But it couldn't hurt to take another quick look at all those yous floating there. You direct your mind once again, and find one version of you particularly intriguing...
...she looks just like you. Just like you. It's kind of creepy. As you approach her, you feel a slight humming. A resonance. Almost like a taut string is connecting you to her. You pull slightly on the string and immediately fall backwards.
Well, not literally backwards. There's nowhere to fall to, since you've been lying in your hospital bed the entire time. But now, when you cast your eyes around the room, you see her standing there at the end of your bed. Her. You. Well, a ghostly copy of you. Her eyes snap wide open at the sight of you and she starts looking around quickly, clearly as confused as you are.
"Who are you?" you ask.
You see her mouth moving, but no sound comes out. You get the vague impression of her echoing your question back at you.
Before your conversation can go any further, you both hear voices in the hallway, approaching rapidly. Your panic hasn't even begun to fully set in when the door to the hospital room opens and a doctor comes striding purposefully into the room, surrounded by a gaggle of medical students.
"The next patient is an excellent example of a trauma-initiated coma in which..."
His words die on his lips as he sees you awake. "Oh! Well, wonderful, Miss Hebert. You're awake! Have the nurses..."
Once again, he trails off, noticing the ghostly copy of you standing at the foot of the bed. She looks like she wants to run, to be anywhere other than here, but she's as frozen in panic as you are.
After the barest pause, the doctor continues in the same unflappable lecturing tone he'd adopted earlier: "Taylor, dear, are you in any danger right now? Is that ghost thing a danger to any of the hospital staff?"
It takes you a few moments to gather your thoughts. "Um, no? I don't think so?"
You look over to your apparition. She doesn't move, but she does make eye contact with you briefly and you clearly sense that she's thinking 'no, I'm not a danger to anyone here.'
You look back to the doctor, "No, she's definitely not a danger to anyone here."
The doctor seems appeased by your confident statement. He turns towards the door and calls a nurse over. The nurse, a very round and very wrinkled older woman, is even more collected upon seeing the ghost than the doctor was. What the hell? Are these people not shocked by anything?
"Nurse Markala, can you please give a call to the PRT non-emergency line and have them send over some folks to interview a new trigger?" The doctor didn't even ask you if you wanted to talk to the PRT, not that you object. You would've liked to talk to Dad first, though. "Now students, let's discuss a few salient points about how parahuman triggers relate to the standard of care in a hospital setting. Taylor, we'll be heading out into the hallway to chat while we wait for the PRT and your father to arrive."
"Wait!"
"Yes?"
"I'd like to hear what you have to say about parahumans to your students."
He pauses for a moment, shoots his eyes over to your apparition, and sees the determined looks on both of your faces. You see a tightness around his eyes as he nods and says, "very well. Certainly, you deserve to know this as much as they do."
The doctor begins by saying a bunch of medical jargon about lobes of the brain and so on. You can't quite focus on him, since the discussion is way over your head, plus you're starting to get a sort of static from your ghost. It's this vague auditory presence, although it's more mental than anything actually coming in through your ears. You sense these ghostly pinpricks... little points of light or miniature constellations surrounding you.
With an effort of will, you try to ignore this information and focus on what the doctor is saying.
"...yes, that's correct Miss Netive, although that typical saying of 'the worst day ever' is understating it rather considerably. In those rare cases where medical professionals are able to do bloodwork on a parahuman shortly after the inciting incident, patients typically show levels of cortisol, epinephrine, and other stress hormones that could be nearly fatal. Cases like Miss Hebert's here are not that uncommon. Trigger events are so overwhelmingly traumatic that you often find newly-triggered parahumans falling into a coma-like state for days or even weeks. Now who can tell me the diagnostic methodology used to determine whether a patient is in a true coma or a coma-like state, and which conditions are part of the differential..."
Some of the students kept glancing at you, and many more kept shooting looks at your ghost. The ghost herself had calmed down considerably, but was still radiating a deep discomfort. You tried to reach out to her again, 'What's wrong? I'm the one they're talking about like I'm not here.'
To your shock, she actually responds with an intelligible thought, 'I spent months planning out my secret identity. Now I don't know where I am or what's going on, and as soon as I arrived here we got outed as capes. I don't know how you're not freaking out more. It feels like the calm you're feeling is going into me somehow. That and I think the bugs are getting more agitated, so maybe my emotions are going into them?'
'Bugs?'
She proceeds to explain her power, and how she used to be exactly where you were. 'But I was only out of it for a week or so, and it sounds like you've been in a coma for a few weeks.'
'Did you trigger from the locker, too? Emma and Sophia?'
She gives you a slow nod.
'I think maybe I can sense them. Your bugs.'
'That's not surprising. I think maybe I must've died or something. Or gotten sent to a parallel dimension and now I'm psychically linked to you. In my world they always said that true psychics were impossible, but we seem to be chatting just fine. So if we are psychically linked, then I'd assume you can sense my bugs. Hold on, let's try something.'
