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Chapter Text

Your name is Taylor Hebert. You are also known by such monikers as 'Wimp,' 'Fucking Whore,' 'Winslow Whipping Kid,' and a bevy of other such inglamorous titles that are crowding into your head right now as you scream and pound against the confining and frankly disgusting confines of a middle-school locker filled to the brim with frankly disgusting materials. While you do desperately want somebody to save you, you slowly come to the cognizant conclusion that your reputation will prevent such acts from even the most heroic student in Winslow High School. God, you wish you had the power to do something, anything--even a little bit of power would help... but no. You're trapped. You can't get out of the locker.

You black out.

When you come to, a few seconds later, something's... changed. You can't explain it, but it's like there's a slot--a slot you can feel, all throughout you. Your body is a slot, and there are cards just out of reach. Cards that you can plug in.

You also have the urgent need to get out of the locker. Not that it wasn't urgent before, but now your entire body is quivering in anticipation. Like a junkie, you guess? You haven't ever actually had drugs--despite all the rumors surrounding you--but this feeling does remind you of how certain students nobody would openly say were in a gang got... twitchy. Not like you're going to analyze it since, well, you're in the locker and you want out anyway.

So, what have you got to work with here? Nothing. Nothing you didn't have before, except for the invisible metaphorical cards that you know nothing about. Wait, maybe it's a power, like capes have. Wouldn't that be just ironic, you get powers only after your life has gone to shit. Well, whatever, it's what you've got...

You examine your 'hand' carefully. The first card seems pretty hyperfocused, drawing lines that clank and rattle like chains. The next one... it feels like a snake whose scales are smaller snakes and it's also a human-shaped snake. And then the last one, you get the sense of schematics? Not weird ones, like you'd expect from Armsmaster or more buildy-heroes, but plain old regular schematics.

They're all kinda underwhelming, to be honest. But as you look at them, you get a deeper sense of what they are... and what would happen if they were fit into your slot.

Well, it's time to make a decision! You dismiss the first card almost instantly. Sure, metal's everywhere, but you don't think knowing the locker's exact measurements will help you escape it. The second card... it's tempting, and you can see it being the easiest way to get yourself out of here, but the whole 'control somebody' thing sounds... disturbing, on multiple levels. Also everyone would know you're a cape almost instantly, and you don't want that--you want to get out of the locker without anybody realizing you have powers. In fact, when you resolve to do that, you feel it become a need--the same sort of need that getting out of the locker itself is.

Which is weird.

The third card seems the most useful overall, since it gives you an unparalleled understanding of how things work. You... slide it into the slot that is yourself, feeling it expand outward like a pleasant warmth. And suddenly the locker becomes more clearly defined in your head--especially the lock. You can see--sense?--the internal mechanisms, and just how they all fit together.

It takes you ten minutes of carefully slamming, punching, and jamming your elbow against the door, but eventually you get the rotary lock to vibrate into the unlocked position. A careful jiggle later, and the door swings open. You step out into the empty hallway, accomplishing both your goals--

And then you gasp as the space within you expands, a sensation that has you falling to your knees.

Wow. Uh... wow. That was... a very nice feeling, actually, and you're kind of glad nobody was around to see that because you don't want even worse rumors to spread. Well, alright, you know what to expect now, and--Oh damn it, you're shaking. You're shaking. You need to do something, you need to do--

You don't even get a chance to think about what you need to do before three more cards present themselves in your mind. The first actually shimmers, like one of those 'rare foil' cards you've seen some trading cards present, and feels kind of like a single shield that... taunts people? The second one almost feels like a set of armor, one that wants to hug you close. The third... you get the sense of a spear made of lightning, holding its hand to you.

It's all so much. So many sensations. You're--you're not sure how to take it all in--

You're shaking. You're trembling. You try to think, for a moment. Think about what to do next.

Costume. Capes have costumes, right? It's right there in the name, cape. So you need to get yourself a proper costume.

