Responder 2.06
Noelemahc
These things, they happen
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Responder 2.06
[Rose]
The alarm clock that woke me might as well have been the hounds of hell braying for my soul. Cursing the creator of the damnable thing, I rolled out of bed, collapsing on the floor, and only then found it in myself to find and shut off the alarm. Yesterday me was a Grade-A bitch, because she tossed the thing inside my spidermesh undersuit.
The reflection in the mirror and the feeling of ugh all over my back told me I shouldn't've been so cavalier about refusing Amy's aid at the hospital. It was Monday morning, but I still felt like I crawled out of that car's hood barely an hour ago. In fact, riding my enhanced adrenaline high as I did yesterday, I probably didn't feel as bad then as I did now.
Less than 24 hours ago I blew out two eyes of an Endbringer. I'm allowed to feel like hammered shit, I think.
We arrived in portions yesterday, with me among the first, as we were dismissed by the higher-ups once Amy was done dealing with our accumulated damages. While she was sorting that out, I managed to score both Taylor's and Sarah's burner phone numbers into my PRT brick. Networking! Sarah left with her team, while Taylor said she'll try to check on Dad, get the Journal if she could (I had the distinct feeling that implied a 'without alerting him to her presence'), and probably get to a shelter (the feeling intensified at that addendum), because she expected the PRT would lock her up the moment she walked through the remains of the glass lobby of the PRT HQ, and she still had stuff to do 'on the outside'. The general impression, however, seemed to be 'I still hate you, but I'm also considering your offer', which was more than I bargained for. I would still need to tell her about Sophia before she talked to Piggot, however. Suffice to say, I kinda dreaded that discussion.
Part of that was because Sophia was sleeping (or at least went to sleep) in the next room over. I idly wondered whether Emma felt anything like this at any point of her highly frustratingly psychologically damaged in a way I couldn't blame her 100% of the way life: 'this is a person who thinks I'm their friend, but I'm really, absurdly, exorbitantly am not'. It left an odd feeling in my chest, vaguely reminiscent of the smell of cat pee in a way I couldn't explain.
Self-flagellation achieved, I checked that my shorts and tee covered my underwear and stepped out into the Commons. It was a bit of a mess, with pieces of gear scattered about as yesterday's Zombie Wards rushed to their sleep and likely only resurfaced in the night to grab snacks and visit the restrooms. It appeared only James and I were not slovenly, as neither of our costume pieces were anywhere in sight, I noticed, picking up one of Missy's uniform boots. The traces of dried blood on the inside told me that I was being fucking rude to the heroes that helped save (at least some of) the city and which lost a friend and teammate yester--
Shit.
Gallant.
Gallant was dead.
I saved Aegis and possibly others from certain death but Dean was still dead.
A movement on the couches snapped me out of it. James was sitting on the one facing the TV directly, a small flower in his hand. Where'd he get a dandelion? Did he go outside?
"Greetings, Emissary. Was your night restful?" he asked. When I replied with a noncommittal meh, he nodded appreciatively, apparently having been in the vicinity of the same boat. Maybe. Once.
"I have read that when mourning the loss of someone, flowers are to be presented," he began, as if restarting a video from pause. "But I could not find a place to purchase them that was open or undestroyed, so I went and found a flower."
He held it up for me to see. "Does it not strike you as strange, Rose, that to say how sorry we are that a death has happened, we go and we kill another living thing?"
I was at a loss for words. I never considered that angle, only having received flowers once in my life and being too overwhelmed with the surprise at the time to complain about the damage to nature. And Mom's funeral… was not conducive to such thoughts. Neither, come to think of it, was Carlos's.
"It hurts," he finally stated, looking back at me, "In here..." a tap on his chest, turning back to the flower, "While I... I talked to Dean shortly after I joined the Wards, and proposed an experiment to see if his emotional manipulation ability could affect me," he glanced at me. "For a long time I had felt myself cut off from my emotions, as if there had been a fortified wall in my mind that I could not pass. I could feel them, but they were muted... weak. I tried attending gatherings at the Dallon Household. I had attempted consumption of Alcohol. I had even tried to put myself in harm's way..." he toyed with the flower some more, looking contemplative, "I got my powers by seeing if I could feel things in a life-or-death situation," when our eyes met next, my brain nearly seized up, so he Triggered while… trying to feel the thrill of life? Did Mandy fill that void for him back home? "I felt nothing out of the ordinary." He looked away again, staring at the mess of costume parts on the floor now, while I finally found it in myself to at least stand next to him, "I explained to Dean that I was interested in seeing what his powers would do to me, so he shot me with them." he paused again, turning the flower over in his hands, "I began to cry, for he had shot me with a blast of pure sadness. It was the most amazing thing I had felt in a long, long time."
I was startled when he took my hand into his, looking into my eyes again, but there was no malice there. Not much of anything, much like mine, I was certain.
"Dean was very interesting. I will remember him for a long time to come."
"As will I," I agreed, watching the strangest of my teammates go back to fiddling with the small flower in his hands.
I collapsed onto the cleanest of the couches (item tally: Sophia's cloak, Dennis's glove, someone's smelly socks, an empty water bottle), feeling the shakes coming on. Great, I told myself, thank heavens that didn't happen in the middle of yesterday's argument with Vicky and Amy. Oh, right, I'm going to be whitelisted to message them as soon as they get around to it. Networ-- shit, both of the Pelham adults are dead. Carol is essentially all the management the team has left. New Wave is fucked. And I awkwarded them out through that.
