out what he thinks you're going to do, then use that to draw him into a trap of his own making."

"Yeah," Emma agreed. "If you can make the other guy think he's got you where he wants you, then he'll walk straight into the pit-trap and still be confident on the way down."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing it's not as easy as you're making it sound."

"Haha, hell no." Madison's booming chuckle rattled the deck slightly. "But it's worth studying books on strategy and tactics. Wellington's good for that."

"I've been reading up on Hannibal," Emma countered. "He had some good ideas, too. In fact—"

Whatever her 'in fact' was leading to would be forever lost to posterity, because just then another rumbling booooom echoed over the bay. I shared a glance with Emma, then stared out at the city. In the distance, literally miles away, I thought I saw something. "That wasn't another sonic boom, was it?"

"No. It wasn't." Madison was all business now. "That's a fireball from an explosion. I'm guessing a cape fight. One second, I'm going to check the scanner."

Emma vaulted to the top of the winch, then grabbed a dangling cable and went up it almost as fast as I could run on level ground. When she gained the top of the tower in the middle of the deck—I had no idea what it was called—she pulled a small pair of binoculars from a pouch and aimed them over toward the city.

"Cape fight, alright," she called down. "Something's on fire. Can't see who, but I can make a guess."

So could I. "Lung. ABB."

"And you win the prize." Madison nodded. "Some sort of boundary clash. The ABB's probably trying for a turf grab because the Empire's down a couple more members."

That made sense. The gangs sometimes tried to break their fellow capes out of holding but it rarely worked, so anytime anyone got captured, it altered the whole dynamic of the cape villain scene. Hookwolf was one of about three who had managed to escape once, and the only one who'd pulled it off twice. There were rumours on PHO that Armsmaster was trying to figure out how to pull off the Star Wars trick of freezing someone in carbonite for the next time they captured the homicidal cape. If it was true, I didn't blame him.

Lung, on the other hand, had never been captured. He was also the only cape who was known to escalate even harder than Hookwolf, until everything (and everyone) around him was in peril of catching fire due to his intense flames. Nor could he be worn down, because of his level of regeneration. The policy for dealing with a Lung fight was, after a certain point, to withdraw and let him go his way before he burned down everything.

The Real Thing had run into Hookwolf on the night Sophia had gone nuts and decided to murder Dad. Madison had curbstomped him and Stormtiger so badly that Hookwolf had fled rather than face her one-on-one after the aerokinetic went down for the count. They—that is, we—hadn't gone up against Lung yet, but that had only been for lack of opportunity.

Oh, look. Opportunity.

"So, what do you say, fearless leader?" Madison looked down at me. "Do we engage, or stay out of it?"

"If I said 'stay out of it', would you accept that?" I asked as Emma came down the cable, even faster than she'd gone up it.

"We would," Emma assured me. "You're the leader so if you make a call like that, we'll back you up all the way."

"But you want to engage, don't you?" I looked from Emma to Madison.

"Oh, hell yes." Madison chuckled and smacked her metal fist into her palm with a loud clack. "A fight that big, chances are Hooksy will be there, and I'm not finished beating his whiny little ass yet."

That was exactly what I wanted to hear. "Well, far be it from me to keep you from smacking Nazis around."

"We're doing this?" asked Emma.

I nodded. "We're totally doing this."

"Awesome."

<><>​

Thirty Seconds Later

Armsmaster

This is a disaster.

The roiling flames from the gas station weren't getting any smaller; between that and the heat radiating off Lung, Colin could hear the cooling fans in his helmet and armour working overtime to keep the temperature down. This was one of the worst cape battles he'd ever had the misfortune to attend—aside from Endbringer battles, of course—and it didn't look like easing up any time soon.

Lung and the ABB had evidently decided that the loss of Stormtiger and Cricket meant the Empire was weak enough to be leaned on. Over the last few days, they'd escalated gradually with minor probes here and there, but never protracted enough for the Empire to mount a serious response. For some reason, Lung had apparently chosen to believe this meant he could just walk in and take an entire neighbourhood away from the Empire and Kaiser would do nothing.

This had not, in fact, been the case.

Right now, it was a stalemate, the normals sniping at each other from cover while Oni Lee teleported around the battlefield, sowing chaos (and grenades) wherever he went. Lung was going toe to toe with the remaining Empire big hitters, the less durable members hanging back and watching each other's backs.

Stalemate or not, Lung showed no signs of wanting to retreat or surrender. Already twelve feet tall, he was going hard at Fenja, Menja and Hookwolf, clearly seeking to kill at least one of them before the fight was done. For the Empire's part, Rune was doing overwatch with Crusader on the same block of concrete, with a cloud of rubble orbiting them. It seemed that people on both sides had decided that today, someone was going to die.

Colin had been the first on the scene, just before the gas station went up in a towering pillar of flame, but he'd wisely stayed back. While he rated his chances against any one (or two, in some cases) of these capes as pretty good, jumping in alone was just asking to be dogpiled and mobbed from all sides. So he'd done the smart thing: hung back and called for reinforcements.

"Blockade to Armsmaster," he heard over the channel reserved for affiliated teams. "Be advised, the Real Thing is inbound. We are coming in hot. Are there any friendlies in the combat zone, over?"

His eyes opened wide. He still hadn't fully assimilated the revelations about Blockade's true identity, and the thought of a petite teenage girl dropping into the middle of that meatgrinder was not one he wanted to entertain. "Negative, negative," he stated urgently. "Stay clear. I say again, stay clear. No civilians in immediate danger." He'd seen the gas station attendant bail out moments before the underground tanks went up, and the fire didn't appear to be spreading.

"Blockade here. Your warning has been taken under advisement. Incoming ETA zero-five seconds. Blockade, out."

As the signal cut out, he heard a vaguely familiar roaring sound. It became a lot more familiar when he looked up and saw Blockade's power armour passing overhead, travelling feet first with massive thruster plumes flaring down from the metal boots. As it plunged downward toward the battleground, two smaller figures detached from it.

The first, displaying the black bodysuit and flaring red hair of Firebird, leaped for a nearby rooftop that was currently populated with ABB footsoldiers. Her two throwing discs, tiny at this distance, flashed out while she was still in the air. He couldn't see what one of them did—it went out of sight over the rooftop she was heading for—but the other ricocheted its way into the middle of the cloud of debris around Rune's block of concrete.

The block lurched and began to meander downwards out of the sky; at the same time, all of Crusader's ghosts vanished. Firebird landed on the roof and Colin lost track of her. However, there were still two other members of the Real Thing in view.

He already knew Blockade, but he'd only seen imagery of the girl who'd replaced Shadow Stalker. Assault's report had called her Monochrome. Colin's best guess placed her as Taylor Hebert, bullying victim and daughter of Stalker's attempted murder victim. Her exact powers were still not very well known, though there was definitely a Brute and Shaker effect to them. Brute effects only counted for so much against Lung; after enough ramping up, his strength overcame almost anything. She was also carrying a staff, for all the good it would do her.

Blockade landed on top of Lung, cutting her thrusters and free-dropping the last twenty feet to drive him face-first into the destroyed roadway. By contrast, Monochrome came down between the currently twenty-foot-tall valkyrie twins (Colin only knew which was which because his HUD was keeping track) and smacked them each in the face with her staff in a blindingly fast move: first left and then right.

To his sheer astonishment, they both crumpled to the ground. No non-flier should be able to hit that hard and that fast without any leverage to speak of even once, and she'd done it twice. That they'd gone down hard didn't surprise him in the slightest; he'd felt the impacts from where he was. But how she'd done it didn't make sense.

He decided to puzzle over it later. Right now, despite the intrusion of the Real Thing, the battle was still ongoing. Or at least, Lung seemed ready to get up and keep fighting, unlike Fenja and Menja.

He fully expected Blockade to keep beating on Lung. After all, encased in her 'good steel', she was perhaps the most ideally situated to going mano-a-mano with the ABB leader. But a silent agreement seemed to pass between herself and Monochrome, and the two swapped opponents. Hookwolf, suddenly finding himself bereft of immediate support, ended up facing off against Blockade, while Lung clambered to his feet with Monochrome in front of him.

Or rather, Lung tried to clamber to his feet. Spinning the staff like it weighed nothing at all (and if it was made of good steel, that certainly wasn't the case) she smashed it down on his head then reversed the movement an instant later to strike him up under the chin. As with the double strike on Fenja and Menja, Colin felt the impacts from where he was.

The remainder of the Empire seemed to be backing off now, probably because four of their capes on site had been taken down in just a moment or two. It was also entirely possible that Hookwolf had told them just how dangerous Blockade was, and nobody wanted to tangle with 'him'. Certainly, Hookwolf himself was also trying to back off ... but Blockade wasn't letting him.