As soon as you resolve to do that, the shaking... well, it doesn't stop entirely, but it does go down considerably. You're able to actually think coherently again, and--

Did you seriously just decide you needed to get a costume? Not that that's not important, it's just that it seems like something that isn't... as important as other things. After all, you just came out of the locker, and you're still dripping with garbage and rot. Nobody's here to see you--

...nobody's here to see you. You're just a victim. Again.

Well FUCK. THAT. You're done being a victim. The staff won't do their job? You'll call the police! And this time you have proof--you're literally COVERED in it! You want everyone who contributed to this situation to GET WHAT'S FUCKING COMING TO THEM! It's time to bring the federal hammer down on this place!

...only you don't have a cell phone, and Blackwell's unlikely to let you use the one in her office...

Fine, you'll use the old payphone down the street! And then... JUSTICE!

The goal settles in warmly as you storm out of the school, an image of feminine products and fury. On the way to the phone, you take the time to look over the cards in your head. The second and third ones definitely seem like they'd be good in a fight, being basic armor and a potent weapon. But... the first one... it seems really shiny. And shiny cards are supposed to be rare and powerful, right? Not that you're a trading card geek or anything. In the end, you go with your gut and just take the first one and--

Oh.

Oh wow.

Okay, you've got a double-powered force field now. The basic function is kinda cool, since it protects you from impacts above a certain speed. Which ironically means that fists and knives are more dangerous to you now than speeding cars and bullets, and you're pretty sure you're not inherently explosion proof. But the secondary function lets you calibrate a force field to resist the powers of a single parahuman in sight! You could be Glory Girl's boxing partner! You could tank a fireblast from Lung! You could punch Hookwolf in the face and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it!

Well, unless he pulled out an ordinary knife.

Or just punched you back.

Or, you know, attacked you from behind.

Or let one of his buddies attack you while you're focusing on him.

Come to think of it, if he grows a sword from his body and tears it off, does that still count as 'his power'...?

Okay okay, so you're not TOTALLY invincible, but between the bullet resistance and the ability to no-sell powers you could be very effective. Like... oh! You could find one of those mind-control capes and punch them in the face! Whatever they're called...

But all of that is for later. Maybe much later. Right now, you reach out and take the payphone off its hook, sliding a coin into the slot and hitting the keys. "Hello, police? I'd like to report a case of assault and maybe attempted murder. Winslow High. Look, I'm covered in rotting tampons and--look, how soon can you be here?!"

Darned slow justice system...

"Alright, I'll wait for you. Also, can you call an ambulance? Because I was stuffed into a locker of biohazards, that's why! I don't want to die of an STD while I'm still a fucking virgin!"

God, what is your life that you can say this to a police dispatcher without any irony...

You spend just enough time on the phone to go through the necessary motions to get the police to Winslow, before trudging right back into the school and glaring at the locker. The gears have been set into motion. All you have to do now is wait.

...and hope Emma doesn't have contacts in the police--

Okay, no, that would be stupid. She's a teenager, and not even a gang member. Her dad's a lawyer, so maybe he's got some pull, but you don't know if it'd be enough to stop the police from investigating in the first place. But putting evidence in the system should help. And... you might be able to hack computers now? You're not actually sure. You know you can hotwire a car and optimize a computer's hardware, but hacking involves programming, and while computer studies is one of your best classes you aren't technically taught how to bypass security systems.

Look the point is, the more evidence you get to the police the more likely it is that they'll nail the bitches to the wall. Or throw them in jail. Or something. No amount of corruption can stop a scandal once it gets rolling!

...you hope.

After waiting for a tense few minutes, you finally hear the approach of wailing sirens. You head out to the parking lot and, yep, there's an ambulance. And a few police, arguing with Blackwell--

"Hey!" You shout. "Locker's this way!"

"Miss Hebert, what do you think you're doing?"