The doctor has wrapped up his mostly unhelpful lecture on parahumans and trigger events. You did learn that you got off lucky, all things considered. You could've been mutated into a horrible monstrosity, or given what happened to you, you could've died in that locker. Supposedly hospitals had lots and lots of protocols around parahumans and new triggers. Given how much misery and death happens in and around hospitals, it was apparently a fairly common place to trigger. You're not sure what it said about society that the most common place was, by far, the home.
=
Dad beat the PRT to the hospital. He must've already been on his way, because he comes storming into the room not moments after the doctor and med students left.
"Taylor! Taylor are you..." he stops short seeing the apparition. You were definitely going to have to come up with a better name for her than that.
"Honey...?" he looks questioningly at you.
"It's okay Dad, I'm fine. She's fine. Well, I'm not sure if she's fine, but I'm fine. And I'm a cape now. Well she's a cape and she's connected to me. And I'm thirsty. And stiff."
Dad seems like he was unsure whether he should be amused by your babbling, relieved that you were awake, angry at what had happened to you, worried about the ghost, or what. He settles on taking three long strides to the bed and wrapping you in a huge hug.
You feel a sudden pulse of sadness and loss from the ghost. Disentangling yourself from Dad, you turn to her. For Dad's benefit, you say out loud while thinking, "Are you okay?"
Dad turns to look at the ghost. You both watch as she shakes her head slightly and turns away, partially covering her eyes with one hand. Without pausing to ask you if it's safe or okay, Dad moves to her and tries to put his hand on her shoulder. It moves through her as if she weren't there. She doesn't react, but when he takes another step forward into her peripheral vision, she turns back to the two of you.
"Taylor?"
You think Dad was addressing you, but in response the ghost nods.
"Honey is this a parahuman... illusion? Or whatever it's cal..."
Before he can finish the sentence, the ghost shakes her head 'no' and finished wiping away a tear.
He settles on: "What's going on?"
"Just a sec Dad, let me talk to her for a minute. Can you, maybe, sit down?"
He complies. You can see how agitated he is, but he's keeping a lid on the million different questions he must have.
'What should I call you? What should Dad call you?'
'I don't know. I hadn't come up with a hero name yet, and he can't call us both Taylor. Maybe Anne?' she asks, using your (her?) middle name. You nod and tell Dad. "She says to just call her by our middle name."
"Anne?" he questions.
The ghost pauses for a moment, seeming to make the mental adjustment involved in responding to that as her 'new' name. She nods to Dad. "So Anne... who are you?"
You and Anne confer for awhile, sharing details about life leading up to the locker. It seems that you were basically the exact same person - down to the tiniest detail you can think of, your lives were the same. Dad is starting to get even more antsy, so you turn to him and open your mouth. "She's basically me," you get out, just as PRT agents come walking into the room.
Followed by two spandex-clad heroes.
Omigosh. Assault and Battery. Before you can even formulate another thought, everyone's attention is caught by Anne. Assault barks out a short laugh, "Well, I guess that answers the first few questions we would normally be asking."
Dad seems less than amused at a hero laughing at his hospitalized daughter. He demands to know if you've somehow committed a crime by being victimized, if they think they can get away with taking advantage of you in your vulnerable condition, why the hell they didn't call him before coming up here to interrogate his daughter who is a minor, a veritable torrent of questions. Rather than attempt to answer, they simply wait until he's run out of steam.
Battery approaches cautiously, holding her hands out in a placating motion. "Mr. Hebert, Miss Hebert, we're just here to check up on the situation. We want to make sure you're okay, Taylor," she says, turning to face you, "and to let you know that the Protectorate and PRT are here for you. Most people think it's our job to fight crime, but our actual mission is to help parahumans integrate successfully in society after they've gained powers.
"I apologize if my hu... idiot partner here came across as insensitive. We knew very little about the situation before being called in, and it looks like the two of you," she shoots a glance at the ghost, "or the three of you have a lot to discuss before talking with us. I'll leave my card here. Please understand Taylor, helping you is literally my job. Don't hesitate to reach out."
Dad's somewhat mollified, but still seems angry enough to push the heroes and PRT agents to beat a hasty retreat. He slumps back down in his chair. Somehow his angry, protective rant made Anne even more melancholy.
"Dad! You just yelled at the heroes!"
"They had no business barging in here like that before we've even had a second to figure out what's going on with you."
"But still! Heroes!"
The past year and a half of brutal bullying and social isolation may have made you shut down on a lot of levels, but not so much that seeing Assault and Battery coming to visit you personally wouldn't get you completely stoked. You feel a spike of bitterness from Anne.
'What?'
'Yeah it's literally their job to help you now that I've showed up, but where the hell were they when we were getting bullied almost to death? I mean I wanted to be a hero, too, but I can't help but feel like we only matter now that there's powers in the mix. Like there could be a dozen girls like us at schools all across the city and they wouldn't give two shits about them.'
That stops you cold for a moment. 'I mean, I guess you're not wrong.'
"Dad, one sec I want to finish talking to Anne."
Anne describes how she got home from the hospital and slowly came to understand her powers sensing and controlling bugs. She then tells you the most depressing thing you've ever heard - the bullies never got punished, and they didn't even stop. Nothing so bad as the locker, of course, but Anne's last memory is of going out on her first patrol after a particularly bad week of bullying one week in April. They doused her with soda in the bathroom, ruining her clothes, books, and art project. She had finished making a costume out of spider silk and decided to stop planning and just go out that weekend. Some time while out patrolling that night, she must've passed out or been killed or something, because her memories get fuzzy. Then she 'woke up' here.
You explain to Dad that she's a version of you who's sort of from the future but that you're obviously not totally sure what's going on. He asks more questions and you deflect, saying you'd rather talk about everything once you're out of the hospital.
=
Over the next two days you have to give a statement to the police about the event, and are subjected to a number of different medical tests before being released. During your downtime, you practice with Anne and learn that she can get about a block away before you both get extremely uncomfortable and she feels compelled to turn back. She brings a few bugs into the room and when actually looking directly at them you almost begin to feel like you can control them. It feels weirdly distant, though - like trying to tie your shoes with numb hands or something.
=
You're finally set to be released from the hospital. Although you basically feel back up to speed, they insist on wheeling you out. Anne asks if she can get a wheelchair too. You snort in amusement, but since she would just fall right through the chair, you don't ask for one.
The moment your chair rolls out of the doors, you feel a sudden jolt of energy and a warmth suffuses your body. The little numbers in the corner of your vision, which had just said 1/100 for the past two days, suddenly ticked upwards rapidly and stopped at 26/100. What the hell? Just another mystery now that you're a parahuman...
=
Arriving home, you listen in as Dad plays the answering machine messages. There are many from local news stations - apparently news about the locker incident got some attention from the local papers and news stations. There are messages from both the PRT and the Protectorate asking to speak with you in more detail. Finally, and most shockingly, a voicemail from Sarah Pelham, Lady Photon from New Wave.
It seems that over the past few days news about you being a parahuman has spread rapidly. Wasn't the PRT supposed to stop stuff like that?!? Since you're already outed, New Wave was offering to talk and even consider letting you apply to join the team. Holy crap!
It's all pretty overwhelming, and when you tell Dad you just want to turn in early and sleep on it, he's more than understanding.
=
The next morning, as you awake, you once again find yourself in that other space filled with you's. Instead of Anne standing right in front of you, you see a black silhouette where she used to be. Now, she's standing to your side inside a blue circle. There are a dozen or more similar circles off to the side, although they all seem to be grayed out other than the one Anne is standing in.
Looking over the rows of other Taylors in front of you, you see two of them look like they have a small spotlight over them. Another few are lit up very lightly, and the others are all in shadow. If you approach them, you can see them reasonably well, but only the two others with the spotlights create that feeling of resonance you had when you approached Anne.
Out of curiosity, you approach the sickly-looking version of yourself and pull on that connection. Suddenly Anne disappears from the blue circle and is replaced by the sickly girl. Anne has reappeared in the rows of all the other Taylors you can see. In a sudden panic, you quickly move to Anne and "activate" her again. Phew. Okay so while you're in this weird headspace, it looks like you can choose a copy of yourself to stand over in that blue ring on the side.
Time to make some decisions...
You choose to keep Anne in what you've started thinking of as the "active circle." Although you're dying to know what powers the other two Taylors have, the bug control is such a complicated and interesting power, you feel like it's going to take weeks or more to really get a handle on it. Even now, you feel like you've got a better sense of bugs than you had just yesterday. Or there's way more bugs in the house, or something.
You hear Dad banging around downstairs. Sounds like he took the day off work. Heading down, you see him flailing around in the kitchen. A moment's observation and you suspect that he's maybe, possibly trying to make pancakes, although so far he seems to've gotten more ingredients spattered on the counter than actually combined into something approximating actual food.
"Mornin' Dad."
"Hey squirt. I'm making your favorite!"
"Bisquick-crusted countertop?"
"Oh, ha ha. You think you can do better?"
"I know I can do better."
"Well then. Your old man stands relieved of duty. My watch has ended," he adds, handing you the spatula with a flourish.
As ever, Anne responds to the interactions between you and Dad with a complex mix of longing, sadness, and embarrassment. This time, though, you get a definite vibe of amusement from her. Progress!
You briskly begin fixing the mess he's made of things. "So I've been talking more with Anne and what I think is that my power is actually really complicated. Like how I interact with her and how she interacts with her bug swarm and how I interact with her bug…"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did you just say 'bug swarm'?"
You explain how Anne's power works. Dad seems pretty nonplussed. When you describe Anne as a cross between a walking Biblical plague and the most lucrative weaver in all of human history he goes from nonplussed to downright bemused. You wrap up your little spiel with, "…and I think there might even be other versions of me that I can summon from… somewhere. Anyway my power seems really really complicated and I'm thinking the best thing for me is to just… um… do homeschooling?"
You turn to him and try putting on puppy dog eyes for the first time in three years: "Please? Daddy? I just can't, I just can't go back to Winslow. Please don't make me go back there."
He initially seems shocked and sad but after you repeat the "just can't" part he gets a wry smile on his face. "Don't try to kid a kidder, kiddo. You're over-selling it. And I agree and was actually going to suggest the same thing."
=
The eggs and pancakes turn out well and the meal otherwise passes quickly in near-silence as you both devote yourself to a little food-therapy. Dad mentions in passing that he yelled at the two local journalists who were staking out the house and pulled some strings with cops he knows to enlist their help keeping the press away. It seems to be just another depressing fact of life in Brockton Bay that an assault as disgusting as the locker is only interesting for a day or two and even when that leads to a new parahuman trigger, just laying low for a bit encourages the vultures to move on to the next gruesome story.
Near the end of the meal you venture: "Oh and I especially don't want to go back to any school now that I've been outed as a cape. I didn't want to say anything right away but I've thought about it and slept on it, and I gotta say I'm actually really pissed. Assault and Battery were right there. And they had some PRT guys with them. They could've had the doctor and nurse and those students all sign papers and covered up my identity.
"Instead they just dropped a business card and left. Like what the hell was that? Now I bet there's all this blabber online about how 'The Locker Girl' got powers and stuff. I'm so angry at them. They won't take me seriously, though. Can you call them and yell at them for me?"
As you start talking, Dad looks like he's getting angrier and angrier. By the end, with your plaintive request for him to yell at the PRT, his face is absolutely thunderous. Well, you had no intention of joining up with them anyway, and he's sure to be overtly hostile to them. Maybe you can use their screw-up as leverage later.
=
You let Dad know that you and Anne are going for a walk down to the Boardwalk and back to gather up some useful bugs. It's a sign of how angry he is that he forgets to mention pepper spray or staying safe or anything. He just looks to Anne, mutters something about keeping an eye out, and heads towards the wall-mounted landline phone.
==
You and Anne take a slow, easy walk. She mentions in passing that while you were asleep last night, she was awake and able to be completely active.
That's new. And unbelievably helpful. Anne says that with just the black widows she was able to pull from a few blocks around, she's already got a bunch of breeding colonies set up in the basement.
'One thing I learned quickly before was that widows are really territorial and can even get cannibalistic. So while we're out of the house I have to give them a strong command to enter like a hibernation state…"
'Wait, there's black widows in the house right now?! With Dad?! We have to go back!' you're all but mentally shouting at her.
She smiles, 'Trust me, Taylor. I made it work before. It's totally safe.'
You don't feel very mollified, 'Well, how many have you got in the basement?'
'Only 251 when we left.'
'OVER TWO HUNDRED!!' so that's what all those bugs were you vaguely sensed when you woke up.
'Yeah when I was actively working on my costume the first time, I had over 3,000 all working at once.'
You can't help but shudder at the mental image of your entire basement literally crawling in spiders. Anne, that traitorous bitch, laughs at you.
As you get closer to the Boardwalk, you and Anne start getting more and more attention from people on the street. Anne suggests that she's got enough bugs now to lay the foundations needed to make good progress on the costume. She's keeping everything well out of sight, thankfully. You decide to turn back.
'It took me almost two months to get my costume done the first time around, but given what I learned doing that, and the fact that I don't have to sleep or go to school anymore, I'm betting we can get your costume done in a fraction of that time. A week? Maybe two?'
==
'Taylor, there are two cop cars in front of the house,' Anne warns you. 'Your dad is in there, talking with a couple of guys. Doesn't feel like an emergency.'
You're impressed. You and Anne are still about four blocks from home and she's already sensing who's in the house and sort of what's going on. You can't wait to develop that level of perception and control over the swarm yourself.
=
Turns out it's the detective from the hospital a couple of days back along with a guy who must be his partner.
"Mostly we just want to confirm the facts we've gotten from you, and give you an update on how things are going," the detective offers. "Can you just tell me again, who was it that actually pushed you into the locker?"
"Like I said before, Sophia shoved me in while Emma and Madison were watching."
"And you saw Sophia do this?"
"Yes," you lie.
He looks vaguely uncomfortable. "Okay, well Mr. Hebert, Taylor, I'm afraid that another agency has assumed jurisdiction over Miss Hess, so there's nothing we can do there. As for the other two girls…"
You and Dad speak over each other: "Wait, about Emma…" "What do you mean another agency?"
The detective replies to Dad first: "I'm sorry Mr. Hebert I'm really not at liberty to say. Even telling you that much is push the boundaries we at the BBPD operate under in cases like this." He emphasizes the words weirdly. A quick glance at Dad and Anne shows that he suspects something, but that Anne is as confused as you are.
"And Miss Hebert, you were going to say something about Miss…" he looks down at his notepad, "Barnes?"
"Yeah. What Emma did was disgusting and awful beyond words, but… she was my best friend since I was like five years old. I have to believe she can still… I dunno. See the light or something," you pause at the lame choice of words. "I guess what I'm saying is, I'm not looking for her to go to jail or whatever."
You come very strongly to a decision, and feel the rightness of the words as a sense of your future heroism fills you: "Really what I'm saying is I don't want to press charges."
The detective gives you a condescending smile and you deflate almost immediately. "Miss Hebert, I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. You don't press charges, the State of New Jersey is the one pressing charges in a criminal matter. You can certainly decide to sue or not sue for money in civil court, but this is a criminal matter. You're the victim, not the prosecutor.
"I will say, though, that what you just said there was one of the most noble, selfless things I think I've ever seen in my twenty-three years on the force. After what was done to you – well, if it was my little niece in your shoes, several somebodies would've already found themselves waking up at the bottom of the Bay."
What the FUCK?! Did he just suggest he'd murder people in revenge?
Brockton Bay, ladies and gentlemen. Even the cops are murders.
Anne seems much less bothered than you, but those additional three months of bullying after the locker changed her. While you can certainly understand where her head is at, you're so grateful that you didn't have to put up with that yourself.
Even worse, when take a quick glance over at Dad, the look on his face suggests he almost agrees with the guy. God.
"But I'll pass your sentiments on to the prosecutor once we bring them the results of the investigation. Any thoughts on the other one?"
Funny that the cop can't even remember Madison's name. Guess she really is a bit player in all of this.
He smiles, "Okay I think I get the picture."
"Oh crap did I just say that out loud?"
You drop your face into your hands. First day home and out of Winslow forever and you're already embarrassing the hell out of yourself. Lovely.
=
After the cop leaves you do one of the most nerve-wracking things you've ever done in your life: call the home phone number of Lady Photon. You pace back and forth, twirling the cord around your finger as the phone rings. You get more and more nervous with each chime. After the sixth or seventh ring, your heart is fluttering almost uncontrollably in your...
...oh.
Voicemail.
Quick, sound professional! "Um hi, Photon Mom… oh shoot I mean Lady Photon. This is Taylor Hebert. I'm returning your call from earlier. I would very much like to talk with you or New Wave or… yeah. So anyway, I can do basically any time when my Dad is home from work, so like on an evening or any weekend day or whatever, just tell me what day and what time and…" BEEP. The machine cuts you off.
Great.
==
You and Anne go for another short bug-gathering walk, staying within Anne's range of the house so she can continue organizing the spiders while adding more to the swarm. At one point the counter suddenly ticks up from 26/100 to 41/100.
'Whoa. Anne, did you just do something? What just happened right that second?'
'Nothing? I don't know. I'm still just gathering widows.'
'How many do you have in the swarm right now?'
'One thousand and seven.'
'Ah, so you just hit exactly 1,000 black widows just a second ago?'
'Yeah, why?'
'I just got 15 more points on that little thing that's counting up to one hundred.'
You fall back into an easy silence and wrap up your patrol. Upon your return, you find that Dad has gone out to run some errands, and someone has left a large brown paper wrapped package on the front stoop. Huh. The top of the package is simply labeled "Taylor Hebert." No address. No return address. No stamps or postmark. Ominous.
You bring the package in, set it on the coffee table and pause for a moment before just going ahead and opening it. Inside you find a tube of pepper spray, what looks like a stun gun, a cell phone, and some papers… what the hell? There's a map of the city that's been color-coded and labeled with E88, ABB, and Coil's Mercenaries territories, along with notes about where the Undersiders are often seen, Faultline's club, and other bits of parahuman-related information.
As you shake open the map, a piece of paper falls out. It's about half the size of a normal sheet of paper. It looks and feels like some sort of heavy parchment-style paper. The note is handwritten with flawless penmanship.
"Miss Hebert,
We would like to welcome you to the world of Brockton Bay's parahumans. Enclosed in this care package are a number of items you may find useful, along with some basic information about the society you've just joined.
As you have seen firsthand, the authorities lack the will or even the basic competence to protect you. In the near future, you may find yourself looking for the guidance, security, and other benefits that can only be provided by a group of individuals like yourself.
Much like your father does every day with his union work, we seek only the best for the good, hardworking people of Brockton Bay. Should you wish to talk in more detail about coming to an arrangement or joining our group, simply leave a voice or text message on the number stored in the phone.
Warmest Regards,
Your friends in the Empire Eighty-Eight"
51/100.
A chill ran over you. 'Anne, what if that counter is like counting up towards my death or something? I just got an invite to join the Nazis and it ticked up by ten points.'
'Well, then, I guess I'd better work overtime on your costume.'