Lung wasn't down and out yet, though his fire seemed to be flickering. Even as he struggled to get to his feet again (Colin had no idea how many broken bones the man might be trying to heal at once there, but he was going with 'lots'), Monochrome got behind him and snaked her slim arm around his neck. She could barely reach, and should have had zero leverage, but he immediately began to choke and claw uselessly at her arm. Despite the fact that his muscular neck was plated with metal scales, Colin could see that she was depressing the scales and squeezing his throat until his eyes bulged out.

Hookwolf was faring little better. Every time he tried to break away, Blockade literally picked him up and smashed him overarm into the ground. No matter what metallic extensions he tried to grow, every ruthless, brutal impact shattered more and more of the hooks and blades from him. Watching the ongoing curbstomp, Colin felt sympathy for the Empire cape ... almost.

And then, Oni Lee landed on the ground in front of Colin. Bloody and battered, half his mask broken away, his right arm lying limp and useless on the ground, he lay there panting. Around his neck was locked a very familiar-looking cuff, near-twin to the one Colin had last seen decorating Shadow Stalker's ankle. Firebird, also looking a little the worse for wear, scaled down the side of the building and dropped to the ground next to the ABB assassin. "Hey. Present for you."

Colin stared. To his personal knowledge, nobody had ever landed a significant hit on Oni Lee, much less taken him down so thoroughly. Firebird bore marks of battle and from the way she was moving would be bruised tomorrow, but she had definitely gotten the better of the engagement.

"... how?" he demanded. "Why isn't he teleporting?"

Firebird shrugged. "According to Blockade, good steel doesn't allow dimensional shenanigans."

That made no sense whatsoever. But as Colin looked over the recent battlefield, deserted on one side by the normal members of the ABB and on the other side by the Empire Eighty-Eight, he had to admit that it still wasn't the strangest thing he'd experienced that day.

As the PRT sirens got closer, he looked over at where a pair of teenage girls had just beaten the absolute crap out of two of Brockton Bay's most feared capes (well, choked out in Lung's case), and shook his head.

With the advent of this new version of the Real Thing, life was getting interesting in Brockton Bay.



End of Part Twenty -Three

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twenty-Four: Other Pieces on the Board

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

[A/N 2: I apologise for how late this chapter is coming out. The month has been horrendous.]



The Undersiders' Hideout

Grue

Brian was in the middle of a workout when his phone rang, sitting on the coffee table nearby. "Somebody get that, please?" he grunted.

"On it." Lisa leaned past her laptop and scooped up the phone. "Coil," she reported, her nose wrinkling. "Are we accepting jobs from him these days, or have we finally put him on the no-call list?"

Coil wasn't exactly Brian's favourite person either—the man gave the impression of someone who would absolutely play fast and loose with the rules if given even the slightest excuse to do so—but money was still money. "See what he wants," he grunted, pulling another curl.

"Gotcha." Lisa swiped the Accept icon and held the phone to her ear. "You've reached the Undersiders," she intoned sweetly. "If you're representing the PRT or Protectorate, we don't exist. If you're anyone but Coil, we're open for business. If you're Coil, please deposit a fee of one thousand dollars to continue this call."

Brian couldn't hear the exact words of Coil's response to Lisa's joke, but his tone didn't sound impressed. He spoke for a few moments, with Lisa interjecting "Mm-hmm" and "Uh huh" from time to time. Finally, he stopped, apparently awaiting a response.

"Well, it's definitely an interesting offer," she said neutrally. "I can't speak for the others, though. We'll talk it over and get back to you." Before he could answer, she cut the call.

Pausing his game, Alec turned to face them. "So, what'd that snake want?"

Brian set his weights down, frowning as he did so. "I thought you didn't care about the jobs, just the money."

"I don't," Alec said. "But I also don't like dealing with snakes like Coil. He reminds me too much of someone I came here to get away from."

Grabbing his towel, Brian wiped his face and the back of his neck. "Well, before we decide one way or the other, what did he want us to do?"

A smirk creased the corner of Lisa's mouth. "He tried to dress it up a little, but what it boils down to is this: he'll pay us ten K each and give us two shot-calls, in return for solid info on the Real Thing. Names if possible, weak points in the team, and power weaknesses."

Shot-calls were the only reason any of the villains in Brockton Bay did business with Coil at all. As Alec had noted, he was an odious man at best. But his power let him call the shots on any venture depending on pure luck, and be right every time.

The Undersiders had made use of his abilities before, paying him a cut of the take, and every move had been dead on the money. But no matter what he offered, no capes they knew were actually willing to work for him. Because he was also a total asshole.

From what Brian had heard on the underworld grapevine, Coil had come into Brockton Bay a few years back, supremely arrogant and flaunting the attitude of an old-time mob boss. Between the PRT knowing their business and the local villains refusing to play along with his self-importance, every attempt he'd made to expand his operations had fallen flat. When capes chose not to accept employment with him, he'd tried to hire international mercenaries, only for them to be intercepted by the authorities and deported again.

"Twenty K each, four shot-calls, plus one for the job against the Real Thing," Alec retorted, apparently by reflex. "We all know he's undercutting when he makes an offer like that."

"Why are we even considering doing any work for him?" demanded Rachel, not looking up as she brushed down Brutus. "He treats people worse than people treat dogs." For her, that was the ultimate insult.

"Because he does get results," Brian reminded her. "Like him or hate him, he's good at what he does."

Good, but not infallible. Coil's powers had failed him on a few occasions, but they'd managed to get him far enough away that he wasn't caught up in the fallout. The most spectacular of these flops, as far as Brian was aware, was the time he'd bribed a construction company head to build him a complete underground base in the format of an Endbringer shelter, only for his own personal use.

The local PRT analysts had figured out what was going on, allowing a dawn raid to nip the entire plan in the bud. While the construction guy went down hard, Coil had barely escaped capture. The word on the street was, he was still pissed about that.

Lisa turned back to her laptop and clicked open a few more tabs. "There's something more to this than him wanting to know about the new players in town. Let me see …"

"Hey, Brian," jibed Alec. "You've seen the footage of Firebird kicking ass. Think you can take her?"

"She's good," Brian allowed. "Scratch that: she's very good. But she doesn't have my reach, and a good big guy can beat a good small guy more often than not."

"Forget it," Lisa said absently, still clicking through links and typing the odd command. "She'd clean your clock. It wouldn't even be a contest. She automatically adapts to counter whoever she's fighting. Whatever the weak points of your style are, she'd use them against you."

Brian frowned. "Is that actually her main power?" 'Kicking ass' wasn't a legitimate power … was it?

"Yes and no. It's … whoa." Lisa sat up straight, staring at the screen. "I fuckin' knew there was something hinky about how badly he wanted us to take this job."

"Why?" Alec leaned over and began to blatantly read off the screen. He actually stopped a couple of lines in and did a double-take. "The fuck?"

"What?" asked Brian, coming over to the sofa. "What did you find out? Have they joined the Wards, or accepted a contract on his head, or something?"

"No." Lisa was staring at the screen as though mesmerised. "There was a fight on the Empire/ABB border about half an hour ago. The PRT is trying to keep it under wraps, but Coil must've gotten a whisper. Hookwolf, Menja, Fenja, Crusader and Rune, versus Lung and Oni Lee."

Brian couldn't see the screen, but he could juggle the odds in his head. "So, about even then."

"Something like that," Lisa agreed with a nod. "Then the Real Thing showed up. Blockade did a 'death from above' on Lung, then waled on Hookwolf like a fat kid looking for the last bit of candy from a piñata. Monochrome KO'd Menja and Fenja on the way down, then beat up Lung and choked him out. And Firebird neutralised Rune and Crusader, kicked the snot out of a dozen ABB goons, then did the same with Oni Lee before dropping him at Armsmaster's feet."

"Uh." Brian's thought processes locked up and skidded to a halt as they utterly failed to make sense of the concise description of events. "Firebird … beat … Oni Lee?"

"Beat the ever-loving crap out of," Alec corrected him. "Says here that Lee's got a mild concussion, a broken arm, and multiple contusions. Firebird owned him like he was bought and paid for."

"And Hookwolf …?" The Empire Changer was one of Kaiser's big hitters. He was one of two capes in Brockton Bay who'd been tried in absentia and sentenced to the Birdcage. The other was Lung. Brian had trouble equating Hookwolf with someone who got 'waled on', in Lisa's phrasing.

"In PRT custody, not looking too healthy," Lisa reported. "Blockade was pissed that he got away last time, and wasn't going to let it happen again. That's directly from the PRT report of the handover."

"Good." Rachel didn't look around this time, but there was a fierce approval in her tone. "Hookwolf likes to make dogs hurt each other. He deserves all the hurt he gets."