My mounting panic attack only got worse as I pulled my legs up onto the couch, hugging my knees closer to me, my loose hair spreading like a blanket across my back. I needed a hug. Maybe a hot drink. Definitely an aspirin. I threw a glance at James, lost in his world again. Does he need a hug? Would he offer me one if I asked? I shook my head, discarding the thought. I was certain he would, but would it make things better for him? I had no way of knowing.
My Wards probably fought their own Endbringer yesterday. The timetable for the attacks was pretty solid, but the locations were hard to predict. Was it in Brockton as well? Boston? Not even in the States?
I was vaguely aware of a door opening, someone else wakening from their recuperative slumber, something Amy's power couldn't truly replace. It's not just about the muscle fatigue, but also downtime for the brain, a chance to process the day's events, ups and downs alike. And what happened yesterday… was mostly downs.
"Hey," Sophia said, leaning over the back of the couch I was sitting on, addressing me and obviously ignoring James, "How's tricks?"
"Hey yourself," I replied, trying to keep my knees from shaking, whatever reason they may have chosen for it. "I feel like I fucked up," I admitted, I needed to vent, and it might as well be to the person I'll soon be putting in a crate (air holes optional) and shipping down the river. "Like there was more I could do, save more people, stop--" I choked, "--Dean's dead."
"What would you have done against that wave?" she asked bluntly, her face a mask of calmness, "From what they told me, you did as much as most of our fucking Protectorate put together, on both offense and defense," she paused to hop over the couch, landing next to me on her own cloak. I noted she was wearing a generic PRT tank top and tennis shorts not dissimilar to mine, although hers sat more snugly on her lithe frame. Likely didn't come from the random-size discount section, I thought before dismissing the issue.
She looked okay, unhurt, undamaged, a far cry from the road rash that took off half her face from when Leviathan collapsed the building she was on as Taylor and I scrambled to evacuate Hannah. Her shoulder was in its rightful place, and the only visible change to her was a slight haggardness, to be expected from loss of body fat expended when Amy healed people. Grievous bodily harm was a surprisingly effective proxy for weight loss, it turned out.
"How the fuck did you end up shooting its eye out?" she asked, her face lit up with… I wouldn't call it excitement, not really. Exultation? Hero worship? But by that logic, she should have spent the night cuddling with Flechette, and I didn't see any of her distinctly purple stuff anywhere… at least in the open.
"Borrowed Miss Militia's power," I said, shrugging a little "It lets you use her guns if you're close enough to her, and she kept supplying me. Too bad the bastard started bringing buildings down before I could hurt it more."
"Still, you did awesome, you badass!" she said, clapping me on the shoulder. I felt an odd mix of pride and revulsion. If this was literally anyone else, even Tattletale, this would not have been half as bad. "You showed that fucker he shouldn't mess with you!"
Her voice must have carried, because we got another visitor, likely one roused by her yell.
"Keep it down, will yo--" was all Carlos could get out before I lunged at him using the couch as a springboard, ignoring Sophia's warm hand brushing against my thigh as I got up, leaving a burn as if acid was poured onto my panic-cooled skin, my bear hug squeezing the air from the tall boy's lungs. Mine. Alive and mine.
"You pendejo loco, you realize that if I hadn't foamed you, you'd be a Carlos sandwich now?" I ground out as I let go, mussing his hair and gathering mine into a singular frontal waterfall over my right shoulder, "You do not go where an Endbringer can tread on you!" I punched him lightly in the chest, before hugging him again, traitorous sobs shaking my body.
"What's with all the yelling?" came a certain red-head's voice, likely poking his head out as well, "What did I miss?"
"Apparently, we're having a glad-to-be-alive cuddlepile?" Carlos ventured, as I felt Sophia marshmallowing against my back, her hands thankfully only wrapped around my torso, her head pressed against the base of my neck. The gesture felt so… human, so un-Sophia-like, especially with her staying oddly quiet, that I didn't even feel like protesting. I felt other people joining the odd two-on-one hug we had going as Carlos pulled me closer, hands on my waist so as not to dislodge Sophia, as I felt what must have been Dennis resting his forehead against Carlos's shoulder, his hair brushing my forehead, his hand coming to rest atop the deathgrip I had on the man that wasn't my dead boyfriend, his other arm presumably encircling Sophia as I felt her shudder in protest, then settle down as he must have moved his hand northwards. To my other side came the thick feeling of warmth that was James, his arms went on Carlos's and Sophia's shoulders as far as I could tell.
I didn't know when I stopped shaking, but I hoped nobody could see what felt to me like a light kiss Carlos pressed into my hair, nor the one that left another spot of burning acid on my skin at the edge of my hair on my neck. I wiggled under the press of bodies until I was let go, noting that I mostly guessed the positioning right, except for Chris who latched onto Carlos and Dennis, which made sense: Dean was with the three of them the longest. Them and...
"Where's Missy?" I asked, carefully peeling Sophia's now-sweaty hands away from my abs - an unfortunate side-effect of Browbeat's bulk, so most of the sweat was likely mine - and absorbing all of Dennis's dejected nod at the missing girl's shut door.
I was glad to see Kid Win intact again, his nose back in place, as the rest of his damages were internal, and while I was unaware of the limits James's self-biokinesis imposed on his healing processes, he was theorized to be able to emulate a minor regeneration effect akin to Carlos's with it. I was not as glad to feel how Sophia's kiss lingered on my skin or that we were not including Missy in this. Or that I had a stray thought that had Dean seen me right now, the jig would have been up at once, which made me feel like shit again because that sounded as if I was glad he was dead, which I utterly wasn't. I hope to all fuck that my Dean is alive. And my sister. And Rachel. And Amy. And Madison. And all of them, friends and family. Even Sarah, so I can tell her to go fuck a duck again.
As Carlos and James guided the sleepwalker - apparently Dennis more or less dragged Chris into the hug - onto the couch Sophia and I warmed up, she excused herself for the showers ("Was going there anyway, then I saw you sulking," she said) while I went to knock on the door marked with the letter 'V'.
"Missy? Are you alive in there?" I asked, feeling like an asshole at potentially waking her to a morning that confirmed the grisly death of her crush was not just a fucked-up nightmare she had. Vague grunts and angry sniffling were my proof of life, although they also made somewhat clear that I could lay to rest any hopes of rousing her at this hour.
"Damn, I'm hungry," Dennis announced, busy gathering pieces of his outfit from where they fell in his yesterday's funk, all in the name of not thinking about the friend that was not coming back, "Anyone up for glad-to-be-alive breakfast?"
"I need to shower first, but I agree," James protested. "We also should not leave Sophia behind. We cannot rely on Rose to be around to hug her every time she is irate." He gently placed the dandelion on an end table as I mentally dry-heaved.
And so it was decided, as the boys ferried a still-groggy Chris into the shower room while I tried my level best not to gape too badly at being declared Sophia's nuclear coolant rod. When my brain finally rebooted, I found myself alone with Carlos, a contemplative look on his face.
"You saved my life," he said listlessly, "Was it because you couldn't do anything about--"
"Don't you dare fucking say it," I objected, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes, beating them back, gritting my teeth, feeling my voice waver, "I know you're not him, that I made you promise a date you don't want to go on because deep down I'm still that same bullied girl that can't believe someone may be genuinely interested in her. Don't make me feel more like shit than I already am."
"From where I'm standing it would appear Sophia's interested?" he ventured, at the same time as I said "I release you from your obliga-- bwuuuh?~"
I shook my head, sputtering. "You realize how creepy that is? How-- how dirty I feel with all these lies and her attraction--"
"Yeah," he nodded, scratching the back of his head, "Low blow, I'm sorry, but it was kinda worth that look on your face."
I punched him again, seriously this time. He's a big boy, he could take it.
As we, too, turned to the showers, to prepare to have that breakfast, I couldn't help but wonder if Taylor was even getting one today.
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[This is where Q.02 occurs]
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[This is where Q.02 occurs]
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[Taylor]
The porridge was lukewarm but filling, the dime-a-thousand teabag gave the scalding hot water in my paper cup a brownish tinge I more readily associated with rusty tap water than anything drinkable, but I was alive.
I cut up a motherfucking Endbringer and I lived to tell the tale, only had my lower body turned to mashed potatoes for it. I am alive.
The Amazon Lesbian Goddess is me from another world, where Panacea is my best friend and probably girlfriend, where Aegis was my boyfriend before he died - it figured that dating Taylor Hebert was a plausible way to kill The Boy That Could Adapt To Anything - and Lisa knew I was a traitor all along and wanted to use that, and at least Dad was okay, even if I couldn't get the Journal out of the house without him noticing. The other me has a sister! She got her Rachel acquitted! My Rachel died in her arms…
The whirlwind of WHAT THE FUCK that was yesterday seemed to have no real end to it, but I needed to set it aside for now. To move. To do things. Get my stuff from the loft, as the sirens caught Lisa and me right as I was packing. Figure out where the remaining two Undersiders stood vis-a-vis my visit to pick up my stuff, whether they would ask me back now that the team was down two members instead of one. Decide whether I wanted to take up the other me -- Rose, she said, after m-- after our mother -- up on the offer of joining the Wards.
Probationary, she said, with restrictions mostly on paper because some of the things I did were too public and unequivocally villainous to just sweep under the rug, but the Protectorate would be informed - undercover asset burned by Armsmaster, which would also neatly explain away our vendetta-esque confrontation at the gallery. I said I'd think about it while thinking "fuck you" at her and her high horse, but now, with a godly four hours of sleep in me I realized that with my face and name known to the Protectorate and Coil likely wanting me extremely dead, this was probably my only option short of running away to Timbuktu, and I wasn't sure I had enough money for that. Then again, there's a place no Endbringer would likely touch with a ten-foot pole, perfect for running--
FUCK NO. Running away was good when facing an Endbringer at melee range. I was done running away from my other problems.
With that decided, after handing in the cutlery to the shelter relief workers I stepped out into the gloomy morning of the First Day After. The overcast sky welcomed me with a steely greyness one would normally expect from October or worse, but at least it wasn't raining. I felt like I've had enough being wet for a lifetime. Thank God Panacea's healing also meant not catching a cold from all the near-drowning yesterday.