====
The next few days pass in a blur, with you having to work double-time to get caught up on homework related to your homeschooling – no shock that Winslow was hilariously behind the New Jersey state minimums for a high school sophomore. Anne is working triple-time on the costume, balancing breeding new spiders with having them work to spin and weave the silk. You feel an odd mix of boredom and stress coming from her near-constantly.
'Really, don't worry about it. I'm already dead, I think, and you're my only link to life in this weird parallel dimension. So protecting you is my primary job now. It's just that the work is easy so it's boring but it's stressful to focus on it 24/7 and worry about more villains coming after you.'
As the hours pass, you find yourself talking less and less with Anne. Since you're basically the same person, it's started to feel more and more like just talking to yourself, which is kinda weird.
==
In the middle of a particularly thorny geometry problem, you hear the doorbell ring. Anne comes running up the basement stairs, phasing right through the door (which is another mystery you've not yet solved – she can't float around like a normal ghost and can't just magically go through floors or ceilings, but can seem to pass through walls, doors, and other obstacles without issue).
'God, sorry sorry I was so wrapped up on the costume work that I wasn't paying attention to watching the house!'
'That's okay,' you start moving towards the kitchen at the back of the house, away from the front door. 'Who's out there?'
'It feels like a girl – long hair, slim build. Either a teenager or maybe a younger adult. I don't see anyone else out of place. If she's armed I can't find it.'
The doorbell rings again. You laugh to yourself. Someone selling girl scout cookies or something and you're ready to go running across your back yard. You open the door to see a blonde girl, probably about your age. She's dressed much like you are – loose jeans and a grey hoodie, and wearing glasses with almost the exact same black frames as yours.
"Hi!" she chirps.
"Um… hello? Can I help you?"
"Yup! My name's Lisa. I'm sort of a representative from a group that wanted to chat with you."
You feel your stomach flop. "Oh. Are you the ones that sent the… uh… care package?"
She pauses for the barest fraction. "No, no, no, absolutely not. We're not like them."
You feel a wave of relief.
She continues: "Anyway, can we chat for a few minutes? Maybe inside? I have to apologize," she lets out a little forced, awkward laugh, "but I didn't bring a care package."
Her entire demeanor suggests that she kind of feels as awkward as you do about this, which puts you at ease. "Sure, c'mon in."
You remember to offer her tea or coffee after you both sit in the living room. She declines and continues, "Thanks, but I'd just like to explain the message I'm supposed to deliver and then I've got to head out.
"So I'm assuming the care package was from the Empire 88?"
"What makes you say that?" you ask, again feeling wary.
Anne chooses that moment to emerge from the kitchen. The girl stares right at her, eyes going wide. Her mouth opens slightly and stares long enough to make things really uncomfortable.
"Oh, god. God, I'm so sorry. It's just… well I've seen a lot of weird crap since I started working for the Undersiders, but I've never seen a ghost before," she explains, her eyes darting back and forth between you and Anne.
Crap. The Undersiders. The explanation included in the Empire's care package described them as cowards and thieves. You didn't take their word for it, of course, but the internet confirmed that they were a really low-profile villain group. You're torn – on the one hand, you have no intention of joining a villain group. You're going to be a hero, dammit. But at the same time, you can't afford to piss anyone off right now. You decide, for the moment, to just hear what their awkward teenage envoy has to say.
"She's not a ghost. Her name is Anne."
"You named your projection? Does it have its own personality?"
Her eyes go wide once again at the expression on Anne's face. "Jesus, sorry, god. Anne, yes of course. You're your own person. I'm so sorry. It's just normally, parahumans who have some sort of other… entity… outside themselves it's just a mindless puppet. It's called a projection and…" she trails off.
"Just think of her as my mute twin sister, okay?"
Lisa nods tentatively. "Sorry I'm totally screwing this up."
And now you're back to feeling at ease and kind of amused instead of wary talking to a representative sent by a villain group. They must all be really bad at talking to people if they're using a girl who's just as awkward as you are as their messenger.
"So you said you're a representative for the Undersiders?"
"Yeah!" she suddenly perks up as she gets back on message. "They're a villain group, as I'm sure you've been told, but they're not a gang. Well, not a gang like the Nazi's or the ABB. They do things like heists from other gangs, or corporate espionage and stuff. They don't fight, they've never killed anyone, and whenever the white hats or other villain groups show up, they leave. Better to avoid fighting than risk getting hurt or civilians getting hurt as collateral damage.
"They've villains, of course. After all, just taking stuff, even from other gangs, isn't exactly legal, but they're almost more like Faultline's mercenary group. They don't extort business or run guns like E88 and they certainty don't run rings of sex slaves like the ABB or deal life-destroying drugs like the Merchants."
"Sex slaves?!"
"Yeah, seriously. I said the same thing when I found out. They use words like 'human trafficking' but what would you call it when someone is kidnapped and forced to work as a prostitute without actually getting any money or being allowed to leave? Sounds like slavery to me."