"Yeah, so, Lisa?" Alec gestured at the phone. "If we tell Coil we're going to take the job, we're gonna need a hundred K each, up front. Because I'll be leaving town. I'm not staying in the same state as some girl who can one-shot the Nazi Playgirl twins and choke out Lung like that's a thing that can happen. Not after we out them, anyway."

"Don't want to do it anyway," Rachel added. "They stopped a dogfight and beat up Hookwolf." She went back to brushing.

"Well, that's two against," Lisa noted. "What say you, o fearless leader?"

Brian blinked, not liking the fact that he was suddenly on the spot. "If Firebird took down Oni Lee unaided, then you're right. I probably can't take her." Lisa let out a fake cough that sounded suspiciously like 'she'd cream you', but he loftily ignored her. "More to the point, we can't take them. They're powerhouses."

"I'm not saying we should do the job," Lisa said carefully. "But as you just said, they're definitely a step up from the usual independents who come into Brockton Bay. I suspect they could give New Wave a run for their money. Some might say it's in our best interests to weaken them as much as possible, so they don't just steamroll over the top of us."

"Others might say it's not a great idea to give Coil any sort of leverage over them," Brian countered. "Heroes gonna hero, and we've gotten along so far by not sticking our heads up and drawing attention. I'd like to keep it that way. Tell him no."

Lisa shrugged. "Okay, but he's not going to be happy." The grin on her face belied her words.

"Ask me if I care." Brian went back to working out. The money would've been nice, but some risks just weren't worth it.

<><>​

Director's Office, PRT ENE

Emily watched the footage from Armsmaster's helmet cam for the third time. The first viewing had been just to get an overall idea of what had happened. When she watched it a second time, it had been to observe the tactics of the attack; who did what and where. Now she was pausing the action to take in specific details, and the only part of it that was making her any happier was the fact that four villains were in custody, two of whom were already destined for the Birdcage.

Not that she was unreservedly thrilled about that aspect, either. Having such notorious capes under lock and key was almost begging for something to go wrong; either an attack from outside to free one or the other, or a failure of the systems that kept them where they were supposed to be. As far as she knew, the ABB had no other capes, but their intel on the gangs had been wrong before. And of course, the Empire Eighty-Eight still had powered members, despite the whittling-down of their numbers over the years.

The clip came to an end, and she looked up at Armsmaster. "There's no footage from the rooftop?"

He evidently understood what she was referring to. No footage of the fight between Firebird and Oni Lee. "No, ma'am," he admitted. "I would've given half my Tinker budget for the year to see how she handled him."

"I'm not about to disagree." Clasping her fingers together on her desk, she frowned thoughtfully. "Have they been deliberately sandbagging until now, do you think? Or have they just been coasting because they couldn't be bothered to pull out the big guns until an appropriate target came along?"

Either way, it was a concern. The Real Thing had shown themselves to be very much the real thing, and they were in Emily's city. She liked to think that the PRT had been keeping the villains securely in check while the city gradually dealt with its problems—crime had been down again for the third year running—but these new young heroes had decided to flex hard, throwing off the carefully managed balancing act.

If the Real Thing cleared out the villains altogether—the PRT were obliged to arrest said villains once captured, after all—she feared a reprise of the Boston Games, with a whole new influx of villains who didn't know how the cape scene worked in her city. Civilians would get hurt or killed, the infrastructure would suffer, and she'd have to clamp down again.

Nobody liked it when she stopped playing Ms Nice Director.

She didn't blame the Real Thing, exactly. They'd only been capes for a relatively short time. Shadow Stalker hadn't filled them in because either she didn't know or didn't care about the unspoken agreement between capes.

Some likened it to playing 'cops and robbers', but Emily discouraged that kind of talk. Far from being a game, it was a deadly serious ploy to minimise the issues created when villains outnumbered the heroes. And it had worked.

Mostly, anyway. Lung and Hookwolf had been a perennial thorn in her side; Lung because he was too powerful to capture easily without serious property damage (and he knew it), and Hookwolf because he'd been broken out of more than one Birdcage transport, and gone straight back to being a neo-Nazi asshole. This time, if she had anything to do with it, they'd both get there.

Her problem with the Real Thing wasn't that they'd captured villains. It was more or less what they were expected to at least try to do, after all. The trouble was that they'd done it so brutally and effectively. The footage hadn't gotten out yet, and she hoped to maintain that state of affairs for as long as possible; when it did, it would likely spook more than one villain. And spooked villains were unpredictable.

She hated unpredictable.

But her needs and wants were so often neglected in the grand scheme of things. It was the way of the world. And there were other matters to address. "How are we restraining Crusader?"

Armsmaster actually chuckled, the sound a little out of character for him. "You're probably not going to believe this, but Blockade supplied us with another one of those cuffs. She's apparently made a bunch of them. With it secured around Crusader's neck, he can generate his ghosts but they can't actually leave him. He looks like an upside-down bouquet."

Emily blinked. "You're shitting me." Then she recalled who she was talking to. "You're not shitting me. That actually works?"

He spread his gauntlets. "Just as well as it stops Shadow Stalker from going anywhere once she goes to shadow. I'm not even questioning it anymore."

Which reminded her. "Do you have any answers out of the piece of 'good steel' Blockade gave you?"

"Not yet, but I have a cold-beam that I patterned after Legend's lasers trained on it. Let's see what a week at just above absolute zero does for its structural integrity."

Just as Emily was thinking that this sounded exactly like what a Tinker would do, her intercom buzzed, routed through from Renick's office. "Ma'am, do you have a moment?"

She pressed the button. "Certainly. Come right in." Looking up at Armsmaster, she nodded. "Keep me posted. Dismissed."

"Ma'am." He turned and walked out; the door closed behind him.

A moment later, the connecting door between her office and Renick's opened, and she swivelled her chair to face him. "What's the situation?"

He stepped through and closed the door. "You've seen the latest footage of the Real Thing?"

"Armsmaster just got through showing me," she confirmed. "Have you got something new on them?"

"Possibly." He frowned, apparently unsure. "One of our outside consultants has made a claim that they're directly responsible for the destruction of Winslow High School. I haven't seen the evidence yet to make a judgement call one way or the other."

Even without evidence, it was a serious allegation. And if Emily was being honest with herself, their show of force against Lung and Hookwolf made her even more likely to accept that it could be true. "Who made the claim?"

He didn't need to check any notes. "Calvert. As I recall, he's actually ex-PRT."

Emily grimaced. "He is. We met, briefly, after Ellisburg. Around about the time Hero and Legend and Eidolon were scorching the whole town down to bedrock. He said he'd shot his captain when the man didn't climb the ladder to the chopper fast enough. I'm still surprised he didn't end up behind bars."

"It was a rough time," Renick observed; a rare understatement for the man. "He knows capes, I'll say that much. But is he on the money about the Real Thing?"

Emily was tempted to just take the report at face value. The Wards could use every cape they could get, and the Real Thing at least pretended to try to be heroes. Two things stopped her from doing just that: there was no actual proof (yet) … and she didn't actually trust Calvert.

"I have no idea," she prevaricated. "Wasn't Calvert on the short-list of consultants we thought might be trading info to the villains, a few months back?" They'd had to shelve the investigation when all the leads (and leaks) dried up, but they'd narrowed down the list of possibles to half a dozen. Unfortunately, all the evidence had been circumstantial, which meant the whole thing could've been sheer bad luck on the PRT's part … but Emily didn't believe in bad luck.

"I seem to recall that being the case, yes." Renick frowned. "You suspect that he's not on the level with this?"

"I suspect that someone like Calvert will do what is best for Calvert first, and the PRT a very distant second." She tapped her desk with a fingertip, thinking. "Get back to him. Tell him that any evidence of wrongdoing by the Real Thing is high priority. Even if it's flimsy. Anything's better than nothing, and so forth. Let him think that we're eager to go after them."

He looked puzzled for a second, then his expression cleared. "Ah. I see. I think I see. You want to find out if he's willing to fabricate evidence to bring them down?"

Emily nodded. "If he's our leak, then he's probably got a stake in villains being able to do their thing. The Real Thing threatens that." It made sense in her head, anyway.

"Understood." From the look on his face, Renick seemed to think so as well. "I'll get right on it."

He hustled back through the door and shut it behind him. Breathing deeply, Emily leaned back in her chair and stretched. Brockton Bay was a long way from being perfect, but it was her city, dammit.

I pull the strings around here, Calvert. Not you.

<><>​

Coil

Thomas Calvert stood up from the laptop and walked to the window. The safehouse that he'd acquired wasn't nearly as big and secure as the base he'd failed to get, but at least it was four walls and a roof over his head. Looking out over the street, he watched people go by on their business and his palms itched with the need for control. Control over his own career, control over those little people, to use and discard as he saw fit on his inexorable rise to the top. Control over everything he surveyed.

His own rise to power had yet to start. He'd come to Brockton Bay thinking that Cauldron would at least give him a little assistance in setting up as a mastermind villain, but … nothing. Worse, the local PRT were sharp. Nothing he couldn't handle, of course, but it was … problematic.

The one time he'd tried to assemble a team of patsies, they'd split off on their own before he had time to really cement his hold over them, and now they were doing well on their own as an independent villain team. Was that honestly fair? In his view, they owed him for the impetus of getting them together, but at the very most, all they were willing to do was pay him for the use of his power. And they'd even refused this last job from him.

He'd gotten sick and tired of Tattletale's smart mouth once upon a time, and he'd tried tracking her down. He'd intended to either beat her bloody or even abduct her to use as a pet oracle, he couldn't remember which now, but she'd out-thought him and he'd been intercepted by Grue and Bitch. That had been one timeline he'd been glad to discard.

But now the Real Thing were encroaching on crime in Brockton Bay. He didn't want to be next, so he'd told the PRT that they were behind the Winslow incident. There was no evidence, of course, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that they were looking at the Real Thing rather than at him; he hadn't forgotten the scrutiny after the idiot villains he'd sold information to got a little clumsy with it.

And after that, once they inevitably screwed up, he'd be the man of the hour. He was well able to parlay that into more and more influence as he went along. All he needed was a starting point.

He'd rule this city yet. He could feel it.

<><>​

Taylor

"Well," I said, looking out over the city from the deck of the Gatekeeper. Perched on a derelict winch, I had a pita wrap in my hand. "I think that definitely went okay."

"It did," Madison agreed. Her armour was partly folded up, on standby, and she'd set it to sweeping the area in case anyone came too close. She was currently sitting cross-legged on top of it, with a sandwich and a juice popper. "Thanks for giving me a proper chance at Hookwolf."

I shrugged. "Thanks for softening up Lung for me."

Emma, sitting at the far end of the same winch—it was a big winch—turned toward me. "Thanks for trusting us, and okaying the fight. We totally kicked ass."

I eyed the bruises and bandages on her arms; I knew there were more on her legs. "Oni Lee tagged you a few times. I didn't think that was possible."

"Sometimes you've got to take the hit," she said off-handedly. "When you're going up against a teleport-spammer, you either play defense or you play offense. Playing offense meant I had to take a few glancing blows, but I got the collar on him before he could realise how badly it was going and make a run for it. And after that … well, he's actually fairly crap at fighting once you take away the teleport schtick."

"And you'll be okay for school on Monday." It wasn't a question; I already knew how fast she mended from cuts and bruises.

She grinned, her teeth very white in the dimness, and toasted me with her iced coffee. "Totally."

We fell silent, then, looking out at the city. There would be obstacles in the future, I had no doubt. But we were coming together as a team.

So far, so good.



End of Part Twenty-Four

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twenty-Five: Fame and Notoriety

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

■​

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♦ Topic: The Real Thing Just Got Real
In: Boards ► News ► Events ► America ► Brockton Bay

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Posted On Sep 17th 2010:

Hey, y'all.

If you, like me, have been following the news on the cape scene from Brockton Bay recently, you probably would've heard about this new group calling themselves the Real Thing (actually, can anyone help me out? Is the 'the' supposed to be capitalized, or left as lower case? It's just that I've seen both.)

It's common knowledge that new cape teams start up all the time. Statistics show that about 75% of them fold in the first six months due to: irreconcilable differences, creepy crushes, one or more members turning villain (I shit you not, I've seen that happen on at least two occasions), someone getting pregnant, someone being transferred out of town, incompatible work schedules, members being recruited into bigger teams, members joining the Protectorate or Wards, members being arrested by the PRT, accidentally outing themselves on live TV, the team screwing up and being sued, a key member being injured or killed, or bringing on a new member who totally dismantles the team dynamic (take your pick). And don't even get me started about obsessed villainous stalkers.

Suffice to say, if you don't have powers out there and you think your life is hectic, imagine it with a whole other level of chaos introduced by having the ability to generate rocket flight via extreme amounts of flatulence, or some other shade of weirdness. Then imagine four or five people, each of whom has their own personal brand of fuck-my-life looming over them, trying to make it all work as a team.

Let's just say, I have nothing but respect for the ones who do make it work, and even more admiration for the ones who have one (or more) of the above things happen and *still* manage to make it work. I mean, it's true that New Wave rode out the whole 'Panacea healing for money' thing pretty smoothly, but it could've gone a lot worse.

But anyway, we were talking about the Real Thing.

They first hit the news with a membership consisting of Shadow Stalker (Breaker/Stranger/Mover edgelord with crossbows), Firebird (extremely athletic combat Thinker with bouncy throwing discs) and Blockade (Tinker with the apparent specialization "Bulky and tough". He apparently makes and uses a nigh-unbreakable metal called--get this--'good steel'.)

For their first outing, they engaged and took down the Merchants, a sort-of gang of drug-dealing capes and other misfits who only hold (or rather, held) the territory nobody else wanted. They managed this without getting hurt or seriously hurting any of the Merchants, which brought them to the attention of the PRT.

The next time they really got the PRT's attention was when Shadow Stalker (who was reportedly never too stable at the best of times) went nuts and tried to murder a random civilian, literally invading his home in the middle of the night. Firebird and Blockade saved him and chased her off, possibly with the assistance of a new cape called Monochrome (details are sketchy). The next time they clashed with Shadow Stalker, she was successfully captured. Monochrome appears to have since taken over leadership of the group.

Despite its tumultuous beginning, this new incarnation of the Real Thing absolutely seems to be THE Real Thing. Just this afternoon, in an encounter that was as swift as it was brutal, the Real Thing intervened in an ABB vs Empire 88 free for all. Teamwork makes the dream work, and they showed that in spades. Blockade smashed Lung into the dirt, then beat on Hookwolf like Hooky owed him money. Monochrome KO'd Fenja and Menja, then choked Lung into unconsciousness. And Firebird took Crusader and Rune out of the fight, then went toe-to-toe with Oni Lee and handily defeated him.

There's no footage of the Firebird/Oni Lee bout, but the official PRT release of the Lung and Hookwolf takedowns can be found [here]. Be aware: there are NO punches pulled. None.

So what's next for our up and coming team? With a showing like that, the PRT and Protectorate have *got* to be trying to figure out how to recruit them into the Wards (for Monochrome and Firebird) and the Protectorate (for Blockade). Firebird and Blockade have made their mark in no uncertain terms, and Monochrome kinda pulled off the impossible when she choked out Lung, just saying.

I will absolutely be watching their respective careers with interest.


(Showing page 1 of 73)

►74Hyper
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
Looks like Lung and Hookwolf fucked around and found out.

►ChaosGhost
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
*contented sigh* It's far more cathartic than I'd expected to see Lung getting his ass beat by a twig of a girl.

►RobertTheBarbarian
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
After seeing this 'good steel' in action, I'm not actually going to argue with the name.

►OakRidgeEnergyGuy
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
Well. *That* happened.
Curbstomp song, anyone?

►AuthorialInterjection
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
@ChaosGhost - From the visible shockwaves on that footage, I think Lung might dispute the 'twig of a girl' comment. Just saying.

►BurningSpikyBush
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
There's three of them, and they're pretty damn effective. Next gen Triumvirate, maybe?

►OminousKitten
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
@ChaosGhost - For me it was Hookwolf getting ragdolled by Blockade. I will buy that guy a drink any day of the week.

►RabidVader
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
This is both good and bad. Good because they have curtailed both the Empire and the ABB but now the ABB is capeless and the Empire will definitely take advantage of the situation and will also be gunning for The Real Thing as payback for loosing four (or five? couldn't tell) capes.

►BrickFrog
Replied On Sep 17th 2010:
So, did nobody else notice the way they glossed over how Shadow Stalker just 'went nuts' and attacked a civilian? I mean, she's always been a bit rough around the edges, but theres a long step between tthat and attacking some rando in his house. So Im thinking theres more to this story.
Also, I heard a rumor online that the Real Thing are the ones who totaled Winslow. Is anyone even looking into that?
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 71, 72, 73

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<><>​

Tattletale

Lisa sighed and leaned back from the laptop. With a groan, she closed her eyes and rubbed her thumb and forefinger over them. She didn't have a huge baseline to work with regarding the Real Thing, but her power seemed to think that both of BrickFrog's allegations had merit. Which was hilariously ironic, because she was also sure that the guy was just being a concern troll.

A meme she'd read awhile ago popped up in her mind.

Remember, before the internet, how people thought the cause of stupidity was not having access to information?

Yeah. It wasn't that.

The meme was all too accurate. Idiots with access to the internet were still idiots. They just had the opportunity to spread their stupidity around. Lisa didn't know if any members of the Real Thing were computer experts, though if anyone was, the combat Thinker and the Tinker were the two best bets.

However, she was reasonably certain that if anyone started harassing them online (because idiots did that sort of thing, especially to new heroes who'd just pulled off major coups) they might just end up regretting it. She was also quite aware of the reasoning behind the PRT's current softly-softly attitude toward the villains of Brockton Bay. So long as everyone played by the rules (mainly unwritten) and pretended it was a big game of cops and robbers, Director Piggot wouldn't have to bring out the heavy artillery.

The last time the Empire had gone too far and she'd had to put her foot down, Purity, Night and Fog had been caught up in the sweep when the Triumvirate came to town (this had been just after Legend stepped down from active membership with the original Protectorate). Since then, everyone had kept their heads down and played nice … for the most part.

However, tensions had been bubbling under the surface, as evidenced by Lung's push following the capture of Cricket and Stormtiger by the Real Thing, and the daytime battle royale between the ABB and the Empire when the latter pushed back. While the loss of four more capes would hurt the Empire badly, the ABB had been totally cleaned out of cape leadership, leaving it in an extremely precarious position.

Lisa was pretty sure she had the world's smallest violin around somewhere, if she ever felt the need to play "Cry Me a River" on it.

None of this made her any more likely to take up Coil's job offer. The fact that the Undersiders stood little chance of actually defeating the Real Thing in a toe-to-toe brawl was immaterial: they didn't do fights like that if they could help it. Sneaking out the back door ten minutes before the heroes kicked in the front door, that was more their style.

Brian was good, but he wasn't as good as Firebird's power allowed her to be. Lisa mentally dubbed the redhead's fighting style 'Hollywood Martial Arts' and left it at that. The only member of the Undersiders who had a reasonable chance of standing up to any of the Real Thing was Alec, and that was only because he could manipulate their nervous systems (not that he'd last long with all three of them on his case). He certainly wouldn't retain his sceptre more than two seconds after Firebird decided it was dangerous; her mastery of those thrown discs was the best Lisa had ever seen for someone who wasn't using powers to guide them.

Long story short, if the Real Thing ever set their sights on the Undersiders, there was only one possible outcome, and it wouldn't be the Undersiders walking free. However, Lisa figured that they had a potential way out. So far, the Real Thing had targeted groups (she wouldn't go so far as to call the Merchants an actual gang) that preyed on innocent civilians. The Merchants, the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB had all hurt people in one way or another. Protection money, drugs, car theft and so on.

In direct contrast, the Undersiders had never even considered dealing drugs. (Well, Alec had suggested it once, but she was pretty sure he was joking). Their strengths lay in smash-and-grab robberies, and daring escapes from the heroes. They were almost popular, as villains went, to the point that there was an (unofficial) fan website about them.

All of which meant that if they kept their heads down and played their cards right, there was no reason for the Real Thing to come down on them like Blockade had come down on Lung. In any case, Lisa fully expected Director Piggot to call the Real Thing in at some point, to explain the facts of life in Brockton Bay. If that meant the Undersiders had to hold off operations for a week or two, Lisa was perfectly willing to sit back and do nothing for that time. Brian would probably appreciate the chance to spent quality time with Aisha (when he wasn't working out; that boy redefined 'gym rat'), Rachel would care for her dogs, and Alec … would probably play his console games and snark at his fans on the website.

The hidden upside of the advent of the Real Thing, she mused, was that the asshole villains were drawing fire and being cleared out. She had no doubt that Kaiser would take offence at being deprived of four more of his capes, but there were few real powerhouses among the ones he had left. If he was smart, he'd hold back, consolidate and make plans.

His two big strengths were his charisma and the fact that there were always more racist asshole capes out there. Most of the members of the Empire Eighty-Eight had been invited to Brockton Bay from outside; some stayed, some were captured, and some left again after finding out how much of a controlling asshole he was in person. But the pool of potential recruits was deep; just a little patience would allow him to rebuild his forces and pose more of a deterrent to the Real Thing.

It was honestly the smart thing to do, but Lisa had her doubts.

<><>​

Kaiser

Max Anders held the heavy lead-crystal glass in a white-knuckled grip. Had it been any more fragile, it would've splintered within his grasp. His red-rimmed eyes stared at the other five capes in the room. "What do you mean, we can't break them out?"

Victor fielded that one. "We're lacking the inside men. The last time we broke Hookwolf out of a transport, the PRT went through their own ranks with a fine-tooth comb. I'm not sure if they brought in Thinkers from out of town or if Armsmaster built something, but either way they blew the cover clear off every one of our moles. We're blind in there. Our only consolation is that they got the ABB moles as well, so Lung's going to the Birdcage for good."

"And so is Hookwolf," Kaiser gritted. "It used to be a point of pride that we'd never let him go to the Birdcage. But because of two teenage girls and whoever Blockade is inside that damn suit, we've lost half our number for the duration, and one of our best is going away for good."

"I still think you should've sent me in," Alabaster interjected. "I could've taken Firebird, easy."

Victor shook his head. "No, you couldn't. I tried pulling her skills, but they didn't go down. It was like she was re-learning them instantly. And they were perfect. The best possible application of strength and leverage for her height and weight. No hesitation, no tells, no holes in her style, perfect timing. The way she bounced that disc in through Rune's debris field—"

"That was just pure bullshit!" Rune had a cold compress held to the back of her head, where the disc had bounced off after knocking Crusader cold. She'd been dazed, but had retained just enough of her faculties to get the piece of sidewalk to the ground and stagger off. "I can't believe that bitch caught it again!"

"As I said," Victor explained imperturbably. "Perfect skills. Firebird has the capabilities of someone who's spent a lifetime learning every possible martial art and acrobatic skill to perfection, in the body of someone who's just coming into their physical prime. She's only going to get better at it. Beating her skills in hand to hand is simply impossible."

"So fuckin' what?" Alabaster possibly rolled his eyes, though with his physiology, it was hard to tell. "She punches me or kicks me, I get straight back up. She'll get tired. I won't."

"It takes you four point three seconds to reset." Victor raised his eyebrows. "She will have that timing down pat in the first fifteen seconds, and she'll have a strategy to beat you in the first thirty. If, for instance, she punches your brain out through the other side of your skull just after you reset, I cannot guarantee your survival."

This was going nowhere. Max waved his glass irritably. "Yes, we get it. She's very good. What about the other two?" Taking up the bottle of bourbon, he poured himself some and took a sip.

Victor shrugged. "Blockade's tech is extremely durable. The first time he encountered Hookwolf and Stormtiger, he fought them both at the same time, beat Stormtiger, and Hookwolf retreated in disorder. He was apparently irritated at Hookwolf being a 'pussy little coward', as he told the PRT troopers who showed up, and he was determined to not let him get away again. Thus, the beating."

Alabaster sneered. "Every battlesuit's got a weak point. The tougher they look, the faster they come apart when you stick a screwdriver in the right spot, and twist."

"Hookwolf has fought people in power armour before," Victor replied patiently. "He knows how to go up against battlesuits. He said that nothing he tried the first time worked, and that was with Stormtiger running interference. Even the things that look like weak points—those hoses on the arms and legs—just shoot out steam but don't slow it down."

"And we know it can fly and packs a punch, yes." Max took another sip. "And Monochrome?"

Victor hesitated for a moment. "We actually know the least about her. All I can really nail down is that she's an Alexandria-scale Brute, at least for strength and possibly for durability as well. Nobody else can hit that hard, or get that close to Lung while he's still on fire. I strongly suggest that nobody here gets within arm's reach of her."

Max nodded. He agreed with the analysis: as satisfying as it had been to see Lung get choked out by someone Rune's age, the sheer strength required to compress that tree-trunk neck with absolutely zero available leverage was more than slightly chilling. "Ways to take her down?"

"No idea." Victor shrugged. "She had to have been inhaling superheated air, that close to Lung, so I doubt gas is going to do much to her." He gave Alabaster a severe look. "And no, you can't take her either. That girl could crush your skull like a grape by accident."

Krieg stirred for the first time. "So, what is our strategy to be? Hold back and allow the heat to die down, then move into ABB turf? Attempt to break out Hookwolf and the others before they are transported out of town? Punitive strike on the Real Thing? Build our numbers up again by recruiting from out of town?"

"I'm not comfortable with a punitive strike," Othala said. "The only one of the three we're likely to be able to hurt is Firebird, and then we'd have Blockade and Monochrome gunning for us, and I personally don't want to be the target of someone who could slap Hookwolf around like a street bum or squeeze Lung's neck until his eyes pop out."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Alabaster growled. "They put one of ours in the Birdcage, we put one of theirs in the hospital. It sends a message. Don't fuck with the Empire."

Victor was already shaking his head. "A month ago, we could've sent that message with a reasonable level of impunity. Right now, we're down to six capes. That's nowhere near enough muscle to make it stick."

"We're down to six capes because of them!" Alabaster shouted. "A month ago, we didn't need to send the message!"

Max finished the glass then put it down. He clapped his hands once, drawing the attention of both Victor and Alabaster. "I agree with both of you."

Both capes stared at him, along with the rest of the depleted Empire Eighty-Eight. Victor was the first to find his voice. "… what?"

"The Real Thing, no matter what else they've done, are a clear and present danger to the Empire Eighty-Eight," Max decreed. "Taking down everyone they have may have been more a matter of opportunity than design, but there's nothing to stop them from setting their sights on the rest of us, here in this room. Does anyone disagree?"

He knew that people found it easier to say 'yes' than 'no', especially to an authority figure, so it wasn't much of a surprise when they all stayed quiet. After a moment, Rune put her hand up as though she were in class. "This is starting to sound like you wanna go after them."

As Victor began to open his mouth—both to agree and to object, most likely—Max nodded. "Very perceptive. We need to do that. But we must be smart about it. A head-to-head challenge? Not smart. Forewarned, any of them could beat any of us in a straight fight, or at least avoid us and bring in a heavier hitter."

Krieg frowned. "I'm not sure where you're going with this. You wish to challenge them without challenging them?"

"No." Max shook his head. "We don't attack them directly. We find out who they are. We find out their secrets. And we neutralise them that way."

Othala's expression was extremely dubious. "Are you saying 'neutralise' as in murdering them out of costume, or as in using the information to blackmail them into standing down?"

Max knew where she was coming from. Years before, a teenage prospect had murdered Fleur of New Wave, then spent a few years in the juvenile system before being released at eighteen and joining the Empire Eighty-Eight. Some had apparently expected him to condemn the little punk for attacking her out of costume, but Fleur had revealed her own identity to the world; what had she honestly expected would happen?

"That depends on what kind of information we find," he decided. "If it lends itself more toward directing their attention away from us, then of course we'll do that." It wasn't nearly as cut and dry as he made it sound; should the opportunity arise to dispose of one or more of the irritating heroes, then he would probably take it. "But if things go the other way … we'll do what we need to, in order to protect the Empire. Am I making myself clear?" For her sake, she needed to understand. He wasn't about to let anyone—cape or otherwise, hero or otherwise—stand in the way of saving his team.

Victor took her hand and murmured to her. She nodded; reluctantly, if he was any kind of judge. But now he had her agreement, which was good enough for the moment.

"I'm guessing you'll be wanting me to tail them," Victor said to Max. It wasn't exactly a brilliant deduction.

Max nodded. "We're going to be slowing down activities until I can bring more people in, but in the meantime it won't hurt to let them think they're winning. So when we locate them out and about, you move in and see what information you can gather."

Victor nodded. "Got it."

Max leaned back in his chair, reaching for the bottle once more. It was time for another drink; this time, a celebratory one. The Empire had fallen on hard times, but they'd pull through. As always.

<><>​

Monday morning, September 20, 2010

Taylor

I wasn't used to the bus line that took me to Arcadia, but it was far better than the Winslow line, wholly and solely because it didn't go to Winslow. The paperwork to get the Winslow students shuffled into other schools had gone through in its usual timely fashion (that is, not) but I'd gotten my application approved faster than most. So had Emma and Madison, which was good; this way, I got to keep an eye on them in school as well as out.

Not that I actually expected them to backslide at this point. Both of them had impressed me with their dedication in undoing all the crap they'd ever pulled on me at Winslow (and occasionally outside it). But I'd said that I was going to keep an eye on them, so that was what I was going to do.

"So, have you seen the PHO boards since the Lung and Hookwolf takedown?" asked Madison, who was wearing jeans, a sensible top and blue jacket instead of the cutesy sleeveless blouse and short denim skirt she'd affected at Winslow. She'd even had her hair cut relatively short, possibly because droplets of molten metal weren't kind to long hair.

While she no longer radiated the level of cuteness that had once made everyone want to pick her up and squeeze her, I appreciated her new air of dependability. People still wouldn't suspect her of being Blockade, but I suspected she'd be taken a lot more seriously than she had been before.

Emma grinned, and I could tell that (like me) she'd noted Madison's choice of words. There was nothing there to make anyone suspect us in the matter. "Hell, yeah," she agreed. "That whole thread is insane. People love the Real Thing, alright." She paused for a moment in thought. "Well, they'll be loved until they put a foot wrong. People also love dumping on a disgraced hero."

Like Madison, she was less flamboyant than she had been before. She hadn't gone so far as to get her hair cut, but gone were the upmarket blouses and notice-me jewellery. Her jacket and top were just loose enough to hide her newfound ripped status, and her jeans would allow her to put her foot above her head without noticeable effort. I knew this because I'd seen her do it. She was less vain these days and more centred, with an air of quiet competence.

I leaned back in my seat. Arcadia was visible out the window now; we'd be disembarking from the bus in the next few minutes, and it was unlikely that we'd get much chance to speak freely until lunchtime. "Well, then," I said. "They'd probably better make sure they don't then."

Emma and Madison met my gaze, and nodded in unison.



End of Part Twenty-Five

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Twenty-Six: In the Crosshairs

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

Taylor

We met for lunch out in the courtyard, between two wings of the main building. The cafeteria had seemed very clean and orderly when I saw it, but I wasn't quite ready to go in there yet. Emma and Madison were willing to take my lead on the matter, so we found a picnic-style table under a shade tree.

Emma looked around after we'd sat down. "Wow, this is nice. Good call coming out here, Taylor."

I wasn't quite sure if she was being one hundred percent genuine or if she was just trying to pay off some small part of the unpleasantness she'd visited on me before Sophia acquired the vials, but I decided not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. "Thanks. It is kind of pretty out here. And I haven't seen one bit of graffiti."

Madison nodded. "I know, right? And the soda vending machines actually work. So do the security cameras."

Neither of which we'd had at Winslow, at least in a working state. Soda machines had been relentlessly vandalised to get at the drinks or the coin storage, and security cameras were invariably wrecked within days (or hours) of being installed. To be attending a school with both was a whole new experience.

"Y'know," drawled Emma, "I'm beginning to think of how Winslow got totalled less and less as matter of destruction of property, and more as a public service to everyone who was attending there."

"It was still a criminal act, of course." I said that as deadpan as I knew how, mainly to reassure the others that I wasn't going to be jumping directly into supervillainy and dragging them with me.

"Oh, totes," Madison agreed, in that same inflection-free tone. At the same time, she rolled her eyes expressively. "Mind you, there's a Faraday cage around the whole building; did you know that?"

"So nobody can browse their phone during class?" I mimed shock, spreading my hand over my heart. "I am thoroughly mortified at the utter lack of respect for teenage rights."

Emma smirked. "Says the girl who doesn't own a phone."

I wrinkled my nose at her. "And you not being able to look up PHO when you're bored in class is my fault how?"

All three of us grinned. The joke was that we all knew damn well how it was my fault, but not one of us was actually going to put a name to the elephant in the room.

"Y'know," Madison mused. "I bet Blockade could build a phone capable of getting through a Faraday cage."

"Ah, yes," Emma countered, "but would it be man-portable?"

She had an extremely valid point. I could totally see any communications device Madison constructed being able to defeat a Faraday cage, quite possibly by melting the wires forming the barrier. However, while such a phone would probably be able to be carried by one person, it would likely need to be lugged around in a backpack.

The thing was, I didn't need a device that could that. If I ended up acquiring a cell phone for use as Monochrome, I just wanted one that made calls and accepted them. Also, text messages.

"For a given definition of the phrase, yes," Madison retorted, confirming my inner suspicions. Loftily ignoring our knowing smirks, she pulled out her own phone and started it up. "But out here, we're good … huh."

Emma paused in the act of taking a bite out of her sandwich. "That didn't sound like a casual 'huh', Mads. What's up?"

Glancing from side to side discreetly, Madison lowered her voice and leaned in toward us. "There's a private message on PHO from the guy with Emma's favourite pointy stick, asking me if we can attend a sit-down meeting with his boss sometime in the next few days."

It took me a few seconds to parse that out. 'The guy with Emma's favourite pointy stick' had to be Armsmaster, and thus his boss was Director Piggot of the PRT. "Does he say why? Is there some sort of problem?"

Madison shook her head. "He does not. But that guy doesn't do subtle or misleading. If there was a problem, he wouldn't be asking. He'd be strongly advising."

"I agree," Emma said. "There's something going that she wants to talk to us about, and maybe clear up, before it gets to the status of 'official problem'."

"And the big question is, what could it be?" I frowned, trying to figure it out. "Sophia would've totally told them everything she knows about us. Think she went ahead and made up some lies, too?"

Emma and Madison glanced at each other, then they both nodded in unison. "Totally," Madison confirmed.

"In a heartbeat," Emma agreed. "Though she's not stupid. She'd spill everything she knew about us, then try to make up something that was at least mildly believable. To anyone who didn't know us now, anyway."

"Which means we've got to go in there and nip whatever plan she's got in the bud, doesn't it?" I grimaced. "I thought that once we put her away, she wouldn't be a problem anymore."

Madison raised her eyebrows. "You have met Sophia, right?"

She had a point, and I knew it. "Oh, ha ha," I grumbled. "You guys okay with going in after school?"

Emma flicked an almost imperceptible salute in my direction. "You're the boss."

And here I'd been thinking that was a good thing.

<><>​

Victor

It was a good restaurant in the nice part of town. The waitstaff knew their roles, and were appropriately grateful for a generous tip. While they weren't celebrating any particular occasion, he'd decided that taking Othala out for an early dinner would be a nice thing to do.

Just as he was starting on the main course, his phone buzzed. Ignoring the look of irritation on her face, he took the phone out and checked the screen. It was Kaminsky, one of his more dependable men. Swiping the 'answer' icon, he held the phone to his ear. "Speak."

"We just saw them, sir." Kaminsky didn't have to elaborate on who 'they' were. "Flying in to land on the roof of the PRT building. All three of them."

He loved it when a plan came together. "Good. As we discussed. Inform me of any issues." Ending the call, he slipped the phone away again.

The plan, once anyone saw them in the air or on the ground, was not to engage them. Instead, his men had been given orders to set up a cordon around the location where they had been seen, and then follow them as far as possible once they went on the move again. Each car had a driver, a spotter, and a coordinator; that way, nobody would be overwhelmed with what they had to do.

Whatever the Real Thing were doing at the PRT building, it surely would not be over in five minutes, or even fifteen. Therefore, he saw no need to rush. He smiled at Othala, who looked only slightly mollified that the call had been so short and the phone was back in his pocket. "So, you were saying?"

She didn't return the smile. "I wasn't saying anything, but I thought this was going to be 'us' time."

"I'm sorry." Dealing with unhappy women was more an art than a skill, but he knew enough to start apologising immediately. "It was that thing we were talking about before."

"I know what it was." Her tone had not yet thawed. "Couldn't you have let them pass it on to James or Max instead?"

He tried to go for 'conciliatory'. "Sweetheart, they've got their own things they're doing. This is what I'm handling. We've still got time to enjoy ourselves; I can't see anything happening for a while."

"Well … alright." She applied herself to her meal, but with a slight hitch to her eyebrow and flare of her nostrils that said he hadn't heard the last of this.

He sighed and took the first forkful of his own meal. I'll be so happy when we've got this sorted out and everything's back to normal.

<><>​

Coil

Thomas Calvert was not a happy man.

First, the Undersiders had turned down his job offer to get blackmail-worthy dirt on the Real Thing. It wouldn't have been cheap, but he'd learned long ago that genuine mud stuck far more thoroughly and did more damage than fake accusations. Unfortunately, it seemed every freelancer in the city had either seen the footage of the Lung/Hookwolf takedown, or had heard about it. All he had to do was merely mention the concept of gathering information on the Real Thing, and the call was as good as over.

It would also have been good if Piggot had just accepted his word that the Real Thing had had something to do with the destruction of Winslow High School. But she'd done the worst thing she could: she'd asked for evidence. If she'd just decided not to believe it, that would've been something he could roll with. "Okay, yeah, I was wrong." Then he could find something they'd actually done, and his plans would be on track again. But now he was stuck trying to make Tab A fit into Slot B, and they were totally different shapes.

Not helping in the slightest was the fact that Piggot's Internal Affairs department was actually on the damn ball. He'd thus far managed to escape their concentrated scrutiny, though he'd had a few close calls, such as when he nearly got caught selling sensitive information to both the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB. Only his powers had prevented him from walking straight into no fewer than three separate sting operations; even though he'd avoided direct accusations, they'd been further up his ass than his proctologist for the next six months. The chances of setting up any moles in the building for getting him back-channel information had been slim to fuck-all.

In the absence of actual dirt, he was going to have to manufacture some. This wasn't something his powers were particularly useful for, though they made it relatively easy to present such dirt, changing tracks to most readily present it in a way that Piggot would swallow the story. He was just going to have to figure out how they could've done it, then 'find' some witnesses willing to say whatever he would pay them to say.

Firebird, he dismissed almost immediately. As athletic and hard-hitting as she evidently was—she'd made a mess of Oni Lee—punching out a school was unlikely to be her forte.

Monochrome was actually a more likely candidate; while he didn't necessarily subscribe to the popular theory that she was stronger than Alexandria, she was definitely no weakling. The sheer power with which she swung that staff, not to mention how she squeezed Lung's neck until he passed out, had a lot of people making a lot of wild-ass guesses online. But still, Thomas didn't really see it.

Winslow had been an entire high school, four stories high with a footprint covering several thousand square yards. To utterly demolish the structure as it was would've required her to repeatedly run through the entire building, punching support structures as she went. And it wouldn't have created the double booom that he (and half of Brockton Bay) had heard that night.

He wasn't trying to find reasons to excuse her, but he knew damn well that whatever story he came up with would be scrutinised to a fare-thee-well, so it needed to be internally consistent with the facts. So, while he had no doubt she was capable of punching through a brick wall, he didn't think anyone would believe that she'd demolished an entire school in a matter of seconds.

Which left Blockade as his fall guy.

Blockade was a Tinker, which was a point in his favour; Tinkers built the darnedest things. Even better, Blockade's tech was demonstrably bulky (which wasn't overly important), hard to break (a little more important) and powerful (absolutely important). A bomb might have been one way to do it (or rather, two bombs), except that Thomas had trouble envisaging a bomb that Blockade might build.

Instead of a bomb, he was thinking of a mechanical shockwave generator that, when activated, destroyed everything around it, but was itself left pristine. The first pulse to destabilise everything, and the second to shatter the entire school. It was actually (insofar as he was no expert on Tinkers and what they could build) quite feasible, and he took a moment to enjoy the amusement value of 'what if this is what actually happened?'

Moment over, he went back to being professional. Method, motive and opportunity: those were the three cornerstones of any criminal investigation. Blockade would've had method and opportunity nailed down, but what Thomas needed to establish was some kind of motive.

It would've helped to know who the guy was outside the suit, but he had zilch in that regard. However, he thought he knew how he could find out.

Shadow Stalker, the original third member of the Real Thing, had been arrested for attempted murder, and handed over to the authorities by her own teammates. Rumour had it that she was blabbing every secret they possessed—including, presumably, their secret identities—in order to try to get a more lenient deal from Piggot.

Thomas could've told her that she was betting on a dead horse there; as a measure of Director Emily Piggot's susceptibility to blandishments, the woman may as well have had a heart made of tungsten carbide and blood of liquid nitrogen. But if he could just get access to Shadow Stalker, he was sure she would tell all to a sympathetic ear.

Unfortunately, said access was being very tightly controlled, almost certainly because of her attempts to betray her ex-teammates' secrets. The consequences for sneaking in were bound to be extreme.

Thomas smiled. Evading extreme consequences were his very bread and butter.

<><>​

Taylor

I could've let go the handle on the back of Madison's power armour and dropped to the roof of the PRT building from basically any height, but I decided not to. Showboating was probably not the best way to start off this meeting with Director Piggot. And so, Emma and I waited until Madison was dropping the last foot or so, then stepped off in unison. Our feet hit the rooftop at the same time as the suit's boots did; dramatic and coordinated, but not showboating as such.

At least, I hoped it wouldn't be seen that way.

I saw Director Piggot standing under the shelter of a pavilion that had been set up in front of the roof entry, flanked by Armsmaster and a couple of PRT troopers. The latter were probably just there for show, but that was fine. Armsmaster appeared to be his usual stolid self, and Director Piggot just looked like a soldier in a business suit. The discreet medal ribbons merely added to the impression; although she was solidly built and might not have been quite as fit as when she last wore a uniform, I suspected there was more muscle than fat under there.

"Hello again, Director," I said, approaching them. "You wanted to meet?"

"I did, yes." If her steel-grey eyes had been any more penetrating, I would've suspected her of having powers. "I appreciate the timely response. We have three options from here, as Blockade's armour is manifestly incapable of taking either the elevator or the stairs to my office. The first is to hold the meeting right here. The second is for Blockade to participate remotely." She paused expectantly, evidently waiting for us to fill in the third option for ourselves.

"And the third option is for me to step out of my armour and come on down to your office without it." Madison didn't sound surprised. "I'm guessing Shadow Stalker already blabbed who I am to all and sundry?"

"She attempted to do so, yes," Armsmaster confirmed. "She's currently under secure holding, and everyone who will be coming within earshot of her signs an NDA first. No uncleared personnel in that area."

"So you know, and the Director knows. How about these two faceless minions here?" Madison gestured to the troopers.

"Lieutenant Harvey and Captain Rogan have both been hand-picked by me, and have signed the NDA," Director Piggot said. "If you choose to vacate your armour, they will guard it until you return."

"You've put a lot of prep into this meeting," Emma observed. "Do you bend over this far backward for every hero who shows up for a chat?"

"No, but the way you handled Hookwolf, Lung and Oni Lee got my attention." Director Piggot's tone was as deadpan as her expression. "Antagonising you would not be in the best interests of the PRT, and I do believe we need to have this meeting."

"Well, you've convinced me." Madison's suit tromped inside the pavilion then went to a kneeling position. As the troopers pulled the cover across the opening, the front of the suit opened up and she climbed out. Director Piggot handed me a domino mask, but when I turned toward Madison, she was already wearing one. She grinned at whatever expression she saw on our faces. "What? I figured this might happen, so I came prepared."

As she stepped away from the suit, it folded up into its compact metal-box form, shimmered slightly, and took on the appearance of a wooden crate with metal bands padlocked around it. A black and yellow sticker with the words TOP SECRET KEEP OUT was plastered across the front.

"So I see." Director Piggot nodded to the two PRT men, and gestured toward the elevator. "If you would come this way?"

<><>​

Armsmaster

Finding out that Blockade was indeed a petite teenage girl was still something Colin was having trouble getting his head around. Certainly, Shadow Stalker had told the Director (and thus, him) everything she could in an attempt to mitigate her own punishment, but there was knowing something and then there was knowing. His mental image of the Tinker, right up until the front of the suit opened and she stepped out, had been of a brother in arms, perhaps of a similar age, one with similar life experiences. Alas, it was not to be; while he could still collaborate with her, it would never quite be the same.

He was still working on regaining his mental equilibrium when they entered the Director's office. Three chairs had been set up in a row; by wordless agreement, Firebird and Monochrome took the outer chairs, flanking the now-vulnerable Blockade. Piggot herself sat down behind her desk, leaving Colin to take up his customary place alongside the desk.

Piggot laced her hands together and looked at the three teenage heroes. "To risk a cliché, you're probably wondering why I requested your presence here today."

Monochrome nodded. "We were, kind of. Is it something we've done, or something you'd like us to do or not do in the future?"

"It's all of the above, but not in the way you think." Director Piggot paused for a beat, perhaps to gather her thoughts. Colin knew what was going on, of course, but this was the Director's show. He was merely there to emphasise that the Protectorate was in the loop about what was happening.

"So, what is it that we're supposed to have done?" asked Firebird. "And who's levelled the accusation? Because if it's any kind of legal issue, we are going to get a lawyer in on this before we say anything else."

Director Piggot shook her head. "There have been no credible allegations of wrongdoing. I've asked you here to speak about the gang situation. Specifically, how you very convincingly took down three extremely dangerous cape villains and made it look easy."

The three girls shared a look of confusion, then Monochrome spoke. "I don't follow."

"And here's where it gets problematic." The Director sighed. "Understand that this is not a dressing-down. I am not yelling at you for being heroes and defeating villains. It's more or less your function in society, while in costume. However, there are issues at stake that you would not—could not—have been aware of before you did this."

There was a pause, then Firebird spoke up cautiously. "What kind of issues?"

"Underworld issues. Crime issues. City issues." Director Piggot half-turned and gestured at the polarised window behind her. "When I stepped into this position ten years ago, cape gangs were on the rise, and general crime with them. It wasn't entirely a failing of the city; outside pressures were mounting, and it was bad everywhere. However, in the interim, I've made progress. The Empire Eighty-Eight, even before your encounters with them, were at the lowest ebb of membership they'd been for my entire tenure. Their non-cape membership is down, as is that of the ABB."

Blockade spoke for the first time. "But they still exist, and so did the Merchants and ABB until we took them down."

"This is true. They do." The Director nodded to acknowledge the point. "However, I have been working to starve them of willing recruits, hitting their stash houses, and in general making it harder to turn an easy profit. And each time the gangs—well, in this case, the Empire—have tried to push back, I've gotten assistance from out of town. The Triumvirate are very useful in that regard."

Firebird's expression and tone were that of enlightenment. "You're throttling crime in Brockton Bay. Making it so that cape villains can't make a dishonest living here."

Director Piggot's expression became a very brief smile, showing more teeth than the average. "Precisely."

"But where do we come into this?" asked Monochrome. "We just captured a bunch of villains. Doesn't that help you out?"

"As I have mentioned, the act itself was laudable." The Director tilted her head toward them. "But in the bigger picture, especially if you went after other high-profile villains, it could end up being disruptive. I've been boiling the frog, making it more and more difficult by degrees, so that one day they look around and it's no longer viable to be a villain in my city. You just shook everything up, and villains who are shaken up are unpredictable."

"But in the meantime with your softly-softly approach, people are still suffering from crime," Blockade protested. "Why shouldn't we just capture all the villains we can?"

"There are two very good reasons." Director Piggot held up two fingers. "First, there is a shared illusion which I am carefully fostering, that the cape scene in this city is not unlike a game of 'cops and robbers'. There are rules, or so they think. A cape is captured, he goes away, breaks out of holding, and ends up back on the streets. But he also doesn't go after the civilian identities of heroes, and we don't do the same with villains. Everyone plays nice with each other, which also means that civilians on the street are safer overall."

"They weren't being very safe with that fight," Monochrome observed.

"No, you're right. They were pushing too hard. Note that we will not be letting them get broken out of holding. All three are Birdcage bound." The Director's expression was one of harsh satisfaction. "However, with three major villains captured all at once, the others may well be wondering if the 'rules' are still in effect. And some may just decide to drop them altogether."

"Understood," said Firebird. "So, what's the second reason?"

Director Piggot leaned back in her chair. "Tell me something: have you ever heard of the Boston Games?"

Again, the three girls shared a look of mutual incomprehension. Monochrome spoke for all three. "I haven't, and don't think they have either."

"Not totally surprising. It was a few years ago, and only really got a lot of attention in cape and cape-adjacent circles." The Director steepled her fingers before her. "The heroes and PRT in Boston managed to capture or chase away essentially all cape villains, leaving a vacuum behind. Other villains came in to take their places almost immediately, and there was a lot of upheaval. People got hurt. People died. I don't want that happening in my city."

Firebird nodded. "Which is what's going to happen if we clear them out before they're ready to go themselves."

"Correct." Director Piggot gave her an approving nod. "If the last villains to leave or get captured do so because the underworld here is no longer receptive to supervillain gangs, I will have succeeded. If I try to rush matters, I'll just be sending out an invitation to every villain without a city to come on in, the water's fine. I don't want that happening."

"And so, you're telling us that you'd like us to do … what? Back off a little?" Monochrome tilted her head. "Not to push so hard?"

"Essentially, yes." The Director narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're not Protectorate, or even PRT affiliated, unless you choose to apply for either status. As such, I can't give you orders. However, I am perfectly allowed to make suggestions. Going after civilian crime is good. Stopping cape crime is also good; if they happen to get away, the inference will be that you're now playing by the 'rules'."

"But we shouldn't be capturing them?" Firebird's lips pressed together tightly. "I'm not sure I like the idea of just letting them escape."

"Oh, capture them by all means, if they're asking for it." Director Piggot gave a—for her—expansive wave of her hand. "Some, we'll hold on to. The harmless ones, we won't be so careful with. But not all of them will get away. As Blockade said: softly, softly."

"And like I said, people are still getting hurt while you're playing patty-cake." Blockade didn't sound angry, but she was definitely determined to get her point across.

"They would be getting hurt regardless," the Director reminded her. "If I weren't doing this the way I am, more people would be getting hurt and dying. Crime stats are the lowest they've been in years. It's working. We just need to avoid pushing too hard and upsetting the whole applecart at this juncture." She looked at the three teen heroes. "Do you understand now?"

Slowly, Monochrome nodded. "I think I do, yeah." She stood up. "Thanks for letting us know what's going on. We'll be in touch."

Firebird and Blockade also stood. "I am going to keep catching villains, just so you know," Blockade advised the Director.

"I would expect nothing less. Good day to you."

"I'll walk you to the roof," Armsmaster offered. Together, the four of them walked out.

<><>​

Director Emily Piggot, PRT

Emily leaned back in her chair after the door closed.

That went about as well as I'd hoped, she mused. I wonder which way they'll jump. Blockade seems very task-oriented, which doesn't surprise me.

Time, she figured, would tell.



End of Part Twenty-Six