I was wearing a spare set of clothes, one of three I had stashed around the city -- like many other capes, I expected, having found several similar stashes when trying to find a place for my own in the past months. I really did not need to know that Shadow Stalker apparently had the same taste in clothing as Sophia fucking Hess, or that someone's stash was either a couple's set or Circus was really indecisive about what they wanted to wear in an emergency. It was a half-decent distraction from the first one because extra reasons to think of the bitch fueled my anger-driven theory from yesterday regarding Emma-ssary's friend Shadow Stalker covering for her.
Except that Emissary being other me didn't change the fact that Stalker came to Emma's rescue a little too readily. Shit.
I traversed the waterlogged city at a measured pace - even with a slowly-building swarm, I did not feel completely safe. My costume was under my hoodie and jeans, so I would likely survive an unpowered assault, but a bullet to the head from some twitchy Merchant looking to loot my bag would still be an unwelcome outcome. The irony of the city's state did not escape me: due to the way the fight migrated across the city, the less well-off areas were actually better off in terms of tidal wave damage due to the efforts of the shield capes, even though individual buildings here and there were torn up, one way or another, by the fights that raged past them. The better-off areas beyond The Towers, however, got more sea-on-building action, even as they largely escaped having craters, laser burns and dead capes scattered among them.
I shuddered again. I hadn't seen Rachel die, but it happened right next to me. She saved me. She threw her life away for a traitor unknowingly, unflinchingly, because even after my declaration of leaving, she thought me a friend, an ally.
A packmate? Maybe.
A little voice wormed up from my hindbrain, would she have done the same if she knew what you were planning? Do you deserve that loyalty?
I shook my head roughly, but that slimy voice continued. She died for nothing. You betrayed her.
'No I didn't,' I thought back as I gasped and ducked into an alleyway, 'I didn't do anything!'
But you planned on it, didn't you? You were going to turn them all in once you were sure of who their boss is.
'N-no! I mean, yes but-'
So in addition to lying, robbery, and assault, you have treachery on your list. Do you even have the capacity to understand what is good anymore?
I snarled and shoved my emotions into my swarm.
'I want to be a hero. I want to be a hero.'
I repeated my mantra as I walked down the street, very conscious of the fact that even I barely believed myself.
I made a few detours - some streets were still flooded, the water held in by dams made of collapsed buildings or power effects - surprisingly, there were still ice walls and Kaiser's distinctive blade fountains left over from the various failed attempts at holding Leviathan back. The time bubble on Dirk Street was likely still there too, with the chunk of Leviathan and the out-of-town capes buried in it.
With the way the friendly fire from the Leviathan-flung Halberd counted against Armsmaster, I wondered whether the effective deaths of Morningstar and Jotun would count as strikes on Miss Militia's record as well. It would be pretty shitty if the Brockton Bay Protectorate would lose its acting leader the same week (and the same way) as the man she replaced.
The first sign my day was about to get worse was, of course the rather sizeable gash in the building where the Undersiders' loft used to be - probably still was, just not all of it. Not anymore. It looked as if one of the Blasters, maybe Legend or Purity -- no, wait, Purity skipped town once she got her children back, didn't she? -- missed a shot and it sheared off a chunk of the building, except there was no debris in the flotsam-filled street below. So whatever it was in that part of the loft was gone forever.
I used the opening to spread a portion of my less noticeable bugs into the building, to check whether trouble was waiting, potentially in the form of looters willing to utilize the newly-opened means of entry into what clearly was a space better-decorated than the building it was attached to. Instead of looters, I found the Undersiders - all three of them. It felt and sounded as if Brian and Lisa were having a shouting match which Alec spectated with a certain degree of apathy.
Dreading what I would hear once I came inside, I made my way through the entrance, taking note of an unexpected fourth presence - Angelica, one of Rachel's three main dogs, the one she didn't have with her when we ran into her yesterday, probably because of her earlier injuries. Which were still there today. The poor dog seemed more concerned with the prolonged absence of its mistress than the two bickering parahumans (my bugs made out less than I did as I ascended --but the words 'leader', 'traitor' and 'shitshow' seemed prominent), but perked its head up when it saw (heard? smelled?) me entering the loft proper.
The shouting stopped as I surveyed the scene, all eyes on me. Brian, aggressive stance slightly leaning forward, pointer finger within Lisa's personal space already as if he was a few Tattletale-isms away from punching her. Alec, his default expression of detached amusement at human nature sprawled across his face as its owner half-sat, half-rested on a crate of some kind, no trace of yesterday's scar thanks to that conceited bitch Panacea who was as appalled as I was that Rose was apparently other her's BFF.
Were the guys moving base? Duh, of course they were, there's a hole the size of half of Lisa's room-- fuck, half of Lisa's room is gone! --in the loft! Of course they have to move!
Lisa herself, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that a chunk of her stuff was gone -- presumably, because her laptop survived -- stood hands akimbo in a very Glory Girl pose, defiant in the face of whatever Brian had just been shouting at her. Angelica, wondering if I'll tell her where Rachel is and why is nobody feeding her.
"You gotta be kidding me," Alec breathed out and his unsmile became a little more smilelike. It was an unnerving sight, confirmation that he viewed this whole thing as entertainment.
"Why are you here?" Brian snapped, turning his finger on me. "It's bad enough that I have to learn about the shit you talked about behind closed doors third-hand, but having Coil ring me up and tell me you were in on the fact that Taylor was a mole--"
"I was not!" I protested, "I was--"
"--infiltrating us to find out who the boss was," Alec finished for me smoothly while I fumbled for the exact words, "So congratulations, mission complete, Rachel died to save the traitor in our midst. Drama!"
He suddenly gave a few short claps, which startled the shit out of both me and the one-eyed dog.
"Did she actually betray anyone?" Lisa countered, certain as always, "All the information that was exchanged in there was about the thing Emissary was harassing Taylor online for, and I didn't want you two to get involved in whatever scheme she was playing," she shrugged, "She wanted to entrap us knowing her identity with the Truce."
"Yes," Brian threw up his hands, sarcasm and disgust dripping from every word, "She just planned to betray us. She just planned to stick knives in our backs." I winced as he walked right into Lisa's personal space, his every action thrumming with violence. "And you knew. You knew the entire time that SHE--" he gestured towards me in a sudden and violent spasm of his arm, "--wanted to take us down." His voice got low and silky. "Would you care to explain to me, Lisa, what in the name of Scion you were thinking?"
Lisa squared her jaw before opening her mouth. "I-"
Alec interrupted. "No, wait, let me guess, boss:" his voice went up to an absurdly high pitch in what might possibly have been the worst impression of Lisa I had ever heard in my entire life. "I know everything that's going on because I'm a THINKER and I have to know everything and be smarter than anyone else in the room."
"NO!" she snapped, "And I don't sound like that."
"Then please, Lisa," growled Brian. I had never heard him sound like that before. "Please tell me why I had to hear this from Coil. Please tell me why you even bother calling me the leader when it's clear that you don't consider 'My teammate might be a traitor' might POSSIBLY be something that I'd like to hear about. Please tell me why you didn't think telling your friends" and he stressed this word, making me feel all of three inches tall, "that someone could have been trying to hurt them."
"Rachel was my friend!" I spat back, fighting the tears down, my voice cracking on the final word, "And so are you! What the hell did Coil tell you?"
"That you were doing this gig to snag some juicy info to bring to the Protectorate in exchange for a cushy position as a Ward, right next to our ever-favorite Shadow Stalker!" Alec outlined, miming firing a gun, or maybe a crossbow, two-handed.
"That this Emissary was your contact, and the meeting we were kicked out of by Lisa was about you reporting to them because Armsmaster threatened your cover," Brian continued, "How else would you explain freaking Alexandria swooping in and taking him away just as he was about to assault you?"
Coil is playing them. Does he know about Rose? Or is he only aware of this 'cousin' ruse she constructed? It's fucked up all on its own that there's a version of me out there who's any good at this false identity bullshit! But… we can use this!
"She's my cousin, you idiots. A Thinker, kind of like Lisa-lite, but a grabbag, with regeneration on top, and Alexandria was her recruiter or something," I began, recalling the details I heard in the press conference and read on PHO, "She supposedly looked at the PRT files on us, identified me and went kicking down doors to fast-track me into the Wards, because her background checks accidentally unmasked me to the fucking Protectorate," I stopped, wondering at what point did I begin yelling, then continued in a normal voice, "I'm not a snitch, I'm outed. I'm tainted goods for this team one way or another, but please don't try to make it out as if Rachel's sacrifice was for naught."
"The creeper messages online were Emissary's dumb idea of spy-speak to convince Taylor she was a friend without putting traceable information online," Lisa caught on, "Except she screwed that up, overdid the cloak and dagger stuff, leaving us convinced she was one of the girls from Taylor's school!"
"Like that asshole that harassed you in the bookstore last week?" Brian asked, the temperature a little less hot. Shouldn't've opened with the Wards offer, shit.
"Her friend, but yeah. Made me think Sophia -- the asshole -- was actually Shadow Stalker," I admitted, "And then lo and fucking behold, it's my cousin Rose instead, who decided that becoming Thinker 2 Brute 1 meant she could fight an Endbringer from up close."
"Very me-lite," Lisa stage-whispered, stressing the last word, "I'm now considered a Thinker 7, apparently."
"Anyway, she Thinkered that I split from you guys because of how we stood at the briefing, and decided to give me the pitch," I went on, mixing some truth in with the lies. "The paper she gave me then, remember that? Here," I produced the note in question, handing it to Brian, "She offered me and Lisa spots on the Wards, citing their knowing who I am as a reason."
"I told her to stick it up her butt," Lisa said proudly, "But Taylor can't risk her father."
"And Coil deciding you're a turncoat reverting to your true colors is going to make him so much safer?" Brian asked, looking up from Rose's slightly smudged note - it was amazing it survived as well as it did, considering how much swimming I had to do yesterday with it in my storage compartment. His words, however, made me shiver. Coil was not above enslaving a twelve-year old girl and addicting her to drugs to control her. Killing an adult man would be child's play to him and certainly even less of a burden on his shriveled inhuman conscience.
"That would be breaking the Rules," Lisa said suddenly. "An attack on a Ward's family member would merit an escalating response Coil can ill afford with the way Leviathan flooded part of his old base yesterday," she elaborated, "Remember where he tried sinking into the street, but then was stopped by Eidolon and Myrrdin?"
"Right next to where we went on Saturday, right?" Alec ventured, looking a little bit less worried. Or maybe more, I was still having trouble making some of his expressions out.
"Ayup," Lisa nodded, looking glad that she finally had the reins of this conversation firmly in hand, "I didn't share tidbit with Alexandria when we were brainstorming yesterday, but it made me wonder if Leviathan was after Coil or maybe Dinah? Endbringers always have a specific target in mind, don't they?"
"Back to the start of this conversation, however," Brian cut her off, "If you really will join the Wards--"
"I'm not a snitch, Brian," I repeated.
"And there's rules, actual written rules, that allow her to go white hat without giving stuff up. Bigger ball and chain than Shadow Stalker though--" Lisa began before catching herself.
"I was wondering how long it would take until you realized," Brian said, rubbing his eyes with his palms, "You'd have to work with the girl that almost killed me, tried to kill all of us."
"Under investigation, they said," Lisa ricocheted at once, "Taylor had a mini-meltdown when Armsmaster tried to shake her down for info in front of Legend, yelled about that," she grinned in a manner that reminded me more of Sophia, "You saw how that ended for him. Imagine what Alexandria will do to her if she decides to follow up."
"Will she?" Alec asked, smirking in a way that semaphored 'fat chance' to anyone who bothered looking.
"Fucked if I know," I said, spreading my arms now, "I'm dead on my feet despite Panacea's healing, I need to get my stuff, find a place to stay that's better than the shelter I slept in, talk to my Dad about the fact that PRT or paid assassins may be kicking his door down in the coming days… getting to be in a position where Shadow Stalker can't do shit to me is small peas on top of all that."
"Get your stuff?" Alec asked with a quirked eyebrow.
I snapped back. "I was already leaving you guys before Leviathan hit... and I think I'm even less welcome now." I shot a glare at all of them. "None of you are the people I thought you were... and I guess I'm not either. Wanna make bets about Shadow Stalker?"
"Did she even survive?" Alec asked, making us all exchange questioning glances as if I was still part of the team. Shrugging, I trudged towards Rachel's room.
"Angelica, come."
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[Rose]
The cafeteria was full of morose people trying to make it through the morose morning of what was certainly shaping up to be a very morose week. Troopers on duty and between shifts sat in batches of two or three, rarely more, unlike the usual bunching up of squads or friend groups, which felt odd to me until comprehension dawned. They were still sitting as squads. At least those that were there to sit.
As we made our way towards the serving line, most of them just ignored us, albeit I saw a couple waving to me weakly - likely witnesses of my dressing-down of Battery. I was, however, looking for two very specific troopers, and I saw them sharing a table not far from the one James chose for us to sit down at as was the right of the first one to make it through the line. Dropping my tray on the table (optioned: semolina, orange juice, vending machine tea, because it was still leaps and bounds better than this particular vending machine coffee), I made my way over to Martinez and Carlsson, who were halfway through some sort of tactical argument when they noticed me coming over.
"I'm telling you, we can't just drop an Endbringer onto Ellisburg, there's no transport large or reinforced enough for any of them! Tinkertech or otherwise!"
"But ma'am, what about teleporters? Especially range-based ones rather than targeted," Carlsson spoke animatedly - the eye I last saw as bandaged and bloodied mess was back now, surrounded by an impressive scar that he probably had to beg Amy to leave in place so he could show it off. "Someone like Strider or Fallback?"
"Strider's dead, Sergeant," I interrupted, "And from what I know of Fallback, it will be a while until he volunteers doing anything other than ferry duty on Endbringer battles again."
"Hey Red," Martinez grinned, her #2, which I loved using when I was screwing around with people. It just sang 'you just got played and don't even know how' at people. "I need a second opinion in something."
"Ma'aaaam," Carlsson stretched out, sounding like a petulant kid, which was certainly the last thing I ever expected someone who I shared a foxhole with in an Endbringer battle to sound like. Truly, Martinez was a master that still had a lot to teach me about bringing people to the edge of their emotions.
"With the heroics displayed by Trooper Carlsson here, do you think he should maybe go into the cape business like you did," Martinez explained, punctuating the you with a conspiratorial wink, "And if so, would he be served well by a costume involving denim overalls with a propeller on his back?"
What.
"Lieutenant Martinez," I said, once my brain was once again capable of cognition, "I don't know what should surprise me more: the fact that you can make an Astrid Lindgren reference so casually, or that you were expecting me to get it."
"Come ooon, nobody reads that oldie Euro stuff!" Carlsson protested, then hastily added, "Except weir-- er-- widely educated ladies like you two?"
"Alright, alright, Phil, take it easy, what's a light spot of teasing and book jokes between friends?" Martinez grinned wider at his botched attempt at recovery from what was a very mild insult at best, then laughed outright once he departed, still looking crushed that she made light of his participation in a fight that killed so many of their comrades.
"Martinez, would it be rude of me to ask you whether I should ask your counterpart from back home to marry my father, offering you the same option should she turn it down?" I outlined with a serious tone, "Because he married my mother for a list of reasons, and so far you seem hell-bent on ticking all these boxes for me. Except you'll have to apologize to Carlsson later on, because he actually performed admirably for an unpowered person."
"I know," she nodded, "There's a commendation waiting for him once normal paperwork resumes moving, because with your help he actually made the top three surviving PRT Troopers by contribution importance, saving three capes and all."
"Three?" I asked, confusion on my face, didn't I only rescue two with him?
"Yeah, the third happened after he lost the eye to a windshield he got swept into. Guy's tougher than coffin nails, I have to give him that," she smiled in a kinder way now, "Kinda like you."
"Well, he still owes me coffee for that, I believe," I smiled back, glad I opted for the generic mask instead of my helmet - admittedly, the most intact piece of my ceramic armor components, "And with that I must take my leave and rejoin my team before they eat my stuff."
"See ya 'round, Red. Keep'em on their toes, will ya?" she waved at my back.
I arrived back at the table in the middle of an argument. It seemed to be something of a running theme for the day, apparently.
"What's the fuss, guys?" were the first words out of my mouth after I got the first spoon of the gunky white stuff into my mouth. More carbs for the carb furnace that fuels my regeneration, I don't want to end up covered in scars like Cricket!
"Clockblocker says we should bring some food back for Vista," James outlined, "Shadow Stalker does not agree. Aegis is attempting to mediate. I am attempting to eat. Kid Win is attempting to sleep." He cocked an eyebrow. "I am of the opinion that he should eat as well and then sleep later. It would not do well to let this tasteless porridge go to waste."
I glanced at him. "If you want the porridge so much, then why not take his?"
Chris shifted his head slightly, and I caught sight of a few grains stuck to his forehead.
"That was my initial desire, yes. But then he fell asleep in his." He spooned another mouthful, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. "I do not want his porridge anymore."
I blinked at that, then reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "You do you, Browbeat."
"That I shall, Emissary. That I shall."
James now focused on his food, I turned back to the non-James and non-asleep portion of the table. "So looks like I'll be the tiebreaker, then?" I exclaimed, relishing the mix of emotions on Sophia's face - she went for the fuller mask option, the one that covered the hair up as well, for some reason. Not that I knew her habits regarding the subject back home, I only ever saw her in her costume's mask during my internship, and then she was gone, and then she was in the Cage where she belonged. Here, my case still didn't have a legal leg to stand on.
"I guess so, Emissary. So, emissate, would you?" Aegis acknowledged with a small hopeful smile.
"I'll carry the food and make sure Vista eats. Case closed," I announced, polishing up my plate, "Don't be a dick, Stalker, I bet you'd be in the same funk if one of your friends died."
"That's exactly my point, Ems," she replied without losing a beat and making my heart skip one, because she apparently shared one more odd trait with Skitter: she also apparently thought Emissary would work as Emma-ssary, "If one of my friends died, I'd be picking myself up, no problem."
She pointedly ignored the barbed looks Carlos and Dennis gave her (by virtue of Chris literally being asleep at the table and James apparently beyond caring), eating her omelette with nary a care. This made me wonder if the Wards that were mine now were as blind as these to the sociopath in their midst, or as powerless to stop her.
"Even the one whose nickname you just gave me?" I asked, my voice as quiet and soft as I could manage. I knew where my version of Sophia stood in regard to Emma. What I needed to know was whether this one was as unrepentant. The look I got back told me that no, she had never really considered what would happen to her if her (from what I knew) one single true friend would just up and die. She hadn't - the shelter where Dad and the Barnses would have most likely taken shelter was unharmed because Scion intervened before Leviathan could reach it - but if she had… I felt an ugly pull on my heart, a stray thought, wondering. Wondering how that self-assured haughty young woman would look, breaking down, crying in the ugliest of ways, knowing that the one she loved (liked? groomed as an accomplice? maybe just plain groomed?) had died, feeling like Missy was, right now.
Nobody spoke for the rest of the now-dispirited breakfast, and we left as clumps where we had arrived as a group trying to hold on to the scraps of cheer from the cuddle. Is it my imagination or I actually managed to bring Sophia down a bit?
Before leaving the cafeteria, I picked up two takeout containers of pancakes, letting everyone else get ahead of me. One went into my room for future use, the other I brought with me to the door marked 'V' on my second attempt at establishing communication.
"Missy," I told the door, "I come bearing food and hugs, could you please let me in?"
The door replied with grumbles and a muffled thud and then melted away to reveal a crumpled-up bed converted into a dragon's cave of blankets and hoarded pillows (did she… raid Dean's room sometime in the night? Those didn't look like they came with this room…), with a pair of bloodshot eyes looking at me from within. The door snapped back into shape - apparently, Missy just Vista'd it out of my way - and I proceeded to crouch in front of her cave-entrance. The dragon's breath smelled more like morning breath than brimstone, with a light zest of salt and possibly a hint of men's deodorant? Definitely raided Dean's room. This is not healthy.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Pancakes? I didn't know what you'd want on top, so you have the option of strawberry sauce or maple syrup."
I shimmied the surprisingly bare desk closer to the bed, laying out my spoils on it, unpacking the takeaway container. The plastic fork went into the dragon's cave, handle-forward.
"Strawberry?"
The strawberry sauce container was emptied into the takeaway one, covering the pancakes in the red goo contained within. Not like blood. Not at all like blood. Blood doesn't have those yellow… whatever they are, seeds? In it. Normally. Great, what a time to think about Bonesaw!
"D'you want tea or coffee or maybe juice? I'll be right back."
"Apple, please."
The dragon's voice was slightly muddled by the half-eaten pancake, but still easy to understand. The beast was receding, letting the girl take control.
I merited a please. Progress!
I was whoomphed out the door in the same manner as I was let in, coming out face to face with Carlos.
"I… thank you for doing this," he said, nodding at her door, "Who knows how we would have handled this otherwise."
"Dennis," I replied without hesitation, "Maybe with a little bit of James for the grounding. Walk with me to the kitchenette?"
"Yeah, that may be harder to pull off in the future," he said, rubbing his forehead, "James just got off the phone. His parents are leaving town, likely indefinitely. We're going to be down one more man in a few days."
"Hmm," I hmm'ed, surveying the monstrous state of the fridge -- apparently, someone tried to make sandwiches in the night and failed miserably at cleaning up after themselves. Probably Dennis, I'd trained mine to clean up after himself, but given the state that all of us were in, I'd let it slide. I grabbed the juice bottle and a (hopefully) clean glass from the cupboard, turning on my heels to return my quest items to the dragon before it was too late.
"Any progress on Skitter?" he asked next, "Or your… other targets?"
"Skitter is teetering, but with her team in the state it is now, I think it's down to days if not hours. No dice on the other fronts yet," I admitted, knocking on the V-door again. "If I don't come out in an hour… wait longer."
The dragon cave collapsed, the monster having released the princess. The princess had puffy eyes and generally looked like she would rather have been eaten by the dragon whole, but settled for eating the pancakes I provided. The entire pint of juice disappeared into the pint-sized Shaker in zero time flat as well.
Once she was done, I suddenly found her brushing her fingers against my tattoo.
"Does… does it stop hurting?" she asked quietly, her eyes boring into mine as if I, jaded old woman that I was, held the secrets of the universe in my head. "How did you--"
"I didn't," I admitted, "It took me days to leave the house. Unfortunately, I was just an intern then, not a Ward."
"You're gonna make me leave the room at any cost?" she mock-glared me.
"Oh, that would be easy," I grinned, a Greg Veder #1 ('It's totally funny in context, I swear') this time to show her I'm not that much of an asshole, "I just nip down to the third floor and sign out a tear gas grenade from the quartermaster."
"You wouldn't!"
"No, I wouldn't," I agreed, "Not to you, at least."
"Is this because I'm a kid?" she leaned back away from me, dejected.
"No, silly girl," I replied, sweeping her into a bear hug, "It's because you're my friend." A few beats later, I realized, "Also because you'd probably use your powers to create a pressure differential and just blow the tear gas right back at me, or trap me in a bubble of space with the grenade. Seriously, don't think 'they're treating me like a kid' as a bad thing. You're being underestimated. It's tactical advantage."
The buzz of my PRT brick phone broke the mood we had going. The caller ID gave me another opening though.
"I could, however, replace you with Skitter?"
------
[Taylor]
Lisa helped me pack, even loaned me a fresh button-up shirt because most of the stuff I had stowed here was a bad fit for the weather or didn't cover my costume well enough.
Angelica, fed from Rachel's stash of supplies, was sitting guard by the door, clearly accepting her new role as my guardian until her mistress arrived to relieve her. I already packed up some of their things as well - the boys didn't want any of Rachel's things and I would need at least some of the meat and jerky or whatever that stuff was called to take care of Angelica. Somehow, all five of us reached an unspoken agreement that I was taking the dog and Rachel's fur-collared jacket, and along the way that ballooned to encompass all vaguely dog-related things left at the loft.
I sat on the bed I barely slept in, and surveyed the stuff I'd be carrying out today: the bag with my costume, stuffed my other clothes now. A smaller messenger bag with meat and a few chew toys and spare leashes and collars. The jacket that was part of Rachel's distinctive 'Hellhound' look. Angelica.
I had little expectations I'd find the other dogs still waiting for Rachel at her shelter, but it was my best bet to secure a place to sleep without having to tell Dad I may have played a part in getting Armsmaster Birdcaged. Provided that was what was going to happen to him - how valuable were his Tinkertech contributions to the Protectorate anyway? At least I got to see Alexandria up close and personal, she even offered me condolences on Rachel's death, which was so wildly outside the scope of things I ever expected my favorite heroine to say to anyone, it wasn't even funny.
We said no goodbyes when I left, instead exchanging hugs with Lisa, blank stares with Brian, and an awkward handshake with Alec. And then I was out on the street again, Angelica hobbling by my side through the debris, her leash in my free hand, as I threw my last glance at the building that held my only friends in the past two years.
It wasn't a clean break, and if the team collapsed as Lisa expected I was merely the first to leave, but it still felt like I was tearing out a part of my heart to awkwardly tape the hole over with PRT-branded tape. Thanks a fucking lot, other me, and your weird moral stance on what counts as villainy. I hope your solution to Winslow -- academic now that Winslow itself was a crater -- doesn't end with me shot. If Sophia does turn out to be Shadow Stalker, I'm kicking you in the balls.
I paused, rebalancing my bags, looking back at Angelica's questioning eye.
"I hope they know how to feed dogs properly," I told her, fishing my phone out, scrolling down to the number my dopplegänger gave me.
"Come into my parlor," my smug voice told me through the phone. She really doesn't realize she's so much like Lisa, does she?
"By any other name, would you still be such a bitch?" I retorted. "Captain's Hill, tomorrow noon."
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