"How can that even happen here?!" You're completely incredulous.
"Wanna hear the worst part? The good guys know about it. Cops, Protectorate, PRT. They all know the ABB does that crap but they're too scared of upsetting the status quo to use the firepower it would take to bring down Lung."
Your opinion of the Protectorate was already at rock bottom, but now it was tunneling down towards Earth's molten, chewy center.
"Sorry, we're getting off topic. Anyway what I wanted to tell you was that the Undersiders are always looking for members who share their outlook. And based on your reaction to the evil crap that the Protectorate puts up with, I'm betting you'd fit in well there.
"Buuut, I can already see from the look on your face that you're not interested in joining a villain group. So I guess the other message I had was they wanted to extend a sort of olive branch. A non-aggression arrangement based on whatever you end up doing. They won't fight you if you go the hero route, and if they encounter you or… Anne… they'll just leave, as long as you're also hands-off with them."
66/100.
Fuck.
You thank Lisa for the visit and offering you the message. "I'll have to think about it. Do you have a way to get in touch?"
She smiles and hands you a phone. "Let me guess, there's exactly one number loaded in it already and…"
"Just text it," she interrupts. "Who even leaves voicemails anymore?"
You can't help but smile. Guess the Undersiders are a little less old-fashioned than the E88.
==
The next day is your visit with New Wave. Anne's got your mask and the top half of your costume finished. You get a pair of ski goggles at her direction and glue in the lenses from your previous pair of glasses.
Dad drives you to the address, which you find is actually an office building. Huh. You were expecting their house – isn't New Wave basically a family team? Dad walks you up to the suite number you were given and offers to wait in the car.
"Um, okay, thanks Dad. I'm not sure if this is supposed to be a 'cape only' thing or not. I'll have Anne come down and get you if they ask."
Dad heads off. You and Anne give each other a long look. With a deep breath, you push the door open and find yourself in… an office. Well, the waiting area for an office, anyway. It's really small, with a plan wooden desk sporting little more than a landline phone and an ancient CRT monitor. Huh. There's a short hallway with only four doors, one of which is open.
'Not enough bugs to really map the place out in advance, sorry,' Anne tells you.
"Hello?" you try.
"Ah, that must be Taylor," you hear a voice say. A woman in a plain grey slacks and white blouse comes bustling out of the office door. She stops dead when she sees your yellow lenses and grey bodysuit (well, top half of a bodysuit, anyway). The tension in her posture relaxes immediately when she sees Anne, however. The weirdness just keeps piling up – she's the first person to seem more at ease when seeing Anne.
"Miss Hebert?" she asks.
"Yeah, and this is Anne," you gesture to her. "Sorry I wasn't sure if I was supposed to come in costume or what, Mrs. Pelham." New Wave are all local celebrities with a little bit of national profile, so of course you recognize her right away.
"It's certainly fine, I just wasn't expecting you in costume. That and the color scheme is a little… uninviting."
"Oh yeah sorry," you walk forward to shake her offered hand. "I haven't dyed it yet. In fact, I just finished making this top piece last night."
At a mental 'harrumph' you amend that to, "or rather Anne just finished it last night."
She escorts you into the office, where you see a cute teenage boy with blue hair leaning back in a chair. As Anne steps into view, he startles, suddenly leaning back to far. He pinwheels his arms slightly and starts falling.
And then promptly starts floating before hitting the ground. Convenient.
"This is Eric. Eric, Taylor and Anne."
"Hey, hi Taylor," he shakes your hand. "And Anne."
As he holds his hand out, she shrugs and holds her fist out for a bump. He does a mostly good job of covering his reaction as his fist goes right through hers.
Over the next half hour, you all discuss the cape scene in Brockton and what it's like to operate as a cape without a secret identity. You catch Anne constantly sneaking looks at Shielder. He's well built and easy on the eyes, to be sure, but to avoid blushing constantly you keep your focus on Lady Photon.
They mention the possibility of doing an affiliation with them, or eventually joining up, and Lady Photon is very interested in the sample of spider silk cloth you brought.
"Many of us have shields, but certainly something to protect Amy would be a good idea, and although her weapons are powerful, my sister herself isn't especially durable. Taylor, Anne," she nods, "I think it's safe to say that we'd be very interested in being some of your first customers.
"You can see from our office, however, that donations and small PRT payouts don't exactly have us rolling in dough. If what you're describing is true, you can probably sell custom-made costumes for many tens of thousands of dollars each…"
You miss the rest of what she's saying as your heart practically stops in your chest. Holy shit. Tens of thousands of dollars for one costume?!
She trails off and smiles. "Not used to making that much money, I take it? Not many fifteen year olds would be.
"As I was saying, if you were looking to offer a hero discount, we'd be very interested in outfitting the whole team in light, breathable and bulletproof costumes like that."