You glare at Blackwell. "Getting help from an authority figure that actually DOES THEIR JOB."

You ignore her sputtering and lead the police officer to your locker, in all its gory glory, just as the bell rings. You then proceed to explain in detail what happened that morning, getting a lot of attention from the student populace. The officer looks horrified and intrigued, especially when you expand your statement and offhandedly mention how you've been treated the past couple of years, even naming names--

"Taylor!" Emma gasps as she slips out of the crowd, all innocence and mock surprise. "What HAPPENED to you?"

Right, there's THIS bitch. You decide that you're NOT going to let Emma call the shots this time. No, this time you're going to make sure she gets her just deserts! And as the resolve sets in, you proceed to do that...

...by ignoring her entirely.

"And I have a journal in my bedroom, located in the lower right drawer of my desk, that chronicles everything from September 2009 onward if you need further evidence," you finish saying to the officer. "If you want to send somebody to my house to pick it up--"

You see Sophia pulling out a phone. You wouldn't have noticed, except... something about how it's designed looks weird to you, or to your new powers.

"--before whoever SOPHIA IS CALLING gets there," you add, pointing her out, "I would greatly appreciate it."

The officer turns around. "Miss, put down the phone."

"I'm calling my social worker--"

"You can call your social worker from the station, now put down the phone."

Sophia sneers at him for a moment, before glaring at you. "You know she's just spewing crap, right?"

"I'm the one covered in garbage," you point out. "I'm the one who could literally die from I don't know what sort of biological contaminants are in here! Why the fuck would I lie about this?"

"Oh gee, why would an Empire goon try to make a nigger look bad?" Sophia shoots back sarcastically.

"An Empire--" You snort. "Right before christmas break you called me a dyke! And you said I was a half-asian slut back in November! Which is it, Sophia? Am I an ABB whore, an Empire goon, a Merchant druggie, a flaming lesbian? Or do you just pick and choose whichever interpretation makes you look the best?!"

"You don't have proof," Sophia shoots back.

"I HAVE A JOURNAL, YOU MORONIC MURDERER!"

"I am not a murderer."

You gesture at the locker. "Really? Then what's this?!"

"A shitty locker for a shitty person."

"I could literally die from infection!"

Sophia smirks. "Not my problem. Face it, Taylor, you're a loser, and the world will be better off without--"

"She did it!"

Sophia's face freezes as the last person you ever expected to speak up for you suddenly speaks up for you.

"She and Emma," Madison Clements helpfully points to the shocked redhead, "they loaded the locker up with garbage from the girl's bathrooms before winter break!"

"What the fuck Madison?!" Emma screeches.

"Sophia threatened to break my leg if I told anyone what they were doing," Madison adds, her expression one of fearful sorrow and relieved regret. "They've been doing that for the whole time I've known them, saying they'll hurt me or my family if I didn't go along with them!"

...is she serious? Or is she just throwing the other two under the bus so she gets away clean? You can't really tell--

--but you guess it doesn't matter too much, since Emma's lost all control of the narrative. Good, that's--

You fall to your knees, barely holding back a whimper of pleasure as the space within you expands again. Aaaaand everyone's staring at you. Shit.

"Yeah, I'm not feeling too good," you manage. "Officer, do you need anything else or can I go to the ambulance?"

"I think I've got all I need for now." The officer points at Emma and Sophia. "You and you--against the walls now."

"But--!"

"You have the right to remain silent," he informs Emma. "I suggest you use it."

You stagger away from the scene of the crime, walking out of the school and flipping off Blackwell as you drag yourself into the ambulance. The paramedics ask you some questions and you answer them, but you feel yourself falling unconscious. Still, you look at your new cards...

A dual-color one seems to be the first, one that reminds you of nothing so much as a chatty telephone operator. You're not up and up on all the trading card games, but dual colors... are supposed to be rare, right? Rare like the next one, with a silver sheen, that feels like a scientist trying to disprove the existence of gravity. And the final one... it's the lightning spear again. How did the lightning spear show up again? Is it stalking you?

