Chapter Text
You spend a few days at the hospital, getting your blood tested and recovering from infection. It's not exactly interesting, aside from the constant pain and nausea, but it's better than dying from infection. A couple of people drop by to get your statement, some police and legal-looking types; one of them has the same sort of weird phone Sophia had, for some reason. You're not sure what that's all about...
When you finally get out of the hospital, you're pretty lethargic. Turns out healing up from a near-murder attempt involving biohazardous waste is a whole process. Who'dathunkit. Not you, you've never needed to think about it before, but now...
You're distracted enough by those thoughts (and the vague need to build a jetpack that's making your fingers twitch) that you don't immediately notice Dad isn't driving you straight home. It isn't until you notice one of the better buildings in Brockton Bay that you realize you're in an uptown district, for some reason.
"Uh... Dad?" You look over to him. "Where are we headed?"
"You know how you suggested we talk to Carol Dallon?"
You raise your eyebrows in shock. "Yeah, I remember that. Does that mean--?"
"This whole situation has opened up a can of worms bigger than anything she's ever seen before," Dad explains. "The schoolboard's angry at Blackwell for letting things get this bad. The city's discovered that Winslow hasn't been using its budget to provide basic safety for its students. There've been rumblings that the E88 and the ABB are disappointed that 'their kids' could have been so blatantly abused without anybody noticing." He scoffs. "Hell, the PRT's getting involved--a lot of the accused are trying to claim somebody mind-controlled them in order to get their charges dropped, so they're having to go over the student body and staff with a fine comb."
"...Wow." You sag in your seat. "I didn't think--mind control? Really?"
"A lot of that's probably garbage, but you know people. They'll say anything to stay out of trouble."
"...It would explain a lot about Emma," you reluctantly admit. "The way she just... flipped like that. If Sophia's a mind-controlling cape--"
Dad sighs. "We'll... cross that bridge when we get there. The point is, the beehive has been well and truly kicked, so miss Dallon was quite willing to take our case. But she wants to meet with you before she promises anything."
Right, yeah, that makes sense. Meet the client and make sure they're... uh... something.
Soon enough, you're pulling into a parking lot in front of an office building. You fidget a bit as you head in--you're wearing clean clothes, thankfully, and they even look kinda decent, but you were still in the hospital just a few hours ago and you're not really sure if you look good enough for a cape lawyer and--
Breathe.
This is the day everything changes.
You've got this.
You follow Dad into the office, and see the stern-looking woman who will help you into the future. "It's an honor to meet you ma'am," you say, resolving to make a lasting impression on the woman. "I hope to have a good working relationship going forward."
"Hm." Carol Dallon looks you over, but takes your outstretched hand and shakes it anyway. "You certainly seem more put-together than you should be, after what happened to you."
You take a steadying breath, deciding to make sure you explain exactly why you came to her. "Miss Dallon, I had a lot of time to think about what happened while I was in the hospital," you begin. "A lot of time to process the anger and the betrayal and... everything. I'm not... fully over it yet, but I've come to a decision: what matters is not some personal sense of satisfaction or vengeance. What matters is justice--seeing that the people who are punished are punished for crimes they actually committed, and that the result makes things better for everyone going forward."
The lawyer raises an eyebrow. "Really?"
"That's why I suggested we come to you in particular," you explain. "After all, being a hero means making the world a better place. And while plenty of heroes fight criminals in this town, you... do more." You gesture around the office. "You actually make sure the law helps people, after all. And you've raised two famous daughters--Glory Girl is an outspoken advocate for fair treatment and I believe she'll grow into a wonderful member of society. And Panacea... well, if being a hero means saving lives, then she's the most heroic person in the city--maybe even the country, really."
Miss Dallon has an odd expression on her face--somewhat leery, for some reason.
Crap, you're overselling it! "Sorry, I--my point is... you're heroic, and you inspire heroism, and... and I guess I just wanted to see justice done strongly enough to go to the best."
"I... see," she finally says. "Well, I suppose I can--"
You take a sharp breath as your inner space expands again, sending a wave of pleasure rolling through you--but you manage, barely, to keep your reaction to just a squeak as you curl in on yourself.
"Taylor!" Dad grabs ahold of you quickly. "What--?"
"Just--just a little pang," you quickly say. "After everything that happened... I'm pretty sure it's psychosomatic--"
"I can have Amy look over you," Miss Dallon offers. "It wouldn't take too long for her to come over here and--"
"I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't want to take up her valuable time. I'm already out of the hospital."
"Taylor," Dad says gently, "I think you should let Panacea check you over, just to be sure."
"...I guess we can add that to our lawyer's bill. Uh, speaking of." You turn back to miss Dallon, careful to ignore the cards in your head for now. "What do you think we should do?"
The lawyer gives you a look, but eventually gestures to the chairs and takes a seat behind her desk. "You have one of the most open-and-shut cases I have ever seen," she begins as she pulls out some files. "Everyone did the exact opposite of what they were supposed to do multiple times over. The teachers were supposed to report the bullying, and instead they subtly encouraged it. The principal should have taken your allegations seriously, and instead she simply filed them away. And that's just what they did to you personally, investigators have discovered so much corruption and embezzlement that I can count the staff that aren't definitely going to prison on one hand." She sighs. "The major issue at the moment is the claims of Mastering."
"Mastering?"
"Mind control," Miss Dallon explains. "Capes that mind control people or control minions with their powers are called Masters. And, unfortunately, there is legal precedent for people who were Mastered to be considered not guilty of any crimes they committed while Mastered. Which means the worst possible thing we could do is get it wrong. Either there is a Master involved, and saying there isn't would get a lot of innocent people punished while the actual villain gets away, or there isn't a Master involved, and saying that there is would let off all the perpetrators of this fiasco basically scot-free." She sighs, gesturing at one of the files. "Unfortunately, that's the PRT's job to figure out, and outside my purview. We can't exactly progress until they find out either way."
You bite your lip. "Would... would a Master be able to turn somebody against their best friend?"
Miss Dallon quirks an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
"Emma Barnes... we grew up together. We were practically sisters in all but blood. But a couple of years ago, I went to a week-long summer camp, and when I came back she--she decided we weren't friends anymore. She started calling me names, dredging up personal secrets... she became every Mean Girl stereotype turned up to eleven." You take a steadying breath as you resolve yourself. "I want to know why she did that. I want to know if she was Mastered, inducted into a cult, just plain broke... whatever the reason, I want to understand what happened. Even if it's just something stupid."
"Hm." Miss Dallon frowns. "Did she make any new 'friends' while you were away at camp?"
"Sophia Hess. Yes. The one who physically assaulted me the most and--and the one Madison said threatened her into doing things?" You frown. "I don't know if that was true or just her throwing the others under the bus, but--"
"It's an angle to look into, yes. I'll... pass your concerns on to the PRT. If this Hess is a Master, they'll definitely want to know." Miss Dallon clears her throat. "Nevertheless, it's probably best for us to create two plans of action, and decide on one after the PRT makes their announcement..."
The following conversation is mostly legalese, but from what you can gather you might get a better deal if Hess isn't a Master. If she is, the school gets a lot of 'sorry you were Mastered' money and rebuilds while most of the staff are cycled out to get post-Mastering therapy or something, and the students are all processed to other schools in the city. Which makes things overall better, but you'd get basically just enough to pay the hospital bills and Miss Dallon, and you'd likely run into old classmates at whatever school you got shifted into. If Sophia isn't a Master... well, you'd still likely run into old classmates at a new school, but you'd get a lot of personal attention from that school to keep you safe and also a lot more money, and a lot of people would go straight to prison while Winslow was just shut down.
While Miss Dallon and your Dad are talking, you grab your twitching hands. God you want to build something. Something really cool. You can build a basic jetpack or hoverboard easy, but--well, if Gestalt is going to make an impression, it should be with something unique. Something with flair. Yeah... you resolve to build a personalized flight device that is more than just the basic package. And while you're thinking about it, you mentally examine your cards; the first is another silver one, which seems to be a scientist focused on endurance, and the second feels like a megalomaniacal octopus, of all things. The third card is, again, the lightning spear. It's definitely stalking you. You don't know if you like that.
You're about to pick one of the cards when Miss Dallon catches your attention. "Taylor, I'd like to talk with you alone for a moment."
"What?"
"It's a legal thing," she explains. "There are enough horror stories of parents using their children as puppets in legal disputes that lawyers are now required to interview the children apart from their parents." She smiles at Dad apologetically. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step outside for... fifteen minutes?"
Dad sighs, but stands up. "I understand. I don't like it, but I get it." He musses up your hair as he leaves. "Don't worry, Taylor, Carol's on your side in all this."
You glance back as the door shuts, before turning to the lawyer. "Soooooo... uh..."
"Do you feel safe at home?" Miss Dallon asks, in a manner that is both professional and gentle.
"Yes... why?"
"You don't feel threatened by your parents? Or neglected?"
You inhale sharply. "I don't like what you're implying, Miss Dallon."
"I'm legally obligated to ask these questions, Taylor," the lawyer explains. "It doesn't mean I have to like them."
"My father is a good man, and I do not feel threatened or abused by him."
"Good." She nods. "I thought so, but I needed to make sure. One more question: Do you know what a Trigger Event is?"
You blink. "...no, actually, I don't."
"I suspected you wouldn't," Miss Dallon mutters. "Nobody likes to talk about them. You've heard the propaganda about how Parahumans gain their powers when they push past a certain personal limitation, yes?"
"Yeah, everyone's heard about that--"
"It's a lie. Well," she frowns, "it's mostly a lie. The limitation in question is never being happier than anything, or finding inner strength. The limitation is trauma--pure and simple. To gain powers, a parahuman has to be pushed to the limit and break, emotionally. That's the Trigger Event, the moment they gain their powers. It's often considered the worst day of their entire life."
Oh.
Miss Dallon looks you straight in the eye. "Would you consider the locker to be the worst day of your life?"
Oh shit.
You consider deflecting the obvious accusation, but... well, if you can't trust your superhero lawyer, you're in a heap more trouble than you can possibly handle. So instead, you just sigh and nod. "Yes. And yes, I have powers. You're wiser than I am, can you give me any advice?"
"As a cape, I can tell you the most important thing right now is to hold back," Miss Dallon says firmly. "Not only are you still recovering from what happened to you, you haven't had enough training with your powers to know how to accomplish your goals without collateral damage or accidental maimings, and I doubt you have any idea how to navigate the legal and cultural pitfalls parahumans are subjected to. You shouldn't go out until you're ready to go out safely."
You nod. "Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, I don't have anything that can really hurt anybody yet--"
"Yet?" Miss Dallon quirks an eyebrow. "What exactly are your powers?"
"Well..." You consider for a moment. "In the locker, there was a moment where... I just had an empty space inside of me, and, uh, then there were three mental cards. And I picked one and suddenly I was able to tell how the locker was put together--the lock, the hinges, I figured out how to unlock it from the inside by banging on the metal carefully."
"You picked a card," she repeats, carefully.
"Yeah. And, uh, my internal space expanded again, and I got a chance to pick another card--whenever it expands, I can pick one of three cards. Not literal cards, metaphorical cards."
"I see. And what... cards do you have right now?"
You take in her focused expression. "Well... there's the 'I can see how anything's put together' power, then there's the forcefield--it's bulletproof, not knifeproof, but it also lets me neutralize the effect of any one cape's power on me as long as I keep them in sight--and the third card I have is one of those buildy hero things? I can build personal flight devices. Jetpacks and rocket boots and hoverboards, that sort of thing." You clear your throat. "And, uh, my space expanded after I introduced myself to you, so I have three more cards, but I'm holding off on picking one because I kinda want your advice."
Carol Dallon, Cape Lawyer, stares at you for a long moment.
"...Are you familiar with the PRT threat rating system?" she finally asks.
"No...? Not really, no."
"The PRT classifies powers into twelve broad categories, with numerical ratings to regulate the level of appropriate response." She forms a single light blade and holds it out for you to see. "I, for example, am a Striker, because my power requires me to get into melee range. I also have a Breaker power, where I turn into a ball of light. Panacea is also a Striker, because her power only works on contact, with a Thinker power that lets her understand the biology of whoever or whatever she touches. Glory Girl is a Brute, because of her resistance to damage, a Mover, because she can fly, and a Shaker, because her aura affects an entire area. The system is a little more complicated than that, but you can go over it in more detail later. What concerns you now are the three Ts: Thinker, Tinker, and Trump."
She dismisses the blade as she stands, walking around the desk. "Thinkers have powers that allow them to mentally gain information in unusually quick or strange ways. Precogs, for instance, can get vibes from the future, while combat Thinkers--like Uber or Victor, if you're familiar with them--can learn hand to hand combat very quickly. Tinkers are what you call 'buildy heroes', each specializing in a type of device or concept that only they can build. They're constantly improving what they've got, upgrades and all that. And then there are Trumps, capes with powers that affect powers, who can give or gain or alter or even neutralize powers entirely. Those are the rarest kind of cape to run into."
Miss Dallon grabs the arms of your chair and leans over you, looking you straight in the eye. "You have just told me you have a Trump power, which has granted you a Thinker power, a Tinker power, and another Trump power. Do you understand what that means?"
"That I'm... special?" you venture hesitantly.
"You could not inaccurately be called a miniature Eidolon," she replies. "So yes, you're special. Very special."
You puff up a little with pride.
"And a juicy target for the gangs."
You instantly deflate.
Miss Dallon straightens up, walking back around the desk. "Thinkers, Tinkers, and Trumps are the most sought-after capes. Other powers can be used for combat and espionage, but the three Ts are force multipliers--Thinkers can learn things that can change the course of a battle, Tinkers are able to constantly improve themselves and occasionally others, and Trumps affect powers which--which is a game changer in every way. Consequently, every parahuman group is always on the lowkey lookout for new Triggers with just one of those powersets. And you have the ridiculous luck to somehow have all three. The PRT would probably tell you something statistically accurate but misleading about the survival rate of independent heroes in order to pressure you into the Wards. If Kaiser heard about you, he might try to hold your father hostage in order to force you into the Empire." She sits down in her chair, rubbing her temples. "Hell, I'm tempted to give you the New Wave pitch myself, but that would be... exploitation. I pride myself on being a professional lawyer, so I'm not going to do that."
"So... I'm a prize everyone will be fighting over," you mutter, sagging into your chair.
"Only if they learn about you," she replies. "Granted, with how public this trial is, you've likely got a lot of eyes on you. And the nature of Trigger Events is well-known in Cape culture. Right now, your best defense is obfuscation--you're an ordinary girl who had something horrible happen to her, not a brand new Tinker building jetpacks in her basement. Keep that up for a week or two, and most people will start looking elsewhere."
"Wait, really?" You blink. "Just a couple of weeks?"
"Powers want to be used--need to be used. Parahumans can resist the urge with time and training, but it's all but expected for new Triggers to do something clearly parahuman within the first month. You probably feel a need to build one of your jetpacks, right?" At your nod, she sighs. "You're going to have to be very discreet in satisfying that urge for a little bit. I can't tell you not to do it--it's not something you can resist indefinitely--but if you're too public the powers that be will call you a new Tinker that hasn't yet built up their armament."
"And if they catch me early, I'll be indoctrinated by the time I'm actually worth something," I mutter.
"That's what happened to Squealer," Miss Dallon agrees. "A cape with the Archer's Bridge Merchants," she explains at your confused look. "Drug-pushers who saw a new vehicle Tinker and snatched her a few blocks from the PRT base. Got her drugged up, and now she's building invisible trucks to transport meth and cocaine."
"Jesus," you mutter, horrified.
"As a Tinker, you'll want to be sure to obfuscate any supply and equipment purchases you make. Both the PRT and the gangs have people in various shops who would be on alert for unusual purchases. Your house... it isn't in the best state?" You nod, hesitantly. "Then you can publically claim you're buying stuff for home repair, and disguise your Tinkering purchases with things that you actually intend to patch your home up with."
"And I could get a job as a mechanic," you offer. "I mean, with my Thinker power--"
Miss Dallon sighs. "That gets into NEPEA laws, which... well, they're a tangled mess. You should research them before you take any job." She considers you for a moment. "You say you have an empty space right now?"
"Yes."
"What powers could you put into it?"
"I've got a buildy--er, a Tinker power that would let me build regenerating armor," you reply. "And a... shaker power? Well, I could lift up anything alive in a short range with telekinesis--only living creatures, not cars or rocks. And then I have... I don't know what it's called, but I could shoot electrified metal bolts from my arms."
"A Blaster power," Miss Dallon provides. "Ranged abilities. If you were an experienced Cape, with the time and space to practice with it, I would suggest the Blaster Power, but as it is it's too flashy and dangerous. You might accidentally impale somebody, and then the PRT would probably label you a villain--or a vigilante at best."
You wince.
"The Shaker power is less problematic but, again, it's more offense-oriented. You're not ready to get into fights, and you won't be ready for a long while yet. Your focus should be on surviving and evading for the moment. Overall, the Tinker power seems the best fit--armor is always good, and it meshes well with your existing powerset. You'll also be able to disguise any powers you develop as the results of 'Tinker' powers when you finally make your debut; it's a relatively minor protection, seeing as Tinkers are only slightly less valuable than Trumps, but every edge counts."
"Right, right. And, uh... when I'm ready to make my debut, what should I do?"
Miss Dallon nods. "First of all, you should make sure you have a full understanding of the laws regarding parahuman actions before you announce yourself. Secondly, you should carry a standard caping kit--a first-aid kit and a collection of zipties to hold criminals. You'll also want to have the police and the PRT on your cell's contact list--"
You flinch. "I, uh, don't have a cell phone." At her look of mild shock, you rub the back of your head. "Mom died in a car crash while texting. We... haven't had a cell phone in the house since."
"Hmm. Well, the cell phone is a necessity. Calling the police and the PRT after you capture criminals and villains, calling for backup if you get in too deep, getting alerts on villain movements... you can't be an effective hero if you don't keep connected."
"Right. I... guess that makes sense."
"Being properly prepared is only the first part of making a debut. You'll also have to call the PRT and register--which doesn't mean you have to tell them you're Taylor Hebert," Miss Dallon quickly assures you, "or even subject yourself to power testing if you don't want to. But registering as an independent hero will put you in their files, which keeps them from labeling you a 'vigilante' and prevents quite a bit of legal fuss. I'd honestly also suggest joining a team for the support network, though both the Wards and New Wave would require you to reveal your identity to your father...?"
You bite your lip. "I kind of... I want to make sure he's not going to freak out before I tell him."
"...Adapting to raising a parahuman is something of a change," she admits, though her frown is somewhat disapproving. "It was an issue for me and my sister, and we were already parahumans when our children triggered. I won't tell your father, but I highly suggest you do so yourself before you go out as a cape."
You fidget a bit. "...I guess..."
"...As I was saying, I'd suggest you join a team, or perhaps form one of your own, in order to have a support network. Even if you don't, however, I feel I should insist you have your first patrol with somebody experienced. I can give you my cape number for when you're ready, so one of New Wave can show you the ropes--or you could ask for a patrol partner from the Protectorate or the Wards, if you feel that's appropriate."
"Caping's a lot more complicated than I thought it would be."
"The wonders of PR," Miss Dallon quips dryly. "Nothing is ever as it seems on the surface."
"Right. Uh... thank you for the advice, Miss Dallon," you say. "I'll... I've got a lot to think about, huh?"
"So you do. I'm going to call your father in now, so we can finalize things regarding the trial."
Your dad comes back in to talk with miss Dallon, and the talk starts getting technical. While a flurry of legalese and scheduling happens around you, you quietly slip the Tinker power into your open slot; images of regenerating armor fill your mind, and you wonder at how simple yet complicated they are. By the time you manage to pay attention again, your dad and miss Dallon have finalized some things. Apparently the trial is going to be in a week, so that's a week you can use for yourself. And you decide to make the most of your time.
After a brief meeting with Panacea--who you gush over and ask for an autograph, because she is LITERALLY the most heroic cape in the city, although you think you might have gone too fangirl since she seemed annoyed for some reason--you take a moment to mentally map out your plan for the next few days. First of all, you intend to get physically fit--not just a clean bill of health, but in tip-top shape for caping. That means you need to add a daily exercise routine to your schedule. Something like that's probably going to take a few weeks, but once you've formed the habit you're sure you can keep it up.
Secondly, you need to double down to learn everything you need to be a hero in Brockton Bay. Miss Dallon was right--you've got to study the laws so you don't accidentally get on the PRT's bad side. And you should probably learn the local cape landscape as well--you'd never even heard of the Archer's Bridge Merchants before. PR... PR sounded important too, you might want to figure that out. Oh, and your costume--okay, you guess that's not as important, but you want something that'll make you stand out. Like a ballgown!
...look, you've spent the past two years being verbally assaulted and you just want to assert your femininity, alright? You can find a way to make it work!
Over the course of the next week, you fall into a routine. You spend your mornings doing some basic push-ups and sit ups, your afternoons bringing tools and parts from the garage into the basement, and your evenings studying various high school coursework. Your exercise routine, combined with the initial boost Panacea gave you, makes you incredibly hungry, but does get you back to where you were--physically, anyway--by the end of the week. Your studying is tedious, for most of the week, though you do reignite interest in literature near the end of it. Mom would be proud, you think.
As for your tinkering...
Well, you come up with an ingenious way to build slipstream jets into the skirt and petticoats of a metal gown, so that's the lower part of your future costume done. But it took most of the loose junk around the house to make, and you were only able to put together enough 'special armor' to cover about half of it--and you don't have any torso parts yet, or anything for your limbs and face. You've already gathered all the bits of machinery around the house that Dad won't miss... you could take apart some of the appliances, but then he'd ask questions, and you've already had a heck of a time hiding the jetskirt from him. At least your tinkering urge is satisfied enough that you won't be twitchy at the trial, but you're definitely going to need to get some more parts if you want to continue--and you're still wary of watching eyes trying to determine if you have powers.
Still, the day of the trial comes around. You take a breath as you step into the courtroom, in the finest suit you could scrounge out of your closet. This... this is it. This is the final farewell of Taylor Hebert, Victim Extrodinare. This is the day you can finally start building toward Taylor Hebert, Superhero.
Or rogue, you guess.
But not villain. That would be silly.... right?