She takes your description of the oddity of your power in stride. You guess that when you've been doing things as long as she has, you learn to just roll with all sorts of weirdness. She discusses possibly doing a joint patrol or other appearance, and urges you to go to the PRT to register as an independent hero, even if she agrees that joining the government itself isn't the best choice.
You end the meeting cordially, saying you'll be in touch after you've talked things over with Dad.
==
Dad seems kind of overwhelmed by everything that's happened for the past two days. "Well, kiddo, normally I'd say we should be down at the PRT building right now, getting you signed up with them. This all seems so dangerous, and now the gangs know where we live, and I just don't know. I don't know how to keep you safe in all this insanity." His voice cracks slightly.
"But I think I might've burned some bridges there," he says ruefully.
"Oh no. Dad. What did you do?"
"I might've made my opinion known in a very forceful way. Loud. Loud and forceful. And told them they could expect to hear from my lawyer."
"We have a lawyer?"
"No, but they don't know that. It seems to me that we need to talk with the New Wave folks some more. You need backup to stay safe, Taylor, especially now that everyone knows who you…"
Your Dad is cut off by Anne bursting into the room.
'Someone's coming. It almost feels like a tank or something and four other vehicles. They're only a…'
Anne gets cut off when you hear an enormous BOOM from down the street. The windows shudder and you're almost knocked over.
'Quick, tell Dad to head out the back, I'm handling them.'
"Dad, Anne says it's someone in a frigging tank. She'll handle them but we need to head out the back."
'Just head a few houses over and hunker down in the bushes. They'll never find you and I can't be…'
Once again Anne is interrupted as a huge explosion detonates at the front of the house. You and Dad are knocked to the ground. The wind and debris pass straight through Anne. A glance to your left shows a giant hole in the front wall of your house, and a crater where your little slip of a front yard used to be.
'GO!!!'
You hear the beginnings of screams coming from the street and a darkening cloud. You can feel more insects than ever before.
Your breath catches in your throat at the beauty of it. Anne's mind is… amazing. She's controlling thousands… tens of thousands… a hundred thousand, in a symphony of bloodless rage. A ballet of chitin and stingers and biting and death as the swarms descend, blocking eyes and ears and shoving themselves down open, screaming throats. The seething ocean of data washes over your mind. It overwhelms you. You can feel the outline of 14 different people, cars and something that looks for all the world like a goddamn tank.
You can barely take it all in, and Anne isn't even breaking a sweat. You see through her eyes, watching as she strides noiselessly out the hole in the front of the house.
CRACK! CRACK! BOOM! Gunshots fire wildly and the tank's main cannon fires straight at Anne, but she ghosts forward.
Inexorable.
You regain your sense slightly and find that Dad is dragging you across your neighbor's back yard.
"Wait, Dad, STOP!!" you hiss as forcefully as you can. "Anne can't get too far from me and she needs to be able to move around up there." You struggle to your feet and point limply towards the neighbors' shed.
The symphony takes you once again. Pulses and pulses of light. An entire solar system of tiny nervous systems, a galaxy of chaos upon hundreds of thousands of sets of wings, a universe of absolute control with Anne at its center. You can barely see a whirlwind off to one side. It must be a parahuman, since it's got the force of a tornado but is not much more than ten feet across. The insects are swept away, a vortex of blackness in an otherwise omniscient view of the street out front. A single pinprick of awareness manages to get in through the top of the tunnel.
A wasp.
It finds its way into an ear. A jolt and the whirlwind falters, slows. It doesn't stop entirely, but the swarm needs no more invitation than that. Thousands and thousands of pinpoint, perfectly controlled bundles of mindless fury engulf her form, and she drops.
You feel a rush of warmth and your numbers rapidly scroll upwards, shooting past 100. As they move past 100, you feel an electric tingle over your body. The 100 ticks upwards to 300. A moment later, the numbers settle at 250/300.
While your attention may have wandered for a moment, Anne's didn't. The tank, shoddy monstrosity that it is, may as well be a convertible for all the protection it affords from the swarm. Cracks and crevices aplenty provide the room needed to penetrate its bulk.
The flat crack-pop of gunfire rapidly comes to a close until all you hear are screams and sobs and choking. The furious victory emanating from Anne fades and you get a spike of panic from her.
'Anne?' you ask, your heart hammering.
'Taylor, I think I may have accidentally killed some of them.'
Oh shit.
'Stay where you are, I hear sirens. I'll let you know once the cops get here.
What do you want me to do with the parahumans? I can feel a man and a woman inside the tank and I'm sure the guy is Skidmark since I felt his weird forcefield thing. The driver has to be the tinker that built it, and the whirlwind lady is on the ground coughing and gasping for breath. It'd very easy to sting them on the head until they can't breathe, or I can try and clear the bugs out so they don't die.'
Oh.
Shit.
=====
Choices!
How do you wrap up combat with the Merchants?Spoiler
What do you do with the surge of energy you felt as you "leveled up"?Spoiler
How do you react to the various recruitment offers available?