You slip out of consciousness as the pain finally gets to you, just barely remembering to pick a card.

It takes you a few minutes to place yourself when you wake up, but you eventually remember what happened and figure out that you're in the hospital. Not like it isn't obvious, what with the white walls and the beeping and the fact that you're wearing a gown. You're not a gown sort of girl, and definitely not a medical gown girl. But you suppose, with what happened to your clothes, they had to stick you in something clean. You try not to think about the implications and mentally file it all under 'medicine is gross because biology is gross, deal with it.'

Instead, you distract yourself by trying to remember which of the three cards you picked. The lightning spear was as cool as it had been before, and you have to admit the ability to have a telecom in your head also sounded pretty nifty. But, well... flight. Let's be real, flight is one of the BIG superpowers. Everybody wants to fly. And now, you can! Well, alright, you have to build something that lets you fly, but you can make jetpacks or rocket boots or hoverboards or... wingsuits, apparently? You can't make a plane, but you know how to make a kickass hang glider. So a one-passenger/pilot limit. Okay.

And what's better, you think you can really understand what you're doing while you do it, because of your 'this is how things are put together' power. You're not sure if that changes anything, but you figure there has to be a reason that Armsmaster brand power armor is not as common as Armsmaster brand underwear. Or maybe it is? He could have multiple suits, you don't know. The point is, you can make blueprints. Actual readable blueprints for jetpacks! Well, you have to build them first...

...which you're not likely to do in the hospital.

Right.

So you're in the hospital, and two of the three bitches have been arrested after the third turned on them. Also, you have powers! Random powers. Is this how powers usually work? Are you going to just stop getting powers after you get enough of them? What will your dad think when he learns you're a parahuman?

You think about that last one a bit.

You think about how he's been out of it for... basically all the time since Mom died. How he's slow to anger, but wrathful as a volcano when he explodes. How he rants about the gangs and their capes...

And the more you think about it, the more you're not sure whether you should tell him. In fact, you decide to make sure he doesn't know you have powers until you're absolutely certain that he won't do something stupid. You feel warmth flood you as you make that decision.

Which is made harder when he rushes into the room, takes one wild-eyed look at you, and hugs you tightly. "Taylor! Oh god--you... you're alive---"

You hug him back. "Dad--" You... you don't know what to say. "...Emma is evil," you murmur, "and I don't know why."

Your dad freezes, leaning back. "Emma? What--she did this to you?"

"Her and two--well, one other. Madison says they threatened her, I--I don't know if I believe her but if it wasn't for her Emma and Sophia wouldn't have been arrested and I've been keeping a journal--"

The words pour from your mouth, a stream of anecdotes and tales that few the room like sewage from a suddenly unblocked pipe. Which you guess they kind of are, but you're too busy crying and looking at your dad's increasingly horrified expression to really appreciate the metaphor. God your life SUCKS.

Well, sucked.

Partway through the word vomit, you disconnect from yourself. Past Taylor is still in your body, explaining what happened to Mom's flute and everything, but you decide to be future-Taylor. Well, future-focused Taylor, anyway. First of all, you want to be healthy--you don't want this to limit you, or any of the other crap that you've been put through. Yeah, a clean bill of health, that seems like a good goal. It settles in, warmly, and you start thinking longer-term. Going to school... you don't want to do that. Maybe you can be homeschooled? Or take a test to say 'I don't need to be at school anymore.' That's a great idea, you'll shoot to finish that test by the time summer rolls around. That'll free you up to be a hero...

Actually, now that you think about it, being a hero is probably a complicated thing. It's not like you can just put on a costume and go punch nazis, right? Otherwise everyone would be doing it. You resolve to learn everything you need to be a hero in Brockton Bay. All the legal stuff and stuff, who to arrest and why... yeah. You also think you need to come up with a cape name--a really, REALLY good name. You can't just pull something out of thin air, you have to really sit down and think this through. That'll be something of a project, you're not... the best with names.

You think for a few moments longer, but you... can't really think of anything else to aim for right now. So you return to youself, just in time to remember that, oh yeah, you've been crying. A lot. Crap. You just--

The doctor comes in and explains you'll need to stay in the hospital for a bit while you recover. That's fine. That's fine. You lie back, and...

"...I don't know what to do now," your dad mutters to himself. "Annette, what do I do now?"

Right. Hospitals cost money. And you're not exactly rich.

Fuck.

You lay back, thinking about all the problems this whole situation is going to cause. The strain it's going to put on your dad financially, and...

You can't just do nothing.

You won't just do nothing.

You're going to find a way to pay off these hospital bills, as soon as you're out of here. In fact, even as the warmth of the goal settles in, you already have a few ideas.

You sit up, clearing your throat. "Dad? I think... I think I should get a job."

Dad looks at you, not quite getting it. "Taylor, you're fifteen."

"Old enough to work as a mechanic," you reply with a shrug. "We need the money to pay the hospital bills, and... let's be real, there's no way I'm going back to Winslow anyway. Not after..." You trail off, shuddering involuntarily.

"You shouldn't have to worry about that--"

"And I shouldn't have been shut into a locker full of trash. I--I think we have to accept that the world isn't as it should be. Especially in Brockton Bay."

Dad's face falls. "...You're... not wrong. But... you should at least wait until you're back up to good health before you do anything."

You accept this with a nod. "Yeah... you're probably right. Oh, but we should definitely sue the heck out of somebody."

"Somebody?"

"I don't know, I'm not a lawyer. We'd need to get a lawyer..." You think for a moment. "Hey, what about that cape lawyer? The New Wave one?"

Dad frowns. "Carol Dallon?"

"Yeah. New Wave is... they're heroes, right? Not just because they punch nazis or whatever, but they save people's lives." You count off on your fingers. "Panacea does healing, Carol Dallon does legal stuff, Glory Girl... okay, maybe she just punches nazis, but she's a teenager, maybe she's planning on being a scientist or something!"

"Taylor--"

"My point is, heroes save lives, make lives better. And..." You stretch your arms out, showing off the scars. "You have to admit, right now our lives aren't that great."

Dad sighs. "...I'll see what I can do, but... a famous lawyer can't be easy to hire."

"Even if she isn't, she can point you in the right direction, right?"

"...maybe." Dad considers for a moment. "You're right, though. We should sue the heck out of somebody."

You smile as you lay back. "Yeah. Let's get justice..."

Your eyes flutter closed as you drift off, considering your circumstances. You're not just the whipping girl of Winslow... and you never were. You were the daughter of a union leader and an english professor before then, and a citizen of Brockton Bay as well. Part of the generation that grew up with capes, that lived in a hard city... but even then, you had time to be a girl, before everything went to shit. You're a culmination of all that good and all that bad, a gestalt entity...

Gestalt.

Your powers... they're random, and individually they're weak. But already you've figured out that they can synergize well, if you're lucky. You've barely used them at all, but you know more will be coming. It's... a gestalt. Ha.

Gestalt. That's a good name.

You think you'll keep that name.

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?

Chapter Text

"Mister Hebert, Miss Hebert." Carol Dallon nods to both of you. "Are you ready for this?"

You nod firmly. "To see justice done? Yes, yes I am."

"Just to be clear: the law is not as simple, nor as dramatic, as it is on television," Miss Dallon warns. "This trial is the criminal one--the one where sentences are levied and the guilty are punished. Technically, you're only part of it as a witness and the victim, not as the prosecutor. That's the police's job. And the sentencing is out of our hands. The trial this afternoon, however, is a civil one, where we can directly sue the school district for money as restitution for your mistreatment. Do you understand?"

"...I think so?" You chew your lip. "This morