The Slippery Slope [Worm AU]

[Lupercal]

Maybe so, I just wonder why anyone bothers at this point. Sophia thinking "Imma gonna get 'er" always ends with Sophia eating shit, after seeing no success. Hell, in that one 'fic, she does manage to kill Taylor only to have Taylor come back as the Ginosaji for some spoon hitting action.
Honestly, I think that the typical round of shoving Sophia's face in it could be skipped in most 'fics, she's been forced to writhe in the sewage of her own mediocrity so much that it's sorta losing it's charm. At this point, watching Sophia once more be the idiot that screws herself over is fast reaching the status of filler. Couldn't it just be assumed that if you don't see her in a 'fic, she's out there, fucking herself over in one of the many ways gleefully gone over in excruciating detail by so many 'fic authors?

Ack of all people peaked early on this, having her turn into a vampire-thing in HCTBB and then get killed with a spotlight in a courtroom where her friends were getting prosecuted as supervillain minions for being her friends, IIRC. Everything since has just been reiterating a point long since made.

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Ack has also writen multiple Sophia redemtion fics.

 

[MadGreenSon]

Ack has also writen multiple Sophia redemtion fics.

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And? It doesn't do anything to lessen my point that watching Sophia get her head shoved in the metaphorical (or literal) toilet has kinda gotten tired.

 

[Ack]

And? It doesn't do anything to lessen my point that watching Sophia get her head shoved in the metaphorical (or literal) toilet has kinda gotten tired.

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The trouble is, at this point in the narrative, unless you specifically kill Sophia off, she's there. It's a thing. Taylor has to get past her somehow. You've either got to pre-emptively determine a reason why she isn't on Taylor's case, or she is actually there, because she's that much of a raging bitch that she'll never just drop it.

It's one of the plot elements of the circa-locker-era Worm fic that has to be dealt with, one way or the other.

 

[MadGreenSon]

The trouble is, at this point in the narrative, unless you specifically kill Sophia off, she's there. It's a thing. Taylor has to get past her somehow. You've either got to pre-emptively determine a reason why she isn't on Taylor's case, or she is actually there, because she's that much of a raging bitch that she'll never just drop it.

It's one of the plot elements of the circa-locker-era Worm fic that has to be dealt with, one way or the other.

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Drop some blue ice on her. It worked for Kaiser.

 

[Ack]

Drop some blue ice on her. It worked for Kaiser.

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Don't think I'm not tempted

 

[magic9mushroom]

So... this gonna be the 'fic where she thinks this and actually pulls it off? We see it all the time and she always fails. I think Sophia gets gratuitously punked more often than Lung at this point.

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Honestly, I think that the typical round of shoving Sophia's face in it could be skipped in most 'fics, she's been forced to writhe in the sewage of her own mediocrity so much that it's sorta losing it's charm. At this point, watching Sophia once more be the idiot that screws herself over is fast reaching the status of filler. Couldn't it just be assumed that if you don't see her in a 'fic, she's out there, fucking herself over in one of the many ways gleefully gone over in excruciating detail by so many 'fic authors?

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As Thief of Words noted, canon started the trend with Regent's little stunt.

And I mean Sophia is thematically crucial to this plot, so I don't think giving her focus is necessarily bad on its own. I mean certainly, many fics devote too much time to Sophia, but I don't feel this is the right fic to be decrying it in since the basic plot of this one actually warrants a substantial role for her. Just because something's misused a lot doesn't mean it's always bad.

 

[Ack]

As Thief of Words noted, canon started the trend with Regent's little stunt.

And I mean Sophia is thematically crucial to this plot, so I don't think giving her focus is necessarily bad on its own. I mean certainly, many fics devote too much time to Sophia, but I don't feel this is the right fic to be decrying it in since the basic plot of this one actually warrants a substantial role for her. Just because something's misused a lot doesn't mean it's always bad.

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Yup.

And talking about 'thematically' ...

Spoiler: Spoiler

... her eventual fate is actually thematic to this story. Just saying.

 

[Thief of Words]

Yup.

And talking about 'thematically' ...

Spoiler: Spoiler

... her eventual fate is actually thematic to this story. Just saying.

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Oh boy. Why do I get the feeling this'll end with her briefly waking up on a burning crucifix on Grue's front lawn stoop?

Alternately, she gets badly enough injured that she requires a ball and socket replacement on her hip or shoulder, and that's when Taylor discovers she's not Manton limited, because in the connection her shard formed, Taylor hadn't been familiar enough with medical devices for it to see that as something it needed to protect her from misusing it on herself with.

 

[SamueLewis]

Alternately, she gets badly enough injured that she requires a ball and socket replacement on her hip or shoulder, and that's when Taylor discovers she's not Manton limited, because in the connection her shard formed, Taylor hadn't been familiar enough with medical devices for it to see that as something it needed to protect her from misusing it on herself with.

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That is a valid point. Can she control pacemakers and and other things like that?

Edit: made an error with name of the thing

 

[Ack]

That is a valid point. Can she control peacemakers and and other things like that?

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Those probably don't have mechanical (metal) moving parts.

 

[SamueLewis]

Those probably don't have mechanical (metal) moving parts.

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Random thought: would Wolverine count as a bunch of metal moving parts?

 

[Ack]

Random thought: would Wolverine count as a bunch of metal moving parts?

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Only if the adamantium parts of his bones are in actual contact with each other.

 

[Thief of Words]

Those probably don't have mechanical (metal) moving parts.

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That's why I said the bit I did, though perhaps rods bolted in might've been better as an example.

Though, pacemaker, no. But: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ventricular_assist_device

 

[MadGreenSon]

Only if the adamantium parts of his bones are in actual contact with each other.

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If they were, he likely has issues other than someone hijacking his skeleton. I don't think they're supposed to touch like that normally...

That's why I said the bit I did, though perhaps rods bolted in might've been better as an example.

Though, pacemaker, no. But: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ventricular_assist_device

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You might have something there, but how often is she going to fight someone with one of those? More likely to go up against a cyborg.

 

[Ack]

That's why I said the bit I did, though perhaps rods bolted in might've been better as an example.

Though, pacemaker, no. But: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ventricular_assist_device

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A lot of these seem to use ceramic bearings or even have the rotor suspended magnetically within the pump (so no metal is touching metal). In which case, she wouldn't even register them.

 

[MadGreenSon]

A lot of these seem to use ceramic bearings or even have the rotor suspended magnetically within the pump (so no metal is touching metal). In which case, she wouldn't even register them.

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Also, if someone has a VAD, they're probably not engaging in too many superfights no matter what the damn thing is made of.

 

[SamueLewis]

Can you explain full extent of her powers or is it plot relevant?

 

[Ack]

Can you explain full extent of her powers or is it plot relevant?

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Short answer: She can sense and control machines made of metal.

Long answer: If you have a device which has metal moving parts, or even two metal items fastened together in such a way that one can move against the other, she can sense that specific setup (and, more vaguely, most things that are attached to it - for instance, she can sense the tyres of a car, even though they aren't moving parts or even made of metal. Though she can control the valves in the tubes). She can also move the metal parts in any machines that she's sensing. The contact itself affords her an amount of force that she can apply; one inch square of contact gives her 700 lb of force to apply. This scales up (and down). This is QA, so she can manipulate all machines in her area (a block or two) independently and intelligently, although if a machine is out of her line of sight, she doesn't know what's around it. The actual force she generates pushes away from the metal as well as in the direction she wants, so if she had two metal plates, one lying on the other, she could make one sort of leap and fall off the other, though her control would be crap, because the plates aren't attached in any way. (This actually creates a kind of bubble of force between the metal moving parts, acting more or less as lubricant).

While she's using her powers, her mind drops into an emotionless state where she operates on pure logic. However, even in her logical state, she's aware of the value of allies, and will not abandon a comrade on the battlefield just because it's 'logical'. However, the emotional backlash of anything she does while using her powers will build up, and when she drops them, she gets it all at once.

 

[SamueLewis]

explanation

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So, she can snip with scissors with great force, but can't just launch through the air?

 

[Ack]

So, she can snip with scissors with great force, but can't just launch through the air?

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Unless they're set up so that they can launch themselves by levering against something, no, they can't launch through the air. Snipping is fine, though.

 

[Thief of Words]

Unless they're set up so that they can launch themselves by levering against something

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...oh, oh no.

Ack, I blame you for reminding me of this.

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Fifteen: Farewells and Continuations



[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: The book The Wind in the Willows was written by Kenneth Grahame, and I own no part of it.]



Medhall Building
Friday Evening, 11 February 2011

"The Mole struck a match, and by its light the Rat saw that they were standing in an open space, neatly swept and sanded underfoot, and directly facing them was Mole's little front door, with 'Mole End' painted, in Gothic lettering, over the bell-pull at the side."

I paused in my reading as I heard a knock on the door. "Excuse me, Dad," I murmured. He didn't respond, of course, but I was almost certain that he returned the squeeze that I gave his hand. Placing it on the covers, I let my powers wrap around me.

Assume positive control: door.

Immediately, the lock clicked open and the door swung wide at my command.

Assume positive control: book stand.

On the second day, Victor had instructed me through the process of creating an articulated book-stand with lockable joints. This was a useful and logical thing to do, as the device allowed me to practice with my powers. Now, I used it to close the book, keeping a slim piece of metal in place as a bookmark. With the book clasped in its metal jaws, the book-stand moved to the corner of the room and locked itself in place.

Peter entered the room, with my father's regular nurse beside him.

Ally 'Peter' wearing high-quality clothing. Ceremony imminent.

Dropping my powers, I stood up from the chair. "Hi, Peter. You've been busy."

He nodded at the book-stand. "So have you. You've got it moving a lot more smoothly than the last time I was here." We moved together, and he took my hands in his. "Victor sent me to get you. He says your armour's ready."

"Oh, excellent," I said. "Just give me a moment?" Turning back to Dad's bed, I took his hand in mine and squeezed it. "I've got to go, Dad. I'll be back later." Leaning down, I kissed him on the forehead. "Love you," I whispered.

The nurse who'd been brought in to take care of him had insisted from the first that I call her Mary. She was middle-aged, sharp-eyed, and didn't let much get past her. Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, white (of course), she cared for Dad's every need, bathing and feeding him, taking better care of him than I would have been able to.

It did help, of course, that Othala's ministrations had borne some fruit; while he hadn't opened his eyes or responded to my voice yet, he would chew and swallow food if put in his mouth, and (with some coaxing) sip on water through a straw. I didn't want to ask about bathroom matters. Mary said she had it handled, so I didn't argue.

"I'll give him his bath while you are out, ma'am," she said deferentially. "And I'll also give him his supper, if you'd like." I didn't know what orders had been given her from above, but she was absolutely determined to anticipate my every need when it came to Dad.

"That would be excellent," I said gratefully. "I don't even know how long this is going to be." Turning back to my boyfriend, I looked at him inquiringly. "Peter?"

He slid his arm over my shoulders; I stepped in close, taking comfort in his nearness. "A couple of hours," he decided. "It's been a while since we had one like this, but it won't be a quick thing. There'll be a service, and we'll give our respects, then George and I will get recognition for what we've done for the Empire, then you'll get your official introduction to the rank and file."

"I'm glad you'll be getting recognised," I said sincerely. "Both of you. You guys went above and beyond." Unbidden, my thoughts called up the memory, still engraved into my brain.

<><> ​

Peter walked toward where two ABB thugs were holding me between them. His eyes were utterly focused as he brought the pistol out from behind his back. I had already started to drop at this point, my arms jerking above my head. His left forearm came across, fist clenched, acting as a brace for his right wrist. The shot thundered loud, the pistol muzzle flaring, as the thug to the left of me was punched backward into the car, releasing my arm and sliding to the ground. Even as the thug to my right began to react, Peter brought the pistol across, his eyes still full of deadly intent. The second shot went off, sounding nowhere near as loud to my abused eardrums. As the second thug fell, Peter strode across to help me up. Looking into his eyes, I could see that the lethal intent was gone; all that they held was love and tenderness toward me.

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"Hey, I only shot a few guys," Peter protested with mock modesty, snapping me out of my swirling thoughts. "Not like the way George took on all those guys with just a switchblade, or how you went after Lung with just a pistol." His mouth quirked and he lowered his voice slightly. "Uncle Max was very impressed when he found out."

I flushed slightly as I closed the door behind us. "I forgot how tough he was. Or maybe I remembered, but I couldn't think of what else to do. I wish I'd shot Oni Lee," I added bitterly. "He was the one who killed Bronson and Jenna, and nearly killed you."

"A lot of people want to erase that ass-tard," Peter agreed. "He's one of those guys who doesn't know what restraint means." He turned to me as we walked along. "Him and Lung both. They're animals. It shows in how they operate. They don't care about innocents or collateral damage. I mean, what other cape in Brockton Bay uses grenades?"

I could see his point; while I didn't like to think of other races as being inferior, I had a very low opinion of Asians at the moment. It wasn't just Lung and Oni Lee; the gang members themselves had shown themselves to be nothing more than rapists and murderers, barely worthy of even being called human. I had set off their pistols while in the insulating embrace of my powers, but even after letting emotion rule me once more, the event had failed to affect me. While I regretted their deaths in an intellectual fashion, of actual remorse there was none. They didn't deserve remorse. For nearly killing Dad, for what they wanted to do to me … they had earned everything I did to them.

"I'm going to kill them all," I murmured under my breath.

"Kill who?" asked Peter curiously as we entered the conference room and headed for the lift.

I looked at him, realising that I'd said that aloud. "Um … nobody?"

Peter was a little young to be giving me an old-fashioned look, but he was still pretty good at it. "Come again?"

"Um, nothing?" I looked away, not really wanting to have this discussion.

He didn't particularly seem to care. Stepping in front of me with no apparent regard as to who was the actual cape in the room, he took my jaw in a firm grip, using his thumb and forefinger to bring my face around toward his. "Try that again, this time looking right here," he said, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers.

I didn't want to, but it appeared I had no choice. "Maybe … Lung? Oni Lee? Every member of the ABB dumb enough to get in my way?" It wasn't a boast to make myself look tough, like I had used in the meeting. The ABB was a danger to myself and my Dad, so I had to remove that danger.

"No." His voice brooked no argument.

I began to wilt. If even Peter is against me …

"Not without backup." His firm statement surprised me.

I blinked, staring at him. "What?" Did I just hear …

"You heard me." His grip on my jaw softened, then his hand moved up to cup my cheek. "I'm not going to let you run headlong into danger and get yourself killed. If you're going to do this, you'll do it with backup, or I'll tell Uncle Max myself. Neither of us wants that."

No. Definitely not. I had immense respect for Kaiser, and he apparently held me in some regard, but I had no desire to make the man angry with me. I looked into Peter's eyes. He's only trying to protect me. And he's not going to stop me. Just make sure I have backup.

"Deal?" he asked quietly, and I realised that I hadn't answered him.

"Deal," I agreed, and put my arms around him. "And thanks." For being smart when I would've been stupid.

He held me close. "Any time."

<><> ​

Peter and I stepped out of the lift together. Victor was standing next to a large drill press, carefully examining what looked like a set of pseudo-medieval armour secured to a rack. He looked around as we entered the room. "Taylor, good," he called out. "Come and see how this fits. I used the measurements Othala got from you, and added a little wiggle room."

"Sure, okay." I walked closer, sliding my hand from Peter's. Pulling my powers up, I analysed the armour.

Sliding plates designed for quick entry and exit of armour.

Over-engineered joints designed to supply as much motive power as possible.

Adjustable dimensions on arms, legs and torso.

Telescoping rods on forearms, designed to extend reach in melee combat.

Metal-link chain coiled in drum on back. Sixty feet.

There were other components, but I decided that it would be more efficient to put on the armour and determine their use by seeing what they did.

Assume positive control over stand.

Assume positive control over armour.

Release clamps holding armour.

Move armour closer.

The clamps came loose with a clack-clack. I stepped the armour forward, then made it walk in a circle. It moved fluidly, although it stumbled and nearly fell twice.

"Nice." Peter moved up alongside me. "Can you make it do a dance routine?"

"Not yet." I drew the chain from the drum on the armour's back, sliding it down guides on the underside of the arm. "I do not know how to do a dance routine." The chain extended from below where the left hand of the armour would be. I let out a fifteen-foot length, then turned the armour so that it was facing one of the metal pillars which supported the ceiling. Moving the arm in a throwing motion, I transferred the kinetic energy into the chain; it lashed out, striking the pillar and wrapping around it. Between the armour and the pillar, the chain made a solid horizontal bar.

Peter whistled. "Okay, before? I was kind of impressed. Now? I'm really impressed." He pointed at the chain. "May I?"

"Yes." I observed the inner workings of the chain; it was composed of two different types of links. One could rotate around the axis of the chain, while the other swivelled against that axis. Together, they allowed the chain to be as flexible as possible while maintaining significant metal-to-metal contact. The links were secured together with spring-loaded clamps that fit together like a handshake. If the chain was damaged, I could release the faulty links and join the chain together again without them.

Peter took hold of the chain and attempted to move it. He was unable to exert anywhere near the force necessary, of course. I disconnected the chain from near the wrist of the armour, leaving it standing straight out from the pillar. The armour I guided around to face me while Peter attempted once more to make the chain move.

The plates slid aside, exposing the interior of the armour to me, while the helmet split in two down the middle and opened to each side. It was padded with silicon gel for both comfort and insulation. This was only logical; the first question for anyone wearing metal armour should be 'does it conduct electricity?'.

Turning, I stepped back on to the 'feet' of the armour. It moved forward under my control, fitting itself to me. I paused, adjusting the size slightly, then leaned back fully into the armour. It closed around me, the plates sliding smoothly into place. The arms extended outward slightly then retracted, sliding silicon-gel gloves on to my hands. Only the backs of my hands and fingers had metal attached. This allowed me to use my hands for delicate tasks. I clenched my fist; metal plates slid into place and locked together, protecting my hand in its entirety.

As the two halves of the helmet came together, I found that my hair was being gathered together by an oddly intricate mechanism at the back of my neck. Activating it, I observed as my hair was wound into a tight bun and secured behind my head.

Carefully, I took a step forward, then another. At first, my movement was tentative, but as I adapted to the new situation, I found my power guiding the armour more and more smoothly. Peter had ceased attempting to move the chain and was watching me. Holding out my arm, I extended the chain once more and reconnected the ends to make it whole once more. Releasing the pillar, the chain retracted, sliding through the guides until it was safely stored in the drum.

"How does it fit?" asked Victor. He walked around me, observing the armour from all sides.

"It fits well," I said. "The design is good. My range of movement is adequate. What attachments do you have for the chain?" I extended a yard of it and ran it through various shapes, testing the flexibility.

Victor put his hand to his chin. Gesture: ally 'Victor' is considering options. "Well, I was thinking maybe a grappling hook and a spearhead. Do you have any requests?"

I brought the end of the chain up before my eyes and studied it as I replied. "A grasping claw. A drill. A circular-saw blade. A knife blade." I paused. "Would it be possible to make a sword of some type?"

"You want to put a sword on the end of the chain?" Ally 'Victor' does not sound certain about this.

"Not on the end of the chain." I raised my hand and closed the fist, locking the armour into place around it. "On the arm. Retractable, or flexible for easier storage, like the chain."

"Or both." Victor and I both looked at Peter. He continued to speak rapidly. "In one arm, you've got a pair of blades that sit side by side. Serrated. They can be extended or retracted. Once they're out, you can make them move back and forward really fast, and literally saw through whatever they're cutting."

Ally 'Victor' expression: smile.

Conclusion: Ally 'Victor' approves of concept.

"I like it," said Victor. "And in the other arm?" He picked up a notepad and began to write.

"I'm not thinking so much 'in' as 'on'," Peter said. "Think of a flexible metal strap, like a watchband, but bigger. About four feet long. When it's pulled in tight, it's rigid, like that chain was. Give it edges and a point, and it's a sword. But when it's stretched, it can be wrapped around her arm like a leather strap."

The links of the chain were relatively small, allowing considerable flexibility. I examined them closely. "Could devices be incorporated into the chain itself?" I asked.

Victor tilted his head. Gesture: interest and thoughtfulness. "They could, yes," he said. "Did you have anything in mind?"

"Blades," I said. "Spinning blades. Graspers. Joints to allow a network." The logic was inescapable. Why settle for a simple length of chain when it was possible to have so much more? "The ability to pass electricity along the chain."

Expression: excitement. "Electricity generation," Victor said. "Not on the chain, but a series of magnets … we could make that chain into a homing taser." That sounded very useful.

"Good," I said. "How long will that take?"

"Longer than we've got right now," Victor replied. "We've got that service to go to, remember?"

I remembered.

Analysis: failure to attend will disappoint/anger Kaiser. Sub-optimal situation.

In addition: defunct allies 'Bronson' and 'Jenna' require a show of respect to maintain solidarity.

Conclusion: Armour can be upgraded at any time. Attending service is more important.

"Let's go," I said, turning and walking toward the elevator. Peter flanked me on one side, with Victor on the other.

<><> ​

The chapel seating was arranged in three distinct blocks; the largest section was directly in front of the altar, with two smaller sections facing the altar from the left and right. In front of the altar there was a podium; before that, two coffins had been set up, lids open, so that Bronson and Jenna were lying in state. As I entered alongside Victor, I saw that the majority of the seating was already filled with rank-and-file members of the Empire Eighty-Eight. The front half, closest to the two coffins, held the people I had seen wearing gold pins at the Gathering. All wore black clothing, or at least dark clothing with black ribbons around their arms. The back half of the central seating held the street grunts. It was obvious that they had made some effort to clean themselves up; their clothing was neat, and beards were combed and trimmed. Nearly all the men in this section had freshly shaven heads.

I had not known that Medhall even had a chapel, but it was a logical move. If and when the Empire needed to hold such a memorial as this, it was much more sensible than hiring out a chapel where anyone could see. Music was playing softly as I went with Victor to where the Empire capes were sitting on the left-hand side of the chapel. Peter, following us in, made his way to the right-hand side, where his friends from Winslow were waiting for him. I saw George sitting at one end, his crutch at his side.

There were two spaces free in the front row of the cape seats; Victor took one, next to Othala, and gestured me toward the other, between Othala and Rune. The teen cape turned to watch me approach; I thought her eyes widened a little behind her mask.

Expression: surprised, perhaps impressed.

I lowered myself on to the seat beside her, trying to ensure that my armour did not damage it. This did not happen, quite possibly because the seats were designed to take such burdens. As I sat down, Kaiser rose from his seat and made his way to the podium before the altar. Once I was sure that my seating was stable, I dropped my powers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr Anders said smoothly. The speakers reached every corner of the room easily, so he toned his voice down a little. "Thank you for attending this memorial service today. We are gathered here today to remind ourselves that sometimes it's not the adults who fall in service to the Empire. Sometimes, just sometimes, it's the children who are tested too early. It is the children, who we endeavour to train as well as we can, that are called upon all too soon to test what we have taught them. And sometimes … the test is too great for them."

He took a deep breath, audible on the microphone, and gestured at the two open coffins before him. "I will not say this about the two young heroes who lie here before me. Let none say that they failed their test." His voice increased in intensity. "Let none say that Bronson diAngelo faced his test and failed, or that Jenna Parsons was not equal to the task. For if any say that, then they have no idea what happened that night."

He paused then; the only sound was the faintest crackle from the speakers. For my part, I was filled with admiration for the man who stood before us. With just a few powerful words, he had captivated us all.

"Yes, they fell," he said, his tone more gentle. "But they did not die because they were abandoned by their fellows. Nor did they die because they showed cowardice or weakness against their enemies. They were attacked by capes, by Lung and Oni Lee, and they stood and died against impossible odds because that is who we are." By the end, his voice was a blade, carving away at the last of my self-doubts. Kaiser's words had me spellbound. They wove a story of an Empire that I wanted to be a part of – needed to be a part of. Peter's words came back to me; The Empire looks out for its own.

"Bronson diAngelo was a true member of the Empire Eighty-Eight," he said, gesturing down at the left-hand coffin. "He was just sixteen years old, a sophomore at Winslow High. He was so devoted to his friends that he was forced to go into hiding from the police after he 'repaid' a black bitch for attacking one of our sisters." A sob came from the front row of seats; I saw an older man comforting a crying woman. Kaiser waited for a moment, then went on. "When Oni Lee saw fit to toss a grenade into the middle of a group of Bronson's friends, he threw himself upon it. In dying, he selflessly saved the lives of four other people."

A murmur passed through the rank and file; I heard comments like that's the way, boy and balls of pure steel. Tears were trickling down my cheeks inside the helmet. I sniffled, trying to keep it quiet, but Tammi's hand crept into mine anyway and I squeezed it. I was a part of the Empire now, and I could feel the solidarity, taste the loyalty that each and every one of us held for one another, and for the man who led it.

"Jenna Parsons," Kaiser said, gesturing at the right-hand coffin, "was a high school senior at Winslow High. She was fearless in defending her friends and facing her enemies. She died standing alone, giving her all to defend an unarmed Friend of the Empire, when Oni Lee performed his usual cowardly trick and shot her twice in the back. The Friend of the Empire, let it be known, survives to this day, due to Jenna's heroic actions."

Well, I didn't exactly think that Jenna's actions had really saved my life, but that didn't matter. She'd been there for me when I needed her. I was the one who had failed her; I could not help but think that if I'd done things a little differently, been a little smarter, then maybe she'd still be alive. By now I was sobbing quietly, the tears streaming down my face. But I did my best to keep it quiet; I had an image to uphold, after all. The last thing I wanted was for the Empire to think that any of their capes were soft or weak. Tammi squeezed my hand harder, and Othala took my hand from the other side. It helped, a little.

Kaiser was speaking again. "I would like you to hold in your thoughts David and Judith diAngelo, and Paul and Kathryn Parsons." He looked down toward the people in the front row, most of whom seemed to be either crying or trying hard not to. Stepping out from behind the podium, he walked around the coffins and leaned over toward the people I presumed were the grieving parents. He spoke softly to them; part of what he said was drowned out by the music, but I thought I heard the phrases in your trying time and will be remembered. I tried to get my crying under control, with only a little success.

Straightening up, Kaiser went back to the podium. "Now we will hear from someone who knew Bronson and Jenna on a personal level."

For a moment, I thought that he meant me, and panic threatened overwhelm my grief. What do I say? I don't know what to say!

But then Peter got up and moved toward the podium. I could see the strain around his eyes, the glint of the unshed tears within. His self-control was far better than mine, but I could tell from the way his nails were biting into his palms that it wasn't easy for him, either.

"I've known Bronson and Jenna for years," he began. "Jenna was two years older than me, and she always impressed me with how tough she was. She was the one who first taught me how to throw a punch. I will admit, when I was younger I had quite a crush on her. I'm pretty sure she knew, but she never let on. At least, she never let it stop her from kicking my ass when we sparred." He managed a smile at that; more than a few people in the chapel returned it. "I grew out of the crush, eventually, but I never lost my admiration for her."

For a long moment, he stood there, hands on the podium, as if steadying himself to continue. I was still trying to get over that startling revelation – not that Peter had had a crush on Jenna, but that he'd stopped crushing on her. He picked me over her? I wasn't even factoring Julie into this.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out, then started speaking again. "Bronson was … my right hand. He was there for me, through thick and thin, no matter what happened. Before I was transferred to Winslow, he was my eyes and ears there. Afterward, if I needed something done, I'd usually find out that he was already doing it by the time I got around to asking. When I met … when I met a girl there, he was there for her just as much as he was for me. He went above and beyond. I'll never forget him. I'll never forget either of them." He paused for just a moment. "Jenna … Bronson … rest in peace."

Subdued applause broke out then, as he stepped down from the dais and went back toward where his friends were sitting. In the second row of the central seats, I saw Mr Ferguson clapping harder than most. Peter's sisters were not in attendance, for which I was glad. They shouldn't have to go through something like this. I saw Kelly put his arm over Peter's shoulders; I couldn't be certain but I thought that there might have been tears on Peter's face. They certainly were on Kelly's.

Kaiser stepped up to the microphone again. "Thank you, Peter. We will always remember Bronson and Jenna. Their names will be carved with pride on the roll of those who have stood fast for the Empire. They will serve as an inspiration for us all as we move forward." He stepped down from the podium and walked to Bronson's coffin. Laying his hand on the open lid, he seemed to say a few words, but I couldn't hear them. He moved on to Jenna's coffin and did the same.

As the music swelled, I tried to hold my sobbing in check, but it was just too difficult. I knew that if I drew on my powers, I would be able to repress my emotions and bring myself back under control, but I didn't want to do that. I needed to feel this, to say goodbye to Jenna and Bronson with my true emotions.

As Othala moved closer to me and put her arm around my shoulders – not that I could feel it, but the sentiment was appreciated – people started getting up and moving forward. One by one, they passed by the coffins; one by one, they touched the wood or said something quietly. I couldn't hear them and I wasn't sure that I wanted to; what they were saying was for them, and them alone.

More than a few people had noticed me by now, and I was aware that more than one person was looking curiously in my direction. But nobody approached us or said a word about my presence; this was kind of understandable, given that I was wearing armour and sitting with the other capes. I was grateful all the same.

By the time the last of the non-capes had paid their respects and filed from the room, I had stopped crying, but I was still sniffling from time to time. I really, really needed to blow my nose, but the only free cloth I possessed right then was the cog bandanna that Victor had made for me, and I wasn't about to use that.

The trouble was, even if I was willing, it would still have been inaccessible inside my armour. I resolved to mention this problem to Victor at the first opportunity; it seemed like something that needed to be addressed.

In the meantime, I turned to Othala. "Can I borrow a tissue or something? Please?"

"Of course," she said at once. Reaching into one of the pouches on her belt, she pulled out not one but two tissues and handed them to me.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," I babbled, then drew on my powers for just a moment to retract the metal plates protecting my face. Just for that moment, all the emotions went away, then came back twice as bad when I dropped the powers once more.

Crying does not look good on me; I was pretty sure my face was all blotchy, and I knew that my nose was running. I couldn't do anything about the blotchiness, but I could blow my nose, repeatedly. Then I used the other tissue (because the first wasn't much good for anything any more) to wipe the tears (and other stuff) from my face.

"How are you holding up?" asked Othala, even though the answer should have been painfully clear.

"Shittily," I said in a low voice. "About the only good thing about crying inside a metal helmet is that nobody can really see you. Not being able to wipe my nose was horrible."

"We know," Tammi broke in from my other side. "We could hear you sniffling. You sounded like a Merchant trying to snort a whole key at once."

"Seriously, Rune?" Othala sounded vaguely disappointed. "These people were Remote's friends. Bronson saved her life. Have just a little respect here."

"Dammit," muttered Rune. "Sorry. I hate funerals. They suck so hard, is all. I keep wanting to say something weird to make people laugh." She offered me a half-hearted smile and a shrug. "No hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings," I agreed. "Here, take care of this for me?" Before she knew what I was doing, I had tucked the thoroughly used tissues into her hand. "Thank you, much appreciated."

"Oh, what the? Ew. Ewww. Eugh." Rune looked down at the tissues. "Oh, god. This is disgusting."

"So find a trash can," Othala advised cheerfully. "And if you even think of dropping them in one of the coffins, I will personally tell Kaiser." She stood up and offered her hand to me. "Do you feel up to viewing the bodies, Remote?"

"No, but I will in a second." I brought my powers up, allowing pure logic to flush useless emotion from my thoughts. Assume positive control: armour.

Gesture: hand-holding. Non-romantic. Supportive.

Analysis: support not needed due to zero emotional requirement.

Secondary analysis: ally 'Othala' is aware of this.

Conclusion: ally 'Othala' requires emotional support.

Taking Othala's hand, I stood up; while I considered it a good idea to practice moving in the armour without my power moving it, this was not an ideal time or place for experimentation. We stepped forward to the coffins. Kaiser was off to the side, conversing in low tones with Krieg and Hookwolf. The latter glanced at me and then said something to Kaiser, which I didn't catch.

Flanked by Justin and Rune, Othala and I stepped up to the side of Bronson's coffin. He looked as though he were asleep, although I knew that this was not the case.

"He was a good ally," I said quietly to Othala. "They both were. I liked them. They did not question Peter's decisions where I could hear them. They treated me well."

Allowing ABB to kill allies is sub-optimal.

ABB believes that killing Empire allies is acceptable.

ABB must be apprised of error in a timely fashion.

"They were good people, honey," she said softly. I felt her hand squeeze mine. "But I don't want you doing anything stupid, like going out alone to get revenge."

"Peter has already spoken to me about that," I replied. "I will not go out alone. When I do go against Lung and the ABB, I will take appropriate backup with me." I would need better armour, of course. Lung was quite powerful, and Oni Lee was scarcely less so. While I did not feel fear when using my powers, a certain amount of pragmatic caution was always a good idea.

"Good," she said, and squeezed my hand again.

I moved over to Jenna's coffin, with Othala beside me. Again, Jenna looked as though she was simply asleep. I recalled the stickiness and warmth of her blood on my hand as I attempted to stop her bleeding. It was likely, with my ignorance of such training, that I had not helped very much, if at all. I turned to Othala. "If I had known first aid, would she be alive?"

Expression: grimace. Conclusion: Unpleasant topic.

"I doubt it, honey." Othala looked down at Jenna. "She was shot before you gained your powers. Aside from the blood loss, I'm pretty sure that something vital was hit. If I'd had the chance to give her uninterrupted regeneration, she probably would have pulled through. Anything less than that, though …" She trailed off.

Vocalisation: sigh. Conclusion: sadness.

Option: Provide emotional support.

I squeezed her hand. "You did all you could. It's not your fault."

She squeezed back. "So did you. Never forget that."

Analysis: non-zero chance that she is lying for the purposes of emotional support.

I did not dwell on the possibility. What had happened, had happened.

Projection: Preparation for future endeavours is an optimal course of action.

"I need to learn first aid," I said. "In case there is a situation where giving first aid will save a life. Also, I need to learn how to fight. Jenna was going to teach me." I looked down at the dead girl again. Analysis: she would have been a good teacher.

Othala took her hand from mine and put her arm around my shoulders. As before, I felt nothing from the contact, but I believed that I understood her purpose.

Analysis: attempting to provide emotional support.

"Of course you can," she said, using her free hand to wipe at her eyes. "I'll talk to Victor."

"Thank you," I said. Observation: Positive reinforcement between allies helps maintain an optimal working environment.

Kaiser was leaving the chapel, along with Krieg and Hookwolf. Victor moved toward us. "We're needed in the main area," he said.

Othala took her arm away from my shoulders and turned toward him. "Can we have a moment?"

"Sure," Victor said. "But Kaiser wants to make the announcements."

"Only when Taylor's ready," Othala said.

Tone: serious. Ally 'Othala' concerned about emotional distress.

Conclusion: Ally 'Othala' has forgotten about emotional disconnect.

"I'm fine," I said. I was feeling no emotions at the moment. They would return, of course, once I released my powers. However, if I made certain that I was in private when I did this, I would not make the team look bad. "Let's go."

"All right then, honey." Othala wiped her eyes again, and blew her nose. "This is never easy."

Analysis: Ally 'Othala' feels responsibility for loss of Jenna.

Option: Provide emotional support.

I placed my arm around her shoulders. Even without the armour, I was taller than her; with it, I was definitely so. She leaned against me.

"We should go." I spoke quietly.

Vocalisation: sigh. "All right." She looked down into Jenna's coffin one last time, then trailed her fingers along the wood at the edge.

Taking my arm from her shoulders, I closed my faceplate and turned toward the door into the other room. Victor took up position on Othala's left; with me at her right, and Rune and Crusader behind us, we went into the other room.

The people from the chapel were standing here and there in small groups. I noted that the higher-ranking members of the Empire were separate from the lower ranks. It was not immediately apparent as to whether this was deliberate or by chance. Two long tables held refreshments.

At the far end of the room was another podium; this one was somewhat more substantial than the one in the chapel. Kaiser was standing at it, talking once more to Krieg. Hookwolf was not with them this time; looking around, I saw him standing with some of the lower-ranked Empire members, along with Cricket.

As we entered, Kaiser turned toward the microphone and switched it on. Krieg stepped back and to the side. "Ladies and gentlemen," Kaiser said, his voice booming from the speakers. "We have paid our respects to our fallen. Now, let us show our appreciation to those who survived to tell the tale."

By the time he finished speaking, all eyes were on him. The low-voiced conversations throughout the room had ceased. He paused for a moment, then spoke clearly. "I call upon George Alfred and Peter Ferguson."

Peter moved away from where he had been standing with his father, while George limped forward from a group of the Winslow crowd. When they got to the bottom of the steps, Peter paused to assist George; together, they climbed up on to the podium, George's crutch clunking on each step.

Kaiser waited until they were standing alongside him before he began speaking once more. "George Alfred was assigned to protect a Friend of the Empire who had pledged to join our ranks. The ABB decided that this was not to be, and attempted to kidnap or kill her."

He paused; I heard mutters such as fucking chinks and motherfucking assholes pass through the crowd. These voices quieted, and he kept talking. "Thanks to George's dedication to duty, this did not happen. Alone, he took arms against a dozen ABB, sending the potential recruit to safety while he stood rearguard. With just a switchblade, he killed at least one of them and wounded many more, suffering grievous injuries in the process. When the recruit returned with help, he was near death, but they got him to medical attention and he is recovering well." He put his hand on George's shoulder. "Well done, Mr Alfred. You are a pride and a credit to us all."

Applause broke out through the crowd; it was much louder than it had been in the chapel, and some added whistles and shouts of congratulation to the din. George ducked his head a little. I saw Peter lean over toward him; he may have said something, but I could not hear it. Whatever it was, it caused George to raise his head again, tears glinting in his eyes.

Kaiser let the clapping go on for a few moments before he cleared his throat. Silence fell quickly, and he spoke into the microphone. "Peter Ferguson was there when Bronson diAngelo and Jenna Parsons were killed. He was attempting to defend a family member of the Friend of the Empire whom Jenna was protecting, when Oni Lee shot him in the chest. Even wounded, he was defiant to the end. He never gave up and never surrendered." He placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter, you are a pride and a credit to us all."

Once more, the applause arose. I attempted to clap, but the silicon-gel gloves made an odd sound, so I stopped.

At some unseen signal, Peter bowed to the crowd. Beside him, George did the same, albeit somewhat more clumsily, and then they descended from the podium. I watched as George rejoined his friends, while Peter went to his father. The older man put his arm around Peter's shoulders and squeezed.

Analysis: Peter and his father respect one another.

"And finally," Kaiser's voice boomed from the speakers, "we have one last person to recognise. Our newest cape recruit. Remote, if you can come up here, please?"

I recognised that as an order rather than a request. Not that I would have rejected it as a request, but I could see that it was a good thing to respond immediately. Leaving Victor and Othala, I moved forward as the crowd made way for me. The stares were more intense now that I had been given a name.

Analysis: they are curious. Strange cape, no information. Armour gives little clue to age or gender.

Conclusion: this is deliberate.

I mounted the steps to stand beside Kaiser. Within the armour, I was perhaps a little taller than him, though I could not be sure. Without any other cues, I adopted the same stance as Peter had; standing foursquare, facing the audience, hands clasped behind my back.

"Our newest cape," Kaiser said, "is called Remote. It is due to her actions that Peter is alive today, as she was the Friend and pledged recruit whom Jenna was protecting. During that battle, she triggered with powers, and proceeded to wipe the battlefield with both Lung and Oni Lee. She has since joined us as a full member. As you can see, she has a costume and a name, and I expect great things of her in the future."

The applause was not entirely unexpected. Had I been in possession of my emotions, I would likely have been flustered or even embarrassed, but that was a non-issue. I had already seen that the Empire held its capes in great regard, and no doubt considered my defeat of the ABB capes to be a significant feat. I disagreed; driving Lung off had been relatively easy, considering my powerset and the number of cars, that had been available. Procuring the grenades from Oni Lee had simply made the job that much simpler.

Waiting for the applause to die down, I inclined my head in the same sort of bow that Peter had used. However, before I could step down, someone called out "Speech!" Others took up the cry; within seconds, it was resounding throughout the room.

I turned to look at Kaiser; while I could not see his face behind the metal faceplate – any more than he could see mine – he stepped back from the microphone.

Gesture: shrug. Analysis: Tentative approval.

Conclusion: do not say anything controversial or inflammatory.

Secondary conclusion: Keep it short.

I stepped up to the microphone. "Hello." There was more clapping, but it quickly died down. "I am Remote. I want to thank Peter, Bronson, Jenna, Victor, Othala and Kaiser for all having faith in me. If it were not for them, then I wouldn't be here." It was the simple truth, but they applauded anyway. I suspected that they would have applauded anything I said. "I will not let you down. Thank you all."

Bowing again, I stepped away from the microphone. Kaiser did not move or speak to stop me, so I stepped down from the podium. However, Crusader met me at the bottom of the steps with his hand outstretched to shake. I shook it; he stepped aside, and I found myself facing Peter's father. He also shook my hand, then leaned in toward me. "You've done well, baby girl," he said very quietly.

"Thank you, sir," I said. He stepped aside, and I shook hands with another member of the Empire. Then it was Rune, grinning broadly. She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, which I noted but did not react to.

Before long, a line had formed before me and a pattern was emerging. I would get my hand shaken, the person would say something brief and I would respond. Then the next person would step in and shake my hand. I learned to turn my hand so that the metal backing on my gloves took the force of the handshake, but even so my hand was sore before it was over.

Not everyone stepped up to shake my hand – Hookwolf and Cricket didn't, although most of the skinheads did – and Krieg had left the room on some errand before I finished my speech. However, enough did that it was some time before the line petered out. Toasts were called for; I was given a glass by Othala and raised it, but did not drink as that would have required me to open my faceplate.

After we had toasted the fallen heroes, the living heroes, and the Empire itself, there was a pause in the announcements.

Othala took this opportunity to pull me aside. "Is your hand all right? I notice you're holding your glass in your left hand."

"It is a little sore," I admitted. "Some of those men do not know their own strength." Or perhaps they had been trying to prove their worth to a cape of the Empire; I neither knew nor cared.

Othala nodded. "Men."

Gesture: rolling of eyes. Tone: displeased.

Conclusion: Ally 'Othala' believes that Empire members were squeezing harder than necessary.

"It will be all right," I said. "I just need to soak it for a while."

"Well, nobody's going to object if you leave the proceedings now," she pointed out. "I'll fix your hand, and you can get back to your dad."

I nodded. "That would be a good thing."

"Excellent. I'll just go and tell Victor." She looked around for her husband.

I spotted him first and pointed. "Over there."

"Oh, thank you." Expression: smile. Analysis: ally 'Othala' pleased. She moved off toward him.

"Hey, there." The voice was Peter's. I turned around to find him standing near me. "Nice speech."

"Thank you. You didn't shake hands with me." I was reasonably sure that I knew why, but I made the observation anyway.

"Hey, you already know I think you're awesome." This was true, whether or not the belief itself was accurate. It also matched my earlier conclusion.

"Othala and I will be leaving the gathering," I said. "Should I tell Kaiser?" It seemed to be a sensible question, as I did not wish to offend the man.

"No need," Peter said. "He already knows." A tilt of his head showed me which way to look. He was correct, of course; Victor and Kaiser were in the same group, so that Kaiser could hear what Othala was saying.

Othala came back over to us. "Hello, Peter. Has Remote told you that we're leaving?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Tone: respectful. "Would you mind if I met you where you're going to?"

"Well, that depends on Remote." Othala turned to me. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all." While my powers were on, I could not fathom the emotional attachment between myself and Peter, but Peter was a confirmed ally, and thus his good opinion of me was worth preserving.

"Good." She took my hand in hers. "Let's go."

<><> ​

It didn't take long for us to travel down in the elevator and leave the armour on its stand. This iteration had served its purpose, but Victor had said that he wanted to improve on it before I took it into the field. "Don't drop your powers," Othala warned me as I stepped out of the armour. "Not yet. I'll tell you when."

I didn't understand why, but I accepted her judgement. All the way up in the elevator, I continued to observe the secret workings of the building around us. Every door, every elevator, every gun. Every other machine, large or small.

The apartment that I shared with my father was on a different floor to the wake being held for Bronson and Jenna, so we did not have to worry about being seen. I followed her to my front door, where Peter was waiting for us. The key to the apartment was in my pocket, but I simply took control of the door and the lock and manipulated them to let us in.

Within was the front room, set out like a combination lounge/dining area. I waited until Othala and Peter had entered, then locked the door once more. Othala pointed me at the sofa. "Sit there. Peter, you sit on that side of her, and I'll sit this side."

I wasn't sure what she was attempting to achieve, but I did as I was told. Peter sat beside me. "Uh, Othala, what …?"

"Peter, shh." She did not raise her voice but he stopped talking anyway. "All right, Taylor. You can drop your powers now."

Just for an instant after I did so, nothing happened, then a tidal wave of emotional backlash hit me and carried me away. I began to cry again, bawling my eyes out, as the pain and loss and grief of the farewell service hit me all at once. Peter held me in his arms, soothing me, his voice soft and gentle in my ear.

I became aware that Othala was also talking to me, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. Her power was also flooding through me; my sore hand had stopped aching, and all the other little itches and pains had gone away. I also realised that my face was pressed into Peter's chest; not that I particularly minded this, but my streaming eyes and runny nose had wiped themselves all over his good shirt.

Slowly, I pulled away from Peter a little. Not so much that he let go of me – I never wanted him to let go of me – but just so that I wasn't making a mess of his shirt any more. Although it was a little late in that regard, I noted with just a smidge of embarrassment.

"Sorry," I mumbled, then sniffled. Entirely without surprise, I felt a tissue being pushed into my hand. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, and felt somewhat better.

"What for?" asked Peter gently. His fingers ran up the back of my neck and slid through my hair. I felt a shivery sensation run down my spine, but it was a nice shivery sensation, so I didn't object in the slightest.

"Being a blubbery mess," I said, indicating where my tears and snot were soaking into his shirt. "Falling apart at the first provocation."

"One, you're my girlfriend, so you're allowed to be a blubbery mess on every single one of my shirts if you like," he said, smiling fondly at me. Pulling me close, he kissed me gently on the forehead; I closed my eyes and smiled a little damply. "Two, we both know damn well that your powers bottle up your emotions. So if you've been through an emotionally-charged experience, of course you're going to fall apart. If you didn't, it would mean that you're some kind of sociopath, and I'd hate to fall head over heels for a sociopath."

He loves me. He really does. The warm feeling started in my chest and spread out in all directions, flushing from my face through to my toes and out to my fingertips. I snuggled into him, feeling his arm strong around me, and lifted my face to his. His lips lowered to meet mine, and I kissed him.

The last time we had kissed, I had been in charge. This time, it was all him. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the feeling, letting myself be swept away again; this time, by a good emotion. Awash in happiness, I floated, feeling the last of the pain and suffering fade away.

When I came to myself once more, Othala was across the room, carefully studying a watercolour landscape on the wall. I was grateful for her discretion, and slightly embarrassed that she had been there while Peter and I kissed. After a moment of hesitation, I cleared my throat.

"Oh, sorry," she said as she turned. "I was just looking at this painting. How are you feeling now?" I caught the twinkle in her eye as she smiled.

Did she arrange this with Peter to make me feel better? No, I don't want to know. "I, uh, good," I mumbled. "Thanks." A flush started to mount in my cheeks. "Thanks for … well, for being here for me."

"That's okay," she said quietly. "You're one of us. We take care of our own." Crossing the room, she held out her hand. "I'm going to go sit with your father. Do you want to read to him while I do it?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Definitely." I felt a stab of guilt that I hadn't remembered that for myself, but then, I'd been through a trying evening. Accepting her help, I got up from the sofa. My legs had been folded under me, and I hobbled on pins and needles. Peter, the rat, got up with no problems at all.

We went through into the back room of the apartment, where Dad lay in bed. He was wearing different pyjamas and Mary had combed his hair; beside the bed, the monitors showed their reassuring readouts. I settled into my favourite chair and Peter perched on the arm, while Othala sat across the bed from us.

Taking up my powers, I assumed direct control of the book-stand. It walked over to us and adjusted itself to be at a comfortable reading height. Once it was locked into place, I dropped my powers again; while it was useful on occasion to be unaffected by emotion, the evening's events had shown how bad it could be for me.

Reaching out, I took Peter's hand in my right and Dad's in my left. "Hi, Dad," I said cheerfully. "How have you been? You should see the armour that Victor made me. It's pretty badass, but he says he can improve on it. Othala says you're improving a little more each day, which is awesome." I squeezed his hand, and fancied that I felt his fingers tighten in return. "Anyway, I suppose you're waiting to see what happens next in the book." Settling back, I glanced up at Peter and shared a smile with him. Then I turned my eyes to the waiting page.

"Mole reached down a lantern from a nail on the wail and lit it, and the Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort of fore-court …"


End of Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

 

[Zackarix]

Peter is an amazing boyfriend. He'd be a perfect one if it weren't for the whole neo-nazi thing.

One of the things I love about this fanfiction is that it shows why the Empire is so powerful. I can easily see many vulnerable people falling into such a supportive community.

 

[Slayer Anderson]

You know, referring back to Taylor's choice of name, it's actually indicative of a very real point of tension in American white supremacist groups.

I don't know if our dear author knows, coming from Australia and all, but the KKK & Neo-nazi groups don't get along as well as their shared ideologies would seem to indicate.

The primary reason being that the established KKK 'families' or groups often have a very strong patriotic fervor and are quite proud of relatives or ancestors who served in WWII against Germany.

Regarding the recent chapter, it's a very good job of illustrating the bonding within such a group as the E88. Great job Ack.

 

[Ack]

You know, referring back to Taylor's choice of name, it's actually indicative of a very real point of tension in American white supremacist groups.

I don't know if our dear author knows, coming from Australia and all, but the KKK & Neo-nazi groups don't get along as well as their shared ideologies would seem to indicate.

The primary reason being that the established KKK 'families' or groups often have a very strong patriotic fervor and are quite proud of relatives or ancestors who served in WWII against Germany.

Regarding the recent chapter, it's a very good job of illustrating the bonding within such a group as the E88. Great job Ack.

Click to shrink...

I guessed at that, but I didn't know for certain.

One of the recurring problems with the "Empire Taylor" fic concept that I see so often is that the Empire characters just tend to basically forget to be racist. They literally stop being neo-Nazis, and you never, ever see them saying something that might drive Taylor off.

I'm not saying I started this fic to specifically address that concept, but I do try to keep it in mind. The Empire are racist assholes; that hasn't changed. What's changed is Taylor's perceptions.

 

[Slayer Anderson]

I guessed at that, but I didn't know for certain.

Click to shrink...

For more information on our (America's) home-grown racist organization, a good baseline source is this documentary: Ku Klux Klan: The Secret History.

It's one of my favorite documentaries just because of how well-done the narrative voice is, at least in my opinion. Towards the end you'll even see them talk about David Duke, the guy who [Did something political recently, the mentioning of which has been removed due to the problems it might cause].

One of the recurring problems with the "Empire Taylor" fic concept that I see so often is that the Empire characters just tend to basically forget to be racist. They literally stop being neo-Nazis, and you never, ever see them saying something that might drive Taylor off.

I'm not saying I started this fic to specifically address that concept, but I do try to keep it in mind. The Empire are racist assholes; that hasn't changed. What's changed is Taylor's perceptions.

Click to shrink...

Well, you're doing a good job. Definitely getting that, 'yeah, go! Fight the power, Taylor!' vibe...

...then suddenly someone spits out a slur and I have to remember they're all Nazis.

I suppose it's kind of like how I have to remind myself that Lung runs human-trafficking groups and engages in sex-slavery every time someone writes a 'noble warlord' perspective on him.

 

[Ack]

For more information on our (America's) home-grown racist organization, a good baseline source is this documentary: Ku Klux Klan: The Secret History.

It's one of my favorite documentaries just because of how well-done the narrative voice is, at least in my opinion. Towards the end you'll even see them talk about David Duke, the guy who [Did something political recently, the mentioning of which has been removed due to the problems it might cause].

Click to shrink...

For which you all have my profound sympathy. (Just a comment. Please do not start a political discussion here. We don't want to bring the mods in on this.) I might watch it when I get the chance.

Well, you're doing a good job. Definitely getting that, 'yeah, go! Fight the power, Taylor!' vibe...

...then suddenly someone spits out a slur and I have to remember they're all Nazis.

I suppose it's kind of like how I have to remind myself that Lung runs human-trafficking groups and engages in sex-slavery every time someone writes a 'noble warlord' perspective on him.

Click to shrink...

Or 'affably evil'. He's an asshole.

 

[Slayer Anderson]

For which you all have my profound sympathy. (Just a comment. Please do not start a political discussion here. We don't want to bring the mods in on this.) I might watch it when I get the chance.

Or 'affably evil'. He's an asshole.

Click to shrink...

Right, forgot about that rule. You can drop that line from your quote if you want, I've edited the original post.

At any rate, just wanted to say you're writing another great fic, something I'm enjoying reading.

 

[AncientPhoenix]

The Slippery Slope

Part Nine: Out of Control

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

I was sitting on my bed, looking out the window, when Dad knocked on the bedroom door. Without turning my head, I called out, "Come in."

I heard the door open, and looked around. Dad looked a little frazzled around the edges, but he had an energy to him that had been missing for quite some time. He indicated the cases I had filled. "Everything packed?"

I patted the mattress, which had been stripped bare. "Gonna need to wash my sheets at some point, but sure." The words were light, but my tone wavered between forced cheer and pure unhappiness.

Stepping past the cases, he cleared his throat. "It's going to be better than you think, Taylor. It's a new town, a new beginning. We can start fresh, without all the old baggage hanging off us."

I shook my head, letting some of my frustration show on my face. "What if I wanted some of that baggage? I was happy with Peter, for the first time in basically forever. You never did anything when I was miserable, but when I find some friends who are actually willing to stand up for me, you leave town to get me away from them."

There was a frozen moment when I realised exactly how bitchy that sounded. I wanted to take it back, but the words wouldn't come. I didn't mean that wouldn't work, because I had meant it.

And then the time was past. "Taylor, I'm sorry." Dad's voice was heavy, but I could hear the anger he was trying to conceal. "You're just going to have to trust me on this. Once you get a little older and get some perspective on this, you'll realise that I did the right thing, getting you away from the Empire before you got too deep into it."

"And in the meantime, I get no say. Because I'm just a kid."

He sat down on the bed beside me. "Taylor, I really hate to say this, because you're damn smart. Smarter than most people your age. But the fact is … you are a kid. You don't have the age or experience to truly look at what's happening and see how they're manipulating you to like them. I've seen it a hundred times before. Nearly fell for it a few times myself."

I threw up my hands. "Dad, everyone manipulates everyone to make them like them! It's not something that starts after you leave school! Peter actually wanted to know me, and he spent time being nice to me. Am I supposed to reject him because of that? Because maybe he thought I'd be a nice person to talk to? Or because I was being bullied, and he wanted to stop that? I mean, fucking wow, if you reject everyone who spends time trying to get you to like them, you're gonna be real fucking lonely!"

He grimaced. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant it with the gangs. They make people feel good so they'll join. Now, I know you hadn't joined, but this 'friend to the Empire' thing was just the first step. Next, there would've been subtle pressure and hints that if you were 'really' their friend, you'd commit yourself more to it. And the next thing you know, you're wearing the colours and chanting the chants."

I stopped and thought about that for a moment. Had there been pressure for me to join? Had Peter hinted at any time that I wasn't really good enough for him if I was just a Friend to the Empire?

No.

Dad was looking at me expectantly. I shook my head. "No, Dad, you're wrong. They weren't like that. They were just … there for me. I know you can only think the worst of them, but they weren't pressuring me to do anything at all."

He looked unhappy. "I'm sorry to say, Taylor, but they were actually pressuring you. Making you think you were special to them when you were really just another recruit. Want me to prove it? Do you think they would've treated you the same if you'd been Asian? Or black?"

"But I'm not Asian or black!" I couldn't believe he'd even gone there. "If I was, I wouldn't have even been getting bullied!"

"Not by Emma and her friends, maybe," he said gently. "But what about by the Empire?"

"You're wrong," I said stubbornly. "They might pass a few remarks, but they don't hardly ever go after Asians or blacks in the school, unless they're ABB, and there's no fucking way in hell that I'd ever join them."

His lips thinned. "That's another thing I want to talk to you about, Taylor. You're starting to swear more than I'm comfortable with. I think they're a bad influence on you in that way, too."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, at least I'm not saying nigger or chink or spic all the time. You've gotta be happy about that, right?"

From the look on his face, I had hit exactly the wrong note. Jeez, what does he want from me?

He sighed. "I'm going to go put your cases in the car. We've got about half an hour before sundown. I want to be on the road by then."

"Whatever," I grunted, turning back to the window. Crossing my arms on the windowsill, I rested my chin on them. It's just not fair.

<><>​

My bedroom window faced west, with a great view of Captain's Hill. I hadn't paid attention to it for years, but now I found myself actually studying it for the first time in basically forever, taking in the details. I'm gonna miss this.

Who was I kidding? It wasn't Captain's Hill that I was going to miss. It was Peter and the others. My boyfriend and my other friends. Yeah, they were racists, but that didn't matter. Okay, so if I was being brutally honest with myself, me being associated with them might've had a little tiny bit to do with the ABB coming after me, but Peter had saved me, right? He'd been there when I needed him. So had George, Jenna, Bronson and the others. Which was a hell of a lot more than I could say about anyone else in my life, Dad included.

Life was just so goddamn unfair, sometimes.

Even as I heard Dad grunt, heaving the suitcases into the trunk of the car, I considered ducking out the back door and calling Peter to come pick me up. But I shot down that plan almost as fast as I came up with it. Dad would come looking for me, and he knew that I was associated with the Empire. Knowing him, he'd go to either Mr Ferguson, or try to contact Kaiser himself. At best, he'd raise a fuss which would be the exact opposite of me slipping away quietly. At worst … I wasn't thrilled with Dad right now, but he was still my Dad, and I didn't want to see him hurt or killed.

With a sigh, I resumed my study of Captain's Hill. Why the fuck are there no good options in my life any more?

<><>​

All too soon, I heard Dad's familiar tread on the stairs. "Taylor," he called. "Time to go. Let's hit the road, kiddo."

I didn't want to go. I did not want to go. But I was all out of viable alternatives. At least Peter will be able to visit. Dad can't stop him from coming to Boston.

Wiping away something that wasn't a tear, because I wasn't going to cry, I heaved myself to my feet and swung my backpack on to my shoulder. He met me at my bedroom door and glanced at the pack. "We can put that in the trunk too."

"No." I'd packed it myself. It held things that I considered essential right now. Tissues, just in case I got a runny nose because of pollen or something (because I wasn't going to cry), an emergency change of clothes, a few of my favourite books, and the phone Peter had given me, stashed away in a side pocket. That last one was something that I definitively did not want Dad finding, ever. "I'm good. I'll carry it in the car."

"Okay." He shrugged. "If you say so. Let's go."

I followed him downstairs and out the back door, which he locked – he'd already done the front, I figured – and around the corner of the house to the car. At the passenger-side door, I paused. "I, uh, might need to go. Before we go." It wasn't an escape attempt or anything. Just an excuse to spend a little more time in the house. In Brockton Bay.

He shook his head. "I already had the water turned off. If you do need to go, just let me know on the way out of town. We can stop at a gas station." His eye fell on my backpack. "But you'll be leaving that in the car."

"Dad!" I protested. "I wasn't going to run off on you!" Despite the fact that I had considered the idea several times, I still felt a little affronted. After all, I'd decided not to, hadn't I?

He gave me a 'Dad' look, the type that tries to convey the message I was a kid too, once. So don't try to pull that on me. "Get in the car, Taylor. We've got a ways to go before we hit Boston."

I got in the car.

<><>​

I brooded in the passenger seat as Dad carefully reversed down the driveway. At least I didn't feel like I was going to cry any more, because I was too busy feeling indignant that Dad had thought I might actually try to duck out on him. Okay, so I'd probably do it if I was sure he wouldn't get hurt, but that was beyond the point.

Looking out my window as Dad paused at the end of the driveway, I saw a car coming. That wasn't unusual; cars drove down our street all the time. But this guy was slowing down, despite the fact that Dad had stopped to let him go past. Then I saw the open window, and the arm coming out. Last of all, I saw the colours.

"Dad!" I screamed. "It's the ABB! They're here!"

To give him his credit, he never hesitated for an instant. Still in reverse, he slammed his foot down on the gas. Gravel sprayed everywhere as he rocketed the car out of the driveway and into the street. The ABB car was coming up on my right; we shot past its nose with inches to spare. In the process, I got a really close look at the front end of their car, the startled faces behind the windshield, but most importantly, the gun that the guy in the passenger seat was holding.

Rubber screeched on asphalt as Dad swung us in a turn that left us on the other side of the road, facing the opposite way to the ABB car. The driver of that car must have been surprised by Dad's sudden move. As it was, he flinched and swerved, putting two wheels up on the curb and wiping out a series of trash cans.

"Guns!" I yelled, my brain finally catching up with what I'd seen.

Dad didn't answer, but the engine roared and the tyres did their best to leave black marks on the road as we took off. I began to heave a tiny sigh of relief, looking back over my shoulder; by the time those guys got turned around, we'd be long gone.

But then we swerved violently, slewing across the road. I grabbed for a handhold as another car shot by on the right. This time, I only caught a glimpse, but I was pretty sure that I'd seen more colours and more guns.

Oh, shit. The ABB really does have it in for me me.

"Taylor," grunted Dad as he wrestled the car back on to the correct side of the street. "My phone's in the overnight bag. Call the cops." His hands were occupied, but he jerked his head toward the back seat.

I had a better idea. Yanking open the side pocket to my backpack, I pulled my phone out of it.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed. "Where'd you get that from?"

"Peter gave it to me." I tapped in the code to wake the phone up.

"You never told me about that!"

"You never asked!" Peter's number was speed dial 1; I hit that, and held the phone to my ear.

"When we get out of this, young lady, you and I are going to have a long talk."

Seriously, his priorities needed work. "Okay, Dad. Now, shush!" The phone was ringing, and I didn't want to miss Peter.

Pops sounded behind the car. Are they shooting at us? I yelped as the rear window shattered, spraying bits of glass into the back seat. Fuck. They're definitely shooting at us.

"Hello?" Peter sounded unreasonably relaxed. "What's up, Taylor?"

"Peter!" I gasped, flinching as more pops sounded, and something hit the car with a resounding clang. "We need help! The ABB are chasing us and shooting at us!"

"Christ! Okay, on my way. Where are you?" I heard the roar of an engine in the background.

Oh, thank God. He's already in his truck.

I stared at a street sign as it whipped past, then hung on for a corner. The old car fishtailed slightly, but Dad had it well in hand. "Uh, we've just turned down Landau Street from my house."

"Jenna, hit the GPS," I heard him say. "Where can we intercept? Bronson, call my dad. Call everyone."

"Please hurry," I begged. I let out a little scream as a couple of bullets whipped past my head to punch holes in the windshield. Fortunately, it didn't shatter as far as Dad's side, so he could still see. Mostly.

"It's okay," he assured me. "We're gonna get you out of this. You just need to stay ahead of them. Can you put the phone on speaker?"

"Oh, uh, okay," I blurted. Fumbling with the handset, I finally pressed the right button. "You're on speaker."

"Mr Hebert, this is Peter Ferguson," he said.

Dad gritted his teeth and swerved the car around a slow-moving sedan; a couple of bullets hit the back somewhere. The noise of the engine was loud in my ears. "Yeah, I get that," he half-shouted. "This is your fault. What are you gonna do about it?"

"You're right, and I'm sorry. You're heading south on Landau? Make a left at Ronan."

Ronan Avenue made a T-intersection across the southern end of Landau Street. It was coming up fast, a situation with which I was uncomfortably aware. "And after that?" Dad's voice was clipped.

"Right on to Hammerhead. We'll be there. Reinforcements on the way." Peter's voice was calm and assured. He sounded so confident about the outcome that I actually felt myself relaxing slightly. Peter's in charge. He knows what to do.

"Got it." Dad didn't have time for any more than that. Cars were passing through the intersection ahead of us, but we had neither the time nor the inclination to slow down. He jammed the heel of his hand down on the horn button and swung the car as far over to the right as he could. All I could see was a blur of picket fences and startled pedestrians.

At the last moment, he yanked on the wheel, swerving across three lanes to aim at a driveway just before the intersection. More clangs sounded, and Dad's window shattered inward, spraying him with tiny cubes of safety glass. I grabbed a handhold just in time to prevent my head from banging into the roof of the car. There was a tremendous crunch from the front suspension and the car nearly launched itself into the air. Then we cut across the corner of the intersection with the engine screaming like a banshee.

There was a hedge and a fence in the way. Or rather, there had been a hedge and a fence. We went through the former like a combine harvester and the latter like a bulldozer; leaves and palings went everywhere. Dad grunted and swung the wheel a little; a split second later, a telegraph pole took off the mirror on my side of the vehicle. Launching off the curb, we caromed off of the corner of a parked car and bounced on to the road, tyres squealing wildly as our back end swung outward. Spinning the wheel like a rally driver, Dad corrected the skid and accelerated into the straightaway.

"Are you still there?" Peter sounded concerned. "Taylor, what was that?"

"Corner at Ronan," I managed. "Dad took a shortcut." A bullet took a chunk out of my headrest; I actually heard it go whap past my head, before adding another hole to the windshield. I let out an involuntary scream.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"Bullet," I gasped. "Came really close."

"Just hang on. We're coming to you."

"Yeah, I know." I saw the corner to Hammerhead Street coming up. "Dad, we gotta turn down here."

He grunted painfully and began to turn the wheel with both hands. That was when I saw the blood covering his left hand. "Dad!" I yelled. "Peter, Dad's been hit! He's bleeding!"

"How bad is it?"

"I don't know! I can't see! Dad!"

From being hunched over the wheel, Dad slumped sideways against the door. His hands began to slip off the wheel. Frantically, I lunged across the space between us and grabbed the wheel, knowing that the tacky feeling was from my father's blood and not being able to do anything about it.

"PETER!" I screamed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to do anything about it either. "HELP!"

We had drifted on to the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, there wasn't much in the way of traffic; unfortunately, we were barrelling down the wrong side of the road against said traffic. I desperately yanked the wheel around and got us back on the right side of the road, but then we were heading for the curb and some parked cars.

I didn't have my license; I'd never even been in the driver's seat of a car. There were three pedals down on the floor, and Dad's foot was still jammed on what I figured was the accelerator. One of the other two was the brake, but I had no idea which one it was, or even how to reach it.

I couldn't stop the car or even slow us down. I had the vague idea that changing to a lower gear would reduce our speed, but that wasn't something I could experiment with at the moment. So I did everything else that I could think of. I pulled the wheel over toward myself as fast as I could to turn us away from the parked car, causing our back end to swing around and the tyres to squeal in protest. We bounced off of the other car anyway, and I yanked the handbrake on. At least I knew where that was, and what it did.

That was when everything went to hell.

The first thing that happened was a horrible grinding noise came from under the car and the engine stalled. Then we were spinning around, totally out of control, a horrible screeching noise coming from the tyres. I was pulled back toward my seat by the force of the spin, losing my grip on the steering wheel.

And the third thing? The third thing was when the car flipped. I felt it start to go, and I hung on for dear life. I watched in horror as Dad began to tumble out of his seat; too late, I recalled his habit of stopping at the end of the driveway and then putting his seat-belt on.

"Dad!" I screamed, reaching over to grab him. I got got my arms around his waist just as the car hit the ground again. It didn't matter that I was holding on as tightly as I could, he was jerked free of my grip like it was nothing.

The car rolled over a few more times, or few dozen more. I wasn't sure. I tried to keep hold of Dad, to cushion him from the worst of the impacts. Not that I succeeded very often. There seemed to be blood all over him; by the time we stopped rolling, it was all over me, too.

I was bruised and battered, and my nose was bleeding. My thoughts were muzzy and confused, and for the longest time, I couldn't make sense of what was around me, or why Dad was lying on the roof of the car. Slowly, I pieced it together. The car was upside down. He hadn't been wearing his seatbelt.

"Dad," I mumbled. He didn't respond. "Dad!" I said again, more loudly. Still no response.

I had no idea how badly he was hurt, or if he was even alive, but I had to get to him. Feebly, I felt for my seat-belt release and triggered it. In retrospect, this was a bad idea; I could easily have broken my own neck when I fell out of my seat.

Fortunately, I didn't, although my shoulder hurt where I had landed on it. My glasses hadn't even been dislodged from my face, although they were a little awry. I reached out to him. While I didn't know first aid and had no idea how to take a pulse, I put my hand flat on his chest. A moment later, I felt it rise slightly, then drop. He was still breathing, at least. Dad was alive.

I had to get him out of the car. While I wasn't sure if I should be moving someone who'd been in a car accident, and I'd read that cars exploding after a crash was mostly Hollywood, I didn't want to assume that it wasn't going to explode anyway, or blow up, or whatever. So I turned from where I was kneeling under my seat, and tried to open the door. It didn't want to open. I tried harder. It still didn't want to open.

"Okay," I said out loud. "Okay. Door won't open. How do we get out?"

That was when I looked at the car window on Dad's side, which wasn't there any more.

<><>​

After a few moments of painful crawling, including climbing over my unconscious father, I managed to get out through his window. Turning back, I started dragging him out as well. It wasn't easy, and the little bits of glass that kept falling down out of the door didn't help in the slightest.

I had him about halfway out of the window, sobbing from the exertion, when I heard a vehicle brake to a halt behind me. Oh, thank God. Peter's here. I didn't stop hauling on Dad's shoulders. Dad had been hurt before the crash, and I was pretty sure that he was still bleeding. I needed to get him out to where I could maybe do something about it. Peter's truck, as I recalled, had a first aid kit in it. Bronson knows first aid. Hope began to stir in my heart at last.

"Well now, what do we have here?"

The voice wasn't Peter's. It didn't belong to anyone I knew in the Empire. Maybe it's someone else he knows? Without pausing in my efforts, I looked over my shoulder, and instantly regretted it. Four of them stood there, with another four walking over from another car. All of them were around my age, or a little older, wearing ABB colours.

Carefully, I lowered Dad's shoulders to the ground. I didn't even know how I was going to do this, but I wasn't going to leave Dad. Peter was depending on me to stand strong until he got there. I couldn't let either one of them down.

Standing up, I faced them. "What do you want?"

The guy I figured was in charge of the first group – he was bigger and taller than the rest – walked straight up to me. I saw the punch coming at the last second, but it was far to late for me to do anything about it by then. His fist hammered into my stomach, and I collapsed to my knees, coughing and gagging. Pain slashed through my scalp as he twisted his fingers through my hair and hauled me to my feet. All I could do was wheeze helplessly, my body trying to double over so as to relieve the pain in my gut. Two of his buddies came up beside him and grabbed my arms, holding me firmly. My shoulders hurt where they were twisting my arms back, but it was still better than having my hair pulled out by the roots.

"Funny girl," he sneered into my face, and spat at me. It landed on my cheek; I wanted to reach up to wipe it off, but I couldn't. Even as I struggled uselessly, he slapped me across the face. My ears rang, and I reeled. My glasses were knocked askew again, but I didn't lose them, for which I was grateful.

My nose started bleeding all over again, and tears came to my eyes. I coughed and gasped, trying to get my breath back. He just looked at me, sneering.

"What we want, funny girl, is you." His voice was contemptuous. "By the time we're finished with you, the Empire's gonna kick you to the curb." One of his compatriots, a girl, giggled in a way that scared the life out of me.

I forced air into my lungs. "Dad … leave him alone … nothing to do with this." I wanted to explain more, to point out that Dad had been literally going to take me out of town to keep me away from Peter, but I didn't get the chance. My head rang as he slapped me again, this time on the other side of my face. My glasses were roughly jolted back into position, an outcome I was fairly certain he hadn't intended. Nor had he intended to slap me where he'd spat on me; he grimaced as he wiped his hand off on his jeans.

"Yeah, Lee," said one of the ABB guys. "What do we do with the old guy?"

Lee shrugged. "Put Empire marks on the car, then torch it."

"No!" I screamed. "No! Please, don't!" I wrenched at the arms holding me, putting my shoulders under almost unbearable strain, but to no avail. "Leave him alone! He's not Empire!"

That got me a sneer from Lee. "Yeah, but you are, funny girl. Lung wants you alive, so he dies."

"Yeah, but how alive does Lung want her?" asked one of the others. He cupped his crotch suggestively. "Plenty of room between healthy and dead."

Lee smiled; the expression made my blood run cold. "You know, I -"

I had no idea how Peter did it, but one moment all was quiet and the next, his truck blasted through the middle of the group of ABB punks. No engine noise, no lights, nothing. He came so close to me that I felt the wind of the passing vehicle; Lee, on the other hand, crunched heavily into the bullbar and was flung away from me. Brakes squealed and the truck jolted to a halt in the middle of the street; Peter leaped out of the driver's side, while Jenna and Bronson got out on the other.

Muted pops, and entirely un-muted screams, told me where Jenna and Bronson were mopping up the demoralised ABB teenagers. Peter, on the other hand, strode toward where I was being held by Lee's friends. "Taylor," he said flatly. It was both a greeting and a direction. His right hand was behind his back, while his left hand made a vertical patting gesture; I knew what he wanted me to do.

"Hey, man," blurted one of the ABB. "Back off or we'll cut -"

Even as his switchblade snicked open, I was already doing what Peter told me; letting my legs go limp, I collapsed to my knees. My shoulders nearly dislocated on the spot, but I didn't care about that. Peter brought his right hand around from behind his back with a pistol in it. Levelling the firearm, he fired once, shifted aim, and fired again. Both the guys holding me let go; I heard them collapsing to the ground.

I tried to climb to my feet, but between the car crash, the exertion, and the physical abuse, my joints were in a state approximating water. Peter was there before I could perform an embarrassing face-plant into the street; with one hand he helped me up, then shifted position so that his shoulder was under mine, supporting me. I felt the warmth of his closeness, the strength of his muscles, and wanted to burst into tears from sheer relief. Peter's here, I thought again. This time, however, I knew it to be true. Everything's going to be okay.

"Taylor," he said again, this time much more warmly. His gun went away somewhere, and he smoothed back my hair from my face. I soaked up the sensation of his fingertips brushing my cheek. "Are you all right? Where are you hurt?"

"I – I'm fine," I stammered. "You got here just in time. It's Dad. He's hurt. He won't wake up."

"Oh, shit." He looked down at where Dad was still sprawled halfway out of his car window. Turning his head, he raised his voice. "Bronson! Jenna! Get here, now!"

Once I felt that I could stand on my own, he knelt down beside where Dad lay. He reached down to take Dad's pulse in a gesture that I recognised from any number of movies and TV shows. "Okay, he's still alive," he noted. "Heartbeat's a bit fast and a bit faint. You said he was hit? How bad?"

I took a couple of staggering steps and leaned against the car, upside down as it was. "I – I don't know. He's bleeding, I think, from his left side."

"Okay, right." He looked around as Bronson and Jenna approached. "Bronson, gonna need your help to get Taylor's dad out of the car. He needs first aid. Jenna, grab the first aid kit, then get Taylor settled in the truck."

Bronson just nodded and went down on one knee beside the car; Jenna dashed over to the truck and started digging out the first-aid kit. I vaguely hoped that they wouldn't need to use my pads any more, because I had no idea where my backpack was.

"Okay," Bronson muttered. "A little bit further. Watch his arm." A pause. "Got a bullet hole. Putting pressure on it. Okay, now lift and move."

I looked at the side of the car, and for the first time I realised that there were holes in it. A bullet must have gone through and hit Dad. I didn't know they could do that. It appeared that Hollywood had lied to me again.

"Okay, got the kit." Jenna hustled over with the large plastic box, which she placed near Bronson; the burly teen delved into it immediately, muttering something about 'bleeding'. "Come on, Taylor, you look like you're about to fall over. Let's get you settled down."

"Dad …" I protested feebly. I wanted to watch, to make sure he was going to be okay.

"It's all right," she assured me, divining what I meant. With her arm under my shoulders, she easily supported my weight, guiding me toward the truck. "You'll be able to see what's happening, and we've got Vic- shit, Peter, look out! Grenade!"

A dark-cloaked figure wearing a demonic mask had appeared about three yards away and tossed something toward us. Even as he collapsed into white ash, Jenna lunged toward the truck, half-carrying me with her. I couldn't see what was happening with Dad and Peter and Bronson; before my brain could really catch up, the grenade went off. The explosion was oddly muffled; Jenna screamed "Bronson!" and shoved me to the ground. Then she pulled out her pistol and fired several shots at something out of my line of sight.

I was vaguely aware of bellowing engines and glaring headlights as I lay on the ground. The dark figure – Oni Lee, I gathered at long last – appeared about two yards behind Jenna. He fired into her back before I was able to shout a warning. She grunted and fell sideways, her pistol clattering on to the asphalt. More shots sounded from the other side of the truck even as the ABB assassin collapsed into ash once more; I heard Peter cry out in pain.

Trying to keep myself as low as possible, I crawled up next to Jenna. I didn't know what good I could do, but I wasn't going to do nothing.

"Jenna," I whispered, trying to keep my voice down despite the persistent ringing in my ears. "Are you alive?" Which rated among the ten stupidest questions in history, I decided immediately. In any case, she didn't answer. Cautiously, I ran my hand over her back, finding the bullet-hole almost immediately; at least, I assumed that was what it was due to the wet warmth under my hand. With hardly any understanding of what I was doing, I pressed on the spot with the heel of my hand, hoping that I could slow the bleeding and give her a slightly better chance at living through this.

Any chance above zero is a good chance, right now.

Raising my head slightly, I cautiously looked around. Dad was most of the way out of the car, and he seemed to have a white bandage on his side. Peter was lying beside him, blood staining the front of his shirt. He was scrabbling weakly for his pistol, which lay just out of his grasp. Bronson was a few yards away from Peter. He was face-down on the asphalt, and even I knew what the dark spreading pool around his body meant. He threw himself on the grenade to save the rest of us.

Peter's eyes met mine, and he paused in his reach for the pistol. His lips formed words that I could read even across the gulf that separated us. Stay. Down.

I bit my lip. What he was advocating was the safest course of action, but I didn't want to be a coward, again, and leave Peter and Dad to the mercy of the ABB. They'll die. I'll have to watch them die, and live with that for the rest of my life.

Of course, there was the faint hope that the ABB would just, well, leave them alone. Maybe once everyone's down, they'll take their men and go. I was lying to myself – I knew I was lying to myself – but I didn't want to give in to utter despair.

Peter's efforts to regain the pistol redoubled as a lone figure approached him. I couldn't see the person properly against the headlights, but he was moving confidently. Almost strutting. Peter finally managed to get a proper grasp on the firearm and half-rolled to bring his arm up, but he was too late. A foot rose and then fell on to his forearm; bone cracked. Peter cried out feebly, the gun sliding from his hand.

The man turned, and I saw the metal mask that covered his face. Then the light fell on the tattoos that covered his torso. Tattoos of dragons.

This was Lung.

I knew what he'd done. We'd covered it in World Issues. He was one of a very few capes who could boast of facing an Endbringer in close combat and living to tell the tale. Unfortunately, he wasn't a hero; far from it. Lung had unified the Asian gangs (or, to put it another way, he'd killed the bosses and co-opted the rest) under one banner, and made the Azn Bad Boyz into a name to be reckoned with. But not in a good way; under his rule, the ABB dealt in human trafficking and drug smuggling with equal gusto. I knew that falling into his hands was a very bad idea.

He spoke, uttering three words. The mask and his accent conspired with my still-ringing ears to defeat understanding, until he spoke again, raising his voice.

"Where is she?"

I didn't need to be a genius to know exactly who 'she' was. Me. Lung was after me.

Peter gasped something, and Lung casually kicked him in the face. His head snapped back and he went limp, blood running from his nose, as Lung stood over him.

"Girl," Lung called out. He really had a very impressive voice. "Come out now, or I kill your father and your lover. Stay in hiding, and I kill them both, then find you."

A small part of my mind fastened on to the total irrelevancy about Peter, wanting to correct Lung in his misconception. The rest of my mind squashed it, trying to figure out a way out of this. I shifted slightly, and my hand brushed something hard and metallic; Jenna's pistol.

Can I? I had never been trained with firearms. But I'd seen too many movies and TV shows to not know the basics of how one aimed and fired a pistol. I knew it was ready to be fired; Jenna had been using it for just that purpose, not five minutes ago.

Do I dare? If I missed, then I would be in just as bad a position as before. I was pretty sure that I couldn't make Lung more pissed off with me than he had been before. And what if I actually managed to …

… to kill him?

Would the rest of the gang back off?

Would they turn tail and run, or avenge their dead boss?

All I knew was that if I didn't try, I'd never know.

"Girl -" he called out, but I was already moving. The pistol fitted neatly into my hand, as if it had been designed for it. Well, it had. I had zero confidence that I could hold it steady against the kick-back, so I added my other hand, making it slightly more awkward than the other one. I was still working out which finger to put on the trigger as I lined the thing in his general direction, and -

BANG

It went off in my hands, before I was properly ready or braced for it. The kick jolted my arms, but I didn't drop it. The flare had partially blinded me, and I blinked my eyes clear; I couldn't hear anything at all. Lung still stood there … but there was a trickle of red on his shoulder.

Holy shit, did I hit him?

As he turned toward me, I jerked the trigger again. This time, I missed. He started walking toward me; I fired again and again. By the time I realised that there was nothing happening when I pulled the trigger, there were two more trickles of red on his torso.

The good news? He was officially distracted from Peter and Dad.

The bad news? It didn't affect him at fucking all.

Belatedly, I dropped the pistol and tried to scramble backward, with some idea of maybe crawling under the truck, but he was there before I could do anything like that. Standing over me, he leaned down and picked me up by the scruff of the neck, like someone grabbing an alley cat. That about covered my level of threat toward him.

Lifting me effortlessly off the ground, he looked me in the face. His mask moved, like he was saying something. I couldn't hear a thing. He tilted his head and his mask moved again. All I heard was the roaring of abused eardrums; I wondered if I'd get permanent hearing loss out of this. Then I wondered if I'd live long enough to have to worry about permanent hearing loss.

He carried me back over toward where Peter lay next to Dad. He pointed at them while saying something, then very clearly ran his fingertip across his throat. I didn't need to be able to hear to understand that one; even though he had me, he was going to kill them anyway.

"No!" I shouted; it sounded flat in my own head. "No! You've got me! Leave them alone!"

His chest began to shake, then he tilted his head back. It took me a moment to realise that he was laughing. Laughing at me, at my plight. At my helplessness. I knew exactly what he was thinking, though he probably wasn't putting it into words.

Nobody can help you now.

He carried me in that same humiliating way toward one of the cars that had pulled up nearby. I didn't have a chance to escape, given that my feet were six inches off the ground the whole way. At some sort of command from him, one of the goons standing there popped the trunk. There were at least a dozen guys there, maybe more. They were all leering at me in a way that would've made me want to take a dozen showers if I just saw them on the street corner. As it was, I wanted to curl up and die.

The trunk lid gaped open, and he tossed me in. Again, like an unwanted alley cat. The lid slammed down.

I was alone. In the darkness. Nobody could help me. Nobody was coming to save me. Everyone I loved and trusted and depended on was lying out there on the road, either dead or about to die. And once Lung was finished with them … he'd come for me.

Bone-deep despair welled up inside me. I stopped fighting it.

<><>​

I opened my eyes. Did I pass out? It was still dark. My ears were still ringing. If I did, it wasn't for long. I could smell the musty-carpet stink of the inside of the trunk. But something was different. Very different indeed.

I now knew the car, inside and out. Every part of it was totally familiar to me, and how those parts interacted with every other part. Reaching out, I could feel the other cars, even the overturned one, though that had a few broken parts. Small machines danced through the air or lay on the ground; with a minor act of concentration, I identified them as pistols, with a few machine-guns here and there. Even tinier ones wandered back and forth. They were … switchblades, I thought.

Each and every one, a machine. Within my range, they were at my beck and call.

I took positive control over the car that I was trapped in. I didn't want to be trapped in it any more.

The trunk popped open.

I sat up.

My turn.

t

End of Part Nine

Part Ten

Click to shrink...

It's about tine she triggered! XD But seriously that's horrible

 

[AncientPhoenix]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twelve: Meetings and Conferences



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



Peter and I walked hand in hand, following Othala. Her costume was bright red, with some sort of utility belt around her waist. It would have been eye-catching even if it wasn't form-fitting. Peter had his head half-turned to look at me; I wasn't sure if this was because he found me fascinating, or because he didn't want to get caught staring at Othala's butt. For a moment, I found myself wondering how some cape teams dealt with the problem that they were all standing around in what was essentially skin-tight underwear.

That line of thought would take me nowhere good. I cleared my throat. "Othala, the symbol on your costume …?" I let my words trail off, not sure how to ask the question.

Fortunately, she guessed my meaning. "It's a rune called Odal or Othala, so yes, it's my cape name. It means 'heritage'."

"Huh." That made a certain kind of sense. "Sort of like people can 'inherit' powers from you."

"Basically, yes," she agreed. "It also means 'family', in a way. In the Empire, we're very big on family ties."

"I can see that." It was obvious to me that Peter had a good relationship with his father, and even though he had pretended annoyance with his youngest sister, he had been very quick to come to her assistance at the country club. And to mine, for which I would forever be grateful. I wish Dad could see this side of the Empire.

Othala stopped and turned to face Peter and myself. "We're here." We were standing in front of a large set of double doors. In keeping with the lush carpet and the subtle (but very expensive looking) wallpaper, they were made of some kind of highly polished wood with a gorgeous grain. The handles gleamed like gold, but were probably something like brass.

I looked from Peter to Othala. Some kind of communication passed between them, and he nodded, looking resigned.

"What's going on?" I asked uncertainly.

"This is as far as I go," Peter said softly. "When Kaiser's holding a meeting of this kind, the only people who get to attend are capes. That's you."

"Peter …" I felt suddenly lost. He had been my rock for so long. It was due to him that I had become a Friend to the Empire. He had become my boyfriend, and his friends had become my friends. When I had made my decision to join the Empire, I imagined that we would basically do everything together. Never had I even considered that I might surpass him in such a bizarre fashion.

"Hey, it's okay," he said reassuringly. "You'll be fine."

"No, I won't," I protested. "I figured that once I joined, I'd get to meet Kaiser sometime. I just thought you'd be there, too." It was true. Peter steadied me emotionally, and made me realise my own worth. After the months of bullying from Emma and her friends, my self-esteem had been a battered and broken thing, but Peter's steady admiration had done wonders for it. I knew, intellectually, that I could do things without him. I just didn't want to.

"It's all right, honey," Othala assured me. "I'll be there, right beside you. And Kaiser specifically asked for you at this meeting. He's not going to yell at you. If anything, he's going to try to make you look as good as possible."

I bit my lip. "But what if he expects more of me than I can deliver?"

Othala chuckled and hugged me. "Taylor, you triggered last night. He's not going to expect the world of you." She delved into one of her pouches and came out with a folded piece of white cloth. Unfolded, it turned out to be a bandanna with cog-wheels inked on to it. The artwork was quite nice. "Though you're going to need a mask, just for form's sake. Until you're a member, of course. Then we all unmask. It's a solidarity thing."

I took it from her and spread it out, admiring the artwork. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was delaying the inevitable, but I didn't care. "It's amazing. Where did you get it from?"

"Victor drew it last night, after he finished talking with Kaiser," she said. "He thought you might like it."

"I do." I ran it through my hands. "I'm just not sure if it's going to fit with whatever I end up using as a costume."

She smiled indulgently and ruffled my hair. "That's up to you. For now, it will do as a temporary mask."

"Okay, thanks." I handed it to Peter. "Mask me up?"

"What am I now, a henchman?" he asked with a grin, but he stepped around behind me anyway. I shivered as his hands brushed the back of my neck, pushing my hair out of the way.

"Nope," I told him, doing my best to keep my voice level when all I wanted to do was fall backward into his embrace. "You're a minion. You're going to have to work harder than that to make henchman."

"And we hadn't even worked out my pay details yet," he said jokingly.

"I'm sure we could work out something," I replied, trying to sound suggestive. I wasn't exactly great at this. Othala looked amused, but cleared her throat anyway. Peter got back to tying the mask.

"Well there's definitely worse people to minion for, I'll grant you that," he said cheerfully. Fastening the last knot, he let my hair fall back into place. "How's that?"

I pulled the bandanna up so that it covered my nose and mouth, and turned to face him. "The fit's pretty good. How do I look?"

He tilted his head. "Pretty good, actually. As a cape, I mean. As my girlfriend, you look awesome."

I rolled my eyes. "I bet you say that to all the people you minion for." I took his hand and squeezed it; he squeezed back. "As soon as we're finished, I'll come and find you. Okay?"

"Okay." He couldn't kiss me without disarranging the bandanna, but he leaned forward until our foreheads gently bumped. "I'll see you then. Knock 'em dead."

"I guess I'll try?" Taking a deep breath, I turned toward Othala. Don't screw this up, don't screw this up, don't screw this up …

She studied me, then nodded. "Yes, this is a big step," she said, apparently in reply to my innermost thoughts. "Don't stress it, though. We're on your side. You've already passed any conceivable test that we could set for you."

While that didn't calm me all the way down, it did help a bit. Still, my heart was hammering away at a mile a minute. They'll see how nervous I am, and just see me as a kid from now on. I knew all too well how damning a bad first impression could be, Othala's reassurance notwithstanding.

If I was using my powers, I wouldn't be feeling any of this …

The realisation hit me. I could use my powers!

Without further ado, I submerged myself in the powers, leaving useless emotion behind. Every action became logical, calculated.

My awareness expanded, cataloguing the machines to be found all around me. I was on the fifth floor of a tall office building; I could detect cars driving by on the street below, more cars in the parking garage five storeys beneath my feet, and quite a few firearms being carried about the building.

Conclusion: this building is an Empire front. Chances of Azn Bad Boyz attack: minimal to zero.

All of this had taken less than a second. Othala was reaching for the door handles.

Assume positive control: doors.

The handles rotated at my command, then the hinges swung the doors soundlessly outward. Othala hesitated, then dropped her hand. She stepped forward into the room. I followed, my power fully aware of certain hidden items.

Within the room was a large table, oval in shape. Eleven of the thirteen chairs surrounding it were occupied. The occupants turned to look at us as we entered.

Male, encased in interlocked armour with crown of blades. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Kaiser. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, militaristic costume. Identification: Krieg. Category: Provisional ally.

Females, wearing jointed armour, carrying sword, shield, spear. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Fenja and Menja. Category: Provisional allies.

Male, shirtless, metal wolf mask. Long hair, tattoos. Metal spikes protruding from skin. Identification: Hookwolf. Category: Provisional ally.

Female, scarred, short blonde hair, simple costume. Metal cage around head registers as machine. Identification: Cricket. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, shirtless, white tiger mask. Chains over shoulders. Identification: Stormtiger. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, black breastplate over red shirt, short cropped blond hair. Identification: Victor. Category: Proven ally.

Female, juvenile, red and black robe. Long blonde hair. Identification: Rune. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, jointed metal armour, long spear. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Crusader. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, white costume with black gloves and mask. White skin and hair, white eyes. Identification: Alabaster. Category: Provisional ally.

Firearm, loaded. Location: drawer next to Kaiser.

Toy car, metal. Registers as machine. Location: drawer next to Kaiser.

Analysis: items are oddly specific. Conclusion: test.

"Welcome," Kaiser said as we entered. Chairs scraped back as everyone stood. "Please, have a seat."

The two empty seats were situated between Victor and Rune. Othala moved toward them.

Observation: Allies 'Othala' and 'Victor' are partners.

Conclusion: She will sit next to him.

As I had calculated, Othala took the chair next to Victor. I pulled out the seat between Othala and Rune. Rune leaned over and whispered, "Hey."

Expression: smile. Conclusion: friendly. Voice: familiar. Height, eyes, build, hair all congruent with ally 'Cassie'.

Conclusion: Rune is Cassie. Cassie is proven ally.

Conclusion: Rune is proven ally.

I gave Rune a single deliberate nod and turned my attention to Kaiser.

"Please be seated," he said, his voice smooth and powerful.

Kaiser's voice is familiar. Max Anders was wearing platinum pin. Max Anders holds position of power in Empire Eighty-Eight.

Conclusion: Kaiser is Max Anders. Max Anders is proven ally.

Conclusion: Kaiser is proven ally.

I sat, my eyes on Kaiser.

<><>​

Carol Dallon climbed out of her car and locked it. Briefcase in hand – because a good lawyer always has her briefcase to hand – she crossed the street toward the PRT building. At the doors, she encountered Manpower, in his civilian identity of Neil Pelham. Even though not in costume, Neil was as imposing as ever, looming more than a foot over Carol.

"Hey," he greeted her. "Any idea what this is about?"

She grimaced. "The Director didn't tell me a thing. Just informed me that not showing up was a non-option."

"Yeah, I kinda got the same message." Neil shrugged. "I already called Sarah and the kids. They should be on the way. Where's Mark and Vicky?"

"Mark's at the hospital with Amy," Carol said shortly. "Victoria said that she would join up with Sarah and your children."

Neil pointed. "That'll be them, right there."

Shading her eyes, Carol looked up into the sky. He was correct. A scattering of dots in the sky soon resolved itself into a group of four people; namely, one adult and three teens.

Unlike Carol and Neil, the four newcomers were costumed up, and Eric – Shielder – had his customary blue hair dye in. They came in for a smooth, fast landing. Vicky chose to land normally on her feet, rather than in that ridiculously overblown three-point landing that a lot of the wanna-be Alexandria packages were showing off with these days.

"Carol," her sister greeted her.

"Sarah," she said in turn. "Do you know what's going on here?"

"Only that the Director told me that the future of New Wave was on the line. No, I'm not sure what she might have meant by that, either."

"How about we just go in and find out," suggested Neil.

"How about we do that," Carol agreed. She didn't have court for another two hours. With any luck, we'll be done here by then.

<><>​

Medhall Building

Justin lounged back in his chair, wondering what all the hoo-hah was about. There'd been something on TV about a fight between the Empire and the ABB last night, but he hadn't been involved, so it was none of his beeswax.

Nobody's got any burns on them, so either Othala got to them, or Lung didn't get too close. That big-ass chink was way too powerful for Justin to want to tangle with. Sure, he had his ghosts, but Lung was just too tough for them to hurt in any meaningful way, even if they dogpiled him. And if Lung ever actually got his hands on Justin, it would be lights out in a big way. No fucking thank you.

So the meeting wasn't about the fight, which was good. It meant that he didn't have to worry so much about paying attention. Except that there was this new kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Kinda cute, if you liked the tall skinny librarian look. Nice hair; she obviously took care of it.

She was obviously new to the game if she didn't even have a costume yet. Though he wasn't too sure what the bandanna with the cog-wheels on it was all about. Are we actually getting a Tinker? That thought alone made him sit up just a little. It was so totally unfair that the Merchants had a fucking Tinker, while the Empire, with three times as many capes, didn't.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

Whoops, Kaiser's talking. Better look like I'm paying attention.

"You may have heard of the altercation with Lung and Oni Lee last night. You will be glad to hear that both Asian capes had to retreat from the battlefield in disorder, leaving more than a dozen of their dead behind."

Justin's eyes widened behind his metal mask. Holy shit. Someone chased off Lung and Oni Lee? I am seriously fucking impressed.

Kaiser was still talking. "I regret to say, that victory cost us the lives of two of our more promising junior members, Bronson diAngelo and Jenna Parsons. Their sacrifice will be remembered in a service later next week. Also present was Peter Ferguson, who will be recognised for his bravery at the same time." He paused dramatically.

Wait a second. Ed Ferguson's kid? Didn't he have a new girlfriend at the last Gathering? Justin took another look at the new kid. He hadn't been paying too much attention at the time, but he seemed to recall that Pete's arm-candy had been tall and skinny with glasses, just like this one.

"However, these lives were not lost in vain, for they paved the way for our newest member to join our ranks."

Kaiser was good at this. Justin found himself sitting forward expectantly.

Pausing, Kaiser turned his head toward the teenage girl. "That is, I understand that you were intending to join the Empire Eighty-Eight. Is that still your wish?"

The girl's expression never changed, but her tone was definite. "Yes."

Justin couldn't see Kaiser's face behind the helmet, but the smile came through in his voice. "Excellent. Normally, we wait until prospective members have passed the initiation process, but given last night's events, I'm going to declare the initiation well and truly passed. Now for the issue of sponsorship. Do you have a sponsor here?"

Well and truly passed? Justin blinked. Wait – was she the one who chased off the chinks and killed a dozen of them?

The girl's question was almost free of inflection. "Sponsor?"

"Well, yes." Kaiser's voice was patient as he explained. "Your original sponsor is no longer valid. To join our number, you need a sponsor who is both a cape and a member in good standing."

Justin had little trouble in deciphering that. She didn't have powers till really recently. Her original sponsor doesn't have powers. If she's the girl I think she is, he would be the Ferguson kid. Man, oh, man. His little bit of fluff just got powers and hit the big leagues. Sucks to be him.

Othala raised her hand. "I will stand as sponsor."

Before Kaiser could acknowledge her words, Victor's hand had joined hers. "We will stand as sponsors."

Kaiser nodded. "Acceptable. Let's have a show of hands. All in favour?"

Victor and Othala already had their hands up. Rune's hand went up a moment later. Justin shrugged and raised his hand as well, looking at the girl with interest. If she's a Tinker, we need her.

One by one, around the table, hands went up. With a scrape of metal on metal, Kaiser raised his hand, followed an instant later by Fenja and Menja. The only ones left were Hookwolf and Cricket.

Kaiser looked at them, tilting his head slightly to the side. "We have a clear majority here, but may I ask why you're holding out?"

Hookwolf lifted his chin. "I haven't seen what she can do yet. All we've got is word of mouth and a fancy mask. Gonna need something more than that." His tone was harsh, as close to an actual challenge as Kaiser usually allowed.

Kaiser paused. "You would like to see a demonstration of her power?" Leaning forward slightly, he turned his helmeted head toward the girl in the bandanna. "Are you willing to do this?"

She did not hesitate. "Yes."

"Very well, then. A demonstration it will be." Kaiser pulled open a drawer at his end of the table and produced what looked like a toy car, about four inches long. He placed this on the table. "Well?"

The girl did not react visibly, but the car began to roll forward along the table. The sound of the rubber tyre treads on the highly-polished tabletop was only just audible. However, it was barely crawling along; Justin began to wonder what all the fuss was about.

When the car reached the centre of the table, it rolled to a stop. Nothing happened for a few seconds.

"That's it?" scoffed Hookwolf. "I could put a rubber band in it and -"

The back tyres began to spin, while the front ones stayed still. Under the impetus of the spinning wheels, the car crept forward, the rear end wobbling from side to side. Hookwolf shut up, watching. The whole car was vibrating now, showing far more energy than it had before.

Abruptly, the back end of the car swung around to the right in a complete three-sixty, back tyres still howling against the tabletop. Someone's gonna have a job, buffing that rubber off the finish.

When it had finished the first circle, the car reversed direction just as suddenly, pulling another complete circle to the left. Then, leaving a tiny trail of scorched rubber, it shot off down the table like a startled rabbit. Justin watched it whip past him in the general direction of Alabaster.

The white-skinned Brute barely reacted to the car's approach. However, before the toy could launch itself from the table, it turned its headlong rush into a curving turn, swinging perilously close to the table's edge as it completed its reversal of direction. All eyes followed it as it headed toward Kaiser.

With a grinding of metal, obstacles arose from the table top; walls and poles, scaled to the car. The girl did not seem to react, aside from a very slight narrowing of her eyes behind her glasses. She didn't know about this bit, then. The car swerved wildly, clipped the first obstacle, then bounced off the second one and stopped.

However, a few seconds later, it took off again. Pulling a long drift around both the obstacles that it had just hit, it then proceeded to complete the ad hoc course by swerving around each subsequent barrier in turn until it pulled to a halt in front of Kaiser. It did not, Justin noted, hit any more obstacles, although it came close a few times.

Into the silence that fell over the table, Victor remarked, "Now, imagine that's a dozen full-sized cars."

Justin turned his head toward the skill thief. "What, all at once?" he blurted.

"That's what I saw," Victor affirmed, a slight smile on his face. "She beat the living fuck out of Lung with them."

"Very impressive," Kaiser stated, in the tone of voice that says but of course that's not all. "However, how would you deal with something like … this?"

From the same drawer, he took a pistol, and aimed it directly at the new girl's face. In the silence that filled the room, he thumbed back the hammer with a distinct click-click-click.

She didn't respond at all. Justin saw Kaiser's trigger finger move. The silence was so complete that he actually heard the tiny click as the trigger stopped its rearward travel. Nothing else happened.

The girl spoke for the first time since Kaiser had initiated the demonstration. "Safety's on."

Okay, she's got style. Justin had to admit, that was an absolutely classic line. He chuckled very slightly, and heard a couple of the others doing the same. Kaiser turned the pistol slightly, flicked the safety off, then aimed it at her again.

This time, when he squeezed the trigger, the gun … fell apart. One second, Kaiser was holding what Justin presumed to be a fully functional nine-millimetre pistol. The next, he was holding the frame. Metal parts bounced off the table; Justin was pretty sure that some of the screws fell on the floor. After all the clattering had finished, the only sound left was a few of the pieces rolling back and forth on the polished surface.

Hookwolf broke the silence first. "So … she can control cars and fuck up guns? Kind of specific, isn't it?"

The girl turned to face him and spoke, her voice as expressionless as her face. "Anything with metal moving parts."

Justin jolted. "Wait, wait. Like, armour? Like my armour?"

Her gaze swung toward him. "Yes."

That flat voice is creepy as fuck. Almost as creepy as Night and Fog. It's like her body's a puppet and she's pulling the strings, just like she controlled that car.

"So you could move me around because I'm wearing this armour?" It seemed important to get this straight. For the first time, he began to regret the concept of wearing full plate like one of those badasses from the Crusading days.

Again, that flat stare. "Yes."

"Actually," broke in Othala, "it's not that bad. You're not thinking about the upside."

Menja and Fenja were murmuring to each other now; the twins' Valkyrie armour wasn't styled like his, but the pieces were still connected together.

"Upside?" he asked. "What upside?"

"Battlefield rescue," Victor said. "Even if you're injured or unconscious, she can walk you back to Othala to get healed, without ever risking herself. Or, for that matter, stopping what she's doing."

Justin blinked. "I … wait, really? She can do that?"

"Yes," said the girl.

"And what I want to see," Othala added with a particularly vicious grin, "is the meltdown on the PHO boards after she makes Armsmaster do the Macarena on streaming video."

"Oh … oh, shit," whispered Justin as the realisation burst upon him like a newborn sun. His voice strengthened as he went on. "I thought you were a Tinker. But you're not. You're every Tinker's worst nightmare. Aren't you?"

The girl nodded once. "If it has metal moving parts, then I can control it."

Rune began giggling uncontrollably. Justin frowned; he hadn't thought the girl's comment had been all that funny. But then the teenager managed to get out one word, and he got the joke as well. He began to chuckle, then to laugh himself.

Squealer.

Oh, man. She's going to shit so many bricks she could build the chinks their own Great Wall of Fail.

I really want to see that. It might even be funnier than watching Armsmaster doing the chicken dance.

"Question." That was Stormtiger.

The girl looked over at him. "Yes?"

"What about plastic guns? Can you screw with those, too?"

Kaiser fielded that one with a chuckle. "No such thing. Not a truly plastic gun, anyway. Except for Tinker tech, because they follow their own rules. But mundane guns need metal working parts, even if they have plastic frames."

"Actually, talking about Tinker tech," said Alabaster unexpectedly, "can you affect it?"

"I don't know." She said it with no hint of apology or other emotion in her voice. "I haven't tried. But if it has metal parts? Probably."

"One more thing," Hookwolf said bluntly. "What about range? Sure, the thing with the car and the gun were cute, but three yards isn't a great range for stuff like that."

Smoothly, she turned to face him. At the same time, she held up her hand. Three fingers were extended.

"Three?" He sounded confused. "Three what? Miles?"

She folded one finger down. Justin got it. "It's a countdown."

"What the fuck?" Brad sounded even more perplexed now. "A countdown to what?"

The second finger folded down.

Kaiser leaned forward. Oh, shit, Justin realised. He's got no idea what she's doing.

"My dear," the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight said smoothly. "I do hope that what you're doing is neither impetuous nor reckless."

The last finger folded down. Justin found himself holding his breath. For an instant, nothing happened. She played us -

Someone banged on the door. This was not a polite 'may we please disturb you' knock. This was a 'you need to open the damn door NOW' sort of knock.

Kaiser looked at the girl, then at the door. "Is that …?"

She gestured, not bothering to speak. Go ahead, answer the door.

With a single glance back at her, he stood and opened the door.

"I trust that this interruption will be entirely justified?" he asked coldly.

"Uh, yes, sir." Justin could see past Kaiser to the security man he was talking to. The guy was solid, well-trained, and competent enough that he knew at least some of the true identities of the people in the room. He had earned his place in Medhall. And yet, he was sweating. "Sir, it's the cars in the underground garage."

"What about them?"

Yeah, what about them? Justin had a beauty of a sports car, bright red with a Confederate-flag license plate, that was parked down there. Gloria, honey, if someone's so much as scratched your paintwork, I'm gonna string 'em up by the nuts.

"They've all started. All the vehicles. Including your limo, sir." Which, Justin just happened to know, had a top of the line engine immobiliser built into it. With the keys physically separated from the car, it should be literally impossible to make the motor turn over. "It's got to be a cape doing it, sir."

Oh. I see. Justin nodded to himself, looking at the new girl. The parking garage is sixty feet straight down. Range? We got it.

"Indeed." Kaiser may well have been commenting on the weather. He turned his head toward the girl wearing the bandanna. She nodded once at the unspoken question. With her left hand, she made a horizontal slicing motion.

Kaiser turned back to the man at the door. "Check again."

"Sir." The man took hold of his shoulder microphone. "Charlie Delta calling Golf Whiskey. Report on vehicle situation. Has it changed? Over."

There was a long pause. Justin somehow knew the answer; he wondered how many of the others were absolutely certain in the same way he was.

"Golf Whiskey, here. The vehicles all turned off their engines just now. I say again, the engines are off. Over."

Kaiser nodded. "Good. This was a test. Your response time was adequate. Return to your regular duties."

Closing the door before the guard had a chance to reply, he made his way back to the table. Instead of sitting, he stood beside his chair for a moment, looking at the girl in the bandanna. "Are any of the vehicles damaged?"

"No." Her tone was matter of fact. "There is ongoing wear and tear to most of the vehicles that will eventually require repair, but that's a pre-existing condition."

Justin made a mental note to have a quiet chat with the girl about whatever needed to be done to Gloria, just as soon as possible.

"I see." Kaiser sat down. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that to be an adequate test of our prospective member's powers. If I may have a show of hands?"

Justin's hand went up immediately. By the time he looked around, nearly every other person had a hand in the air as well. Hookwolf and Cricket were the last two, but that was more a matter of timing than reluctance.

"Well, then," Kaiser noted, putting his hand down again. "It's unanimous. Welcome to the Empire."

"Thank you," the girl said. Justin blinked; he could've sworn he'd just heard emotion in her voice. "It's good to be here."

<><>​

PRT Building

Well, at least they knew we were coming, mused Neil as they travelled upward in the elevator. Between him, Sarah, Carol and the three kids, the confined space was already cramped; adding a PRT soldier into the mix made it even more so. "What's the big deal?" he had to ask. "We've been to Piggot's office before, and we didn't need a babysitter."

"We're not going to her office, sir," the soldier said.

"Where, then?" asked Sarah.

The answer turned out to be 'a conference room'. The PRT soldier got to the door first and opened it, holding it so that the others could come through. Reflexively ducking under the door frame, Neil looked around at the room. Neil hadn't been in this particular conference room before, but there tended to be a sameness about them. Piggot sat at one end of a long table, facing the wall-sized screen at the far end of the room. Standing in a corner of the room was another PRT soldier.

"Come in," Piggot said bluntly. "Sit down. We have something serious to talk about."

Neil made sure that he was the last one in; the door swung closed behind him. Carol took a seat at one side of the table, with Vicky beside her. Crystal chose to sit next to Vicky. Neil sat across from Carol, with Sarah facing Glory Girl and Eric looking across at Crystal.

As soon as they were all seated, Piggot took out her cell phone. She dialled a number, then placed the device on the table in front of her. A few moments later, Neil heard a familiar voice. "Hello, Director. Mark Dallon here. Are they there?"

"They are," she replied. "Are you with Panacea?"

"I'm here," Neil's other niece said.

"Good. I'm about to replay the footage. I'll let you know when I've paused it."

Picking up a remote, she clicked a button. The screen bloomed to life, showing a jittery image of the Boardwalk in the late evening. Zooming in and out slightly, the footage focused in on two figures; the shorter one was eating an ice-cream. If Neil squinted slightly, he could recognise both of his nieces.

"This is us yesterday, on the Boardwalk," Vicky said. "So?"

Piggot gestured at the screen. "Keep watching."

They were too far away for any dialogue, but the image was clear enough. Neil watched as Vicky's image on the screen turned, then the camera swung toward three vehicles parked haphazardly at the side of the road. It followed a single figure stumbling and then running toward Vicky and Amy. He couldn't hear any of the words, but the body language was abundantly clear; she was desperate for Amy to come back with her.

But Amy didn't. Vicky stood in the way and argued with the newcomer, a tall skinny girl with dark curly hair. At one point, the girl grabbed Amy by the sleeve, but Vicky intervened, forcing her to let go again.

When the shot sounded, it made Neil jump slightly. What the hell? The person holding the camera must have thought so as well, because the picture swung crazily for a second. It angled back toward the vehicles, where Victor stood with a smoking gun.

Director Piggot paused the footage there. She ran her eyes over the members of New Wave who were present. "So, you were faced with a civilian clearly in some distress, pleading for assistance from New Wave, and you withheld it. Why?"

"We were off duty," Victoria said at once. "I explained that."

The look on the Director's face as she shook her head made Neil wince. Wrong answer. "The unmasking that your parents went through ten years ago means that while you have far more freedom in the use of your powers than your masked peers, you also have much less of a dichotomy between your cape and civilian lives. You were recognised as Glory Girl and Panacea; to identify you as such broke none of the unspoken rules. You were specifically approached as superheroes and asked to save lives. Why didn't you?"

Neil glanced at Vicky, who was looking stubborn. Don't dig yourself in any deeper.

"Are you trying to assert that Victoria and Amy broke the law?" Carol said sharply. "May I remind you that there are no laws specifically requiring Amy to assist anyone -"

Piggot held up her hand. "I am doing no such thing," she stated flatly, raising her voice slightly. "Believe me, I've looked at it. On the one hand, she's the world's number one healer. She's got a one hundred percent success rate and she's a publicly known superhero for whom healing someone is apparently next to effortless. On the other hand, she's a minor, she has no actual medical credentials, and she's only ever volunteered her healing duties. All of that adds up to a massive grey area, a legal morass, that lawmakers could argue over for a century without coming to an agreement. In fact, I would be thoroughly unsurprised if this very topic is being discussed right now at the highest level of government. And that they're getting nowhere." A dry smile crossed her lips. "Fortunately, that problem is not one that I am required to solve."

"Uh, if Amy isn't required by law to do anything, what's the problem?" asked Flashbang. Neil had been wondering exactly the same thing. He had a feeling that he would find out, very soon.

"Because official laws or otherwise, this promises to subject you to a judgement far more arbitrary and vicious than any you would find in a courtroom," the Director said. Her eyes found Carol's. "I'm referring, of course, to what's commonly called the Court of Public Opinion. Especially given that someone apparently died while you argued with that girl."

Carol's lips thinned, which was enough to make Neil worry. "Are you going to fan the flames here?" asked the lawyer tightly. "Make it worse for us?"

"On the contrary," Director Piggot said. "I've sent a high priority request for Scapegoat to be flown in from San Diego. The PRT is going to make every attempt to assist New Wave in this trying time, and the public is going to know it. The message that I'm sending is that you have the full weight of our support."

"Scapegoat?" Sarah frowned. "I've heard the name, but not what he can do. Healer, I presume?"

"Not really, Mom," Crystal said. "He can take wounds away, but he gets them instead. Then he passes them on to the bad guys."

Oh. Okay, that is bizarre. Mentally, Neil shrugged. When you think you've heard it all …

"We're getting off the topic here," the Director said. "Glory Girl, why did you refuse the Hebert girl's request? Panacea, why did you let her?"

"Because she's Empire," Victoria explained.

Director Piggot waited for the teenager to continue, then cleared her throat when no more was forthcoming. "I'm going to need more than that," she prompted.

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Okay then. Ames was talking about how there's been a whole truckload of ABB in the hospital from Empire guys beating on them, and the latest ones were repeating a message not to mess with Taylor Hebert. And I heard from one of your Wards that Taylor Hebert's a big wheel in the Empire junior ranks, and that she's the queen bitch of Winslow. She's teflon, or that's what she thinks anyway. So when cars pull over and she comes running up, it's kinda obvious that they've been in a firefight and that she thinks she can just start sh, uh, stuff with the ABB and then just snap her fingers and get Ames to heal up her guys for the second round. So I said no."

"I see," was all Piggot said, although Neil heard a whole world of meaning behind those two words. "Panacea?"

"Basically, what Vicky said," the healer replied. She paused, then burst out, "I don't see why I should reward them for hurting other people!"

"Please, stop," said Piggot. Slowly, she raised one hand, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Now, Panacea, think very carefully. Did you know that the injured people were the instigators of any conflict?"

"Vicky said that the girl's father, the Hebert guy, was well in with the Empire -"

"Stop!" The Director was on her feet, the whip-crack of her voice bringing Amy's voice to a halt. She turned to look at Vicky and, despite the fact that the girl was an Alexandria package in her own right, Neil wasn't surprised to see her leaning back from the almost palpable waves of Piggot's anger. Normally it's Glory Girl doing it to other people. I wonder if she'll realise that this is how other people feel around her?

"Glory Girl." The Director's voice would have caused helium to freeze solid. "Which of my Wards did you hear this from? And where in the hell did you hear about her father having Empire ties?"

Victoria blinked. "Um, Shadow Stalker, both times. She was pretty emphatic about it."

Piggot's fist crashed on to the table, making Neil jump. Everyone else looked a little startled as well; the phone and remote both clattered a little on the table top. He stared at her as she stood with her clenched fist still resting on the table, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her head lowered. For a long moment, she stayed like that, before raising her head and opening her eyes.

"Let me make one thing exceedingly clear," she growled. "Shadow Stalker is in no way a credible witness, especially when it comes to Taylor Hebert. She is currently under investigation for activities unbecoming a Ward, specifically to do with crimes involving Taylor Hebert. In which the Hebert girl was not the instigator. Is that understood?"

<><>​

Carol observed the Director, possibilities turning over in her mind. If Victoria and Amy were working off of false information, then they may have just stepped into a legal minefield. She hadn't forgotten Piggot's earlier mention of the 'court of public opinion', and she knew full well how that sort of thing could twist a matter that was otherwise cut and dried, legally speaking.

"I'm sure they both understand it," she said carefully. "Now, if I understand you, what you're saying is that neither Taylor nor Daniel Hebert are as enmeshed in the Empire Eighty-Eight as Shadow Stalker was alleging?"

Piggot's face cleared somewhat. Carol tagged that as her at last, someone sane! expression, flavoured with a certain level of irritation. "Daniel Hebert," the Director said, "is the head of hiring for the Dock Workers. He's also the union rep. And he's specifically the reason that no gangs have managed to get their hooks into the Dock Workers in the last ten years. And yes, that does include the Empire Eighty-Eight."

Carol frowned, thinking through her next words. "I'm not disputing your statement. However, it seems to me that there must be some kind of reason that they were travelling with Empire personnel."

The sour look was back on Piggot's face. "I can think of several, none good." She slowly sat down. "Panacea."

"Uh, yes?"

"What was Daniel Hebert's physical state before and after you treated him?"

"Unconscious," Amy said promptly. "He had a gunshot wound, broken bones, and brain damage."

"How severe was the brain damage?"

Where is she going with this? From the pause, Carol wondered if Amy was thinking the same thing.

"Uh, unless Othala can do some pretty serious brain repair work, he's going to be in a coma for a long time, if he ever wakes up at all," Amy said slowly. "I don't know exactly what happened to him, but he'd suffered major trauma. Over and above the gunshot wound, that is."

"Such as a car accident?" asked Piggot.

"I … yes, that would probably fit," Amy said. "I can't be certain, of course, and there was no bruising consistent with a seatbelt or an airbag, but I would rate that as a high probability."

Carol nodded slightly. Her personal feelings about Amy aside, the girl had obviously learned to avoid committing herself on matters before she had learned all the facts. Well done.

"And you healed them to the best of your abilities?" That was Piggot. The woman could have been a fair prosecuting attorney, if she could learn to control her biases.

"Understanding that I can't do brains … yes. The boy was fully healthy once I finished, apart from a minor concussion, and the girl didn't respond to my power at all."

The Director did not let up. "In your opinion, had the girl been dead for long?"

"I honestly can't say." Carol controlled an internal wince. That was usually code for "no, but you can't prove otherwise". However, Amy went on almost immediately. "Her skin wasn't any cooler than normal, but that could mean she'd been dead for one minute or fifteen. All I know for certain is that when I got to her, I couldn't register her with my power at all."

Carol leaned forward. "Director, I must protest. You're badgering her, asking the same question over and over. If the girl was dead, the girl was dead. Panacea being there changed nothing."

"I'm merely asking the same questions that others will be, in time," Piggot said. "If nobody can prove that the girl died after Panacea could have gotten to her, then when someone asks me, I can point that out."

"I see." Carol sat back again. "Was that all?"

"Not exactly." Director Piggot picked up the remote again. "I'm going to play some more of the footage."

Carol turned to watch the screen. The action rolled on; Empire thugs holding hostages, Victor making his demands. Carol winced inwardly as she saw Victoria continuing to argue, then Amy pushing past her to carry out the demands of the villain.

That, right there, is a very dangerous precedent. We should never let villains know that we can be coerced into using our powers to their benefit.

A moment later, she came to the conclusion that this possibility had always existed; it was only now that it was being realised. We're going to have to ensure that nobody can exploit it in future.

Still not sure exactly how that was to be accomplished, she watched as Victoria faced off both Victor and the girl called Taylor Hebert. She was mildly impressed at how the teenager managed to withstand the fear-aura that her daughter had to be emanating at this point.

On the screen, Amy climbed down out of the truck, the hostages were released, and the Empire contingent prepared to leave. Which was when Victoria pulled her play.

To her mild surprise, Piggot did not pause the footage at that point. Glory Girl posed, Victor shot Panacea, Glory Girl grabbed him and flew him into the sky. When she punched him straight down, Carol winced.

The screen paused once more. Victoria had gathered Amy into her arms and was flying into the distance. Othala and the Hebert girl were on their knees. Victor was crumpled in a heap on the grass.

"So, tell me." The Director's voice was like ice. "What happened here?"

<><>​

Vicky's lips were suddenly dry. She licked them. "Uh, I tried to stop them from leaving?"

"Wrong."

Director Piggot's steel-grey eyes bored into her. She doesn't have powers. Does she? Right now, Vicky could not swear to that. "Um … I'm pretty sure that I did."

The Director shook her head. "What you did was exacerbate an already-precarious situation to the point where someone got hurt. This was irresponsible in the extreme."

"But … but … they were criminals. Victor and Othala were villains! They'd just committed a crime, right in front of me. I couldn't just let them go."

Mom and Aunt Sarah had spoken to her the previous night about this, and while Vicky had to admit that they had made some good points, in her heart of hearts, she still believed that she had done the right thing. Maybe if I'd punched out Victor first …?

Anyway, she was going to find Victor soon, and then she was going to explain to him in detail why you do not shoot my little sister.

"Yes." Piggot's voice broke into her thoughts. "You could have. And you should have. There were many better options that you had, but you took none of them. Instead, you pushed matters to the point where Victor shot your sister, so you did what? Tried to kill him?"

"He deserved it!" she burst out. "He shot Amy!"

"Do you believe that Victor tried to kill Panacea?" asked Piggot, almost gently. Vicky saw her mother open her mouth; the Director shook her head fractionally, and Carol closed her mouth again.

"He, uh, he could have been?" Vicky hedged.

"Come now, Miss Dallon," Director Piggot told her firmly. "We both know what his power lets him do. He's a skill thief. One of the best there is at virtually any field of endeavour, which includes pistol shooting. If Victor shot your sister in the leg, it's a given that he intended to shoot her in the leg. Add in the apology which he offered before shooting her, and it's more or less a guarantee that he did not mean her any lasting harm."

"But he still shot her," Vicky said doggedly.

"For which you tried to kill him?" Piggot's tone was uncompromising. "Knowing that you were being recorded?"

Mom cleared her throat. "It was in the heat of the moment, Director. Remember that."

"Which pushes it from attempted second-degree murder down to attempted manslaughter," the Director said.

"But he was invincible anyway, from Othala," Vicky muttered sulkily. "I didn't hurt him at all."

Director Piggot shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that there is a great body of footage, taken from several different angles, showing you grabbing Victor and retaliating in a vastly disproportionate fashion to a bullet wound to the leg. Disarming him, perhaps dislocating his wrist, that would have been appropriate. Maybe even breaking a leg or arm. But spiking him into the ground like that? No, that was a clear attempt to kill him."

Vicky felt a chill go down her back. She wasn't sure where this was going, but she didn't like it at all.

"But she didn't, right?" That was Amy. "He's fine. He got up and walked away."

"Yes. He did. Which still means that there's a possibility that New Wave might just find itself being sued by the Empire Eighty-Eight for excessive brutality," Piggot said heavily. "What you did goes against the unspoken rules, Glory Girl. And while they don't have the force of law, you won't find many capes standing in your corner on this one." She grimaced. "And that's not even counting the people who've been asking about the possibility of you being tried for attempted murder."

Wait, there's people who want to try me for attempted murder?

"Manslaughter," Mom reminded her. "Not murder. Heat of the moment."

"If they get a conviction, I doubt it will matter to the public," the Director said.

"Sued?" Vicky burst out. "By Kaiser and his bunch of racist jerks? Could that even happen?"

"Even if they try and fail, it will still be a matter of public record that they tried." Piggot's voice was implacable. "And there's a chance that they won't be shot down."

"But -" Vicky's voice was higher this time. I could be in real trouble. She didn't get any farther than that, as her mother raised a hand. She shut up.

"But you've got another idea in mind, don't you?" asked Mom. "Something that is likely to benefit you and the PRT, and wipe out the problem, all in one fell swoop." Suspicion was strong in her voice.

Director Piggot smiled slightly; as far as Vicky could tell, there was no humour in the expression at all. "I believe that I do."

<><>​

Medhall Building

"Traditionally, the next step is to unmask to each other," Kaiser went on. He did something to his helmet; the faceplate split and slid away to reveal the face of Max Anders. "Do you have a problem with this?"

"I thought that was you," the girl said almost breathlessly. Justin hadn't been mistaken; moments ago, she had been showing all the animation and emotion of a robot, and now she was talking in an excited tone. "But knowing it's true is so much cooler." Reaching up, she pulled the bandanna down, revealing a wide mouth currently wearing a shy smile. "Hi, everyone. I'm Taylor Hebert. I'm pleased to meet you all."

Justin raised the visor of his helmet. "Hi, Taylor. I'm Justin. Pretty sure we met at the last Gathering. You were Peter's plus one, right?"

She nodded quickly, her smile widening. "Yeah. I remember you, too." She looked from face to face as the rest of the Empire capes unmasked and offered her their names. "Wow, no wonder Peter looked so pleased with himself. He was introducing me to most of you guys, and I never realised it for a moment."

"Young Ferguson is one of our rising stars," Krieg said. "We were, of course, interested in his choice for a companion. I'm pleased to say that he's managed to impress us all this time."

Justin saw a flush spread over the girl's cheeks. "Well, I'll try not to disappoint you," she said hastily.

Victor chuckled. "After what I saw last night,Taylor, disappointing us is about the last thing you're likely to do."

Okay, now I wish I'd been there. Victor doesn't throw praise around like that without good reason.

"Which brings us to our next topic," Kaiser said with a smile. "Taylor needs a cape name. Does anyone have a suggestion, or should we just go with the most obvious one?"

"Obvious one?" Taylor sounded puzzled. "Which one's that?"

"'Panzer', of course," Krieg supplied. "It's perfect."

A murmur of appreciation went around the table. Justin pulled his mind away from the puzzle of Taylor's robot act – if act it was – to consider it a moment. Krieg's right. It is perfect.

"I'll vote for it," he said out loud.

"Wait, wait," Taylor said, looking concerned. "Is this how it works? You guys vote on the name, and I don't get a say?"

"Well, of course you get a say," Kaiser assured her. "You're free to choose whatever name you want. We'll just offer suggestions."

"Uh, sure, okay," she said. "But why Panzer, anyway?"

<><>​

As far as I could tell, Mr Fleischer didn't seem to understand my question. "Why not Panzer?" he asked. "It's a strong name. It suits you, and it suits the Empire Eighty-Eight."

I shook my head in mild frustration. "No, what I mean is, why does it even have to be a German name? I'm not German. I don't speak the language. Who in the Empire Eighty-Eight even does?"

"I do," Krieg pointed out. "I am, in fact, German."

"Well, okay, yeah," I said, trying not to flush with embarrassment. "But everyone else here's American, right? I'm American. The Empire Eighty-Eight is an American organisation. Most of your names are in English. Crusader. Hookwolf. Cricket. Alabaster. Victor. Why do I have to give myself a German name?"

"Most of us here have German heritage," Mr Anders said. "We're paying homage to that."

"You're paying homage to a specific part of German history," I said, trying to sound respectful. "Nazi Germany, right? Eighty-Eight stands for H-H. Heil Hitler."

"Well, yes," Justin said. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Um, apart from the fact that Nazi Germany lasted just twelve years, until Hitler took poison and shot himself?" I spread my hands. "Guys. The Empire Eighty-Eight has already lasted longer than that. Why should we blindly follow a legacy that ended so badly? Why don't we make our own legacy? We're American. From what I've been told, the Empire's mainly about supporting our brothers and sisters, and making sure that the blacks and the Asians don't push us down. Why don't we keep doing that? Look forward instead of looking back?"

In the silence that fell over the table, I felt my face heating up. In future, talk something like this over with Peter in private before bringing it to the big table.

"Taylor …" Kaiser's voice was careful. "Do you no longer want to be in the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

"What? No!" I shook my head. "Of course I want to be one of you guys. All the shit I've been through over the last few months, the only people to take my side have been Empire Eighty-Eight. Peter was my only friend for the longest time, even when I kept rejecting him. And when I accepted your Friendship, your people stood by me, even when it meant getting into trouble themselves. You've been there for me, over and over. Some of you have even -" I stopped and swallowed a lump in my throat. "Even died for me. I can't, I can't -" I began to sniffle.

Wordlessly, Othala handed me a handkerchief. I wiped my eyes, then blew my nose. "Thanks. Uh, what I was saying, I can't just walk away from that. That'd make me an even worse bitch than the bitches were to me."

I drew a deep breath. "That black bitch Sophia Hess shoved me into a locker full of shit. Peter Ferguson pulled me out again. Jenna stood up for me, over and over again. George took on a dozen ABB for me, and nearly died. Bronson threw himself on a grenade for me, and did die. Victor and Othala helped save my dad's life. I owe you all a debt I can never repay. I'm committed to the Empire, to helping you guys, and everyone like you and me, against race traitors and niggers and chinks who want to push us down and make us less than they are."

I was vaguely aware of the hateful terms that I was saying. I didn't mean them, not really, but I knew that the capes around me would listen more closely if I said it the way they wanted to hear it. "And that's what I see the legacy of the Empire as being."

"Well spoken, Taylor. Well spoken, indeed." Kaiser didn't applaud – it would have sounded weird, with the metal gauntlets he was wearing – but the warmth in his voice worked just as well. "I suppose that's what we are all about, when you come down to it. Supporting each other, and making sure the lesser races don't push us down."

"Well, that's the way I understood it, anyway." I gave him an anxious look. "So it's okay if I pick a name that's not German?"

He chuckled indulgently. "You were very articulate on the subject, and made a few good points. I can hardly deny you your logic. Did you have one in mind?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "I think I do."

<><>​

PRT Building

"Well, what is it?" asked Vicky nervously.

The Director of PRT ENE looked directly at her. "You join the Wards."

<><>​

Medhall Building

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Victor said. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath. Well, here goes. "You can call me Remote."



End of Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

Click to shrink...

I wanted to say this earlier but I found it strange, the amount of interest Peter and the Empire showed in Taylor, almost like they knew/expected her to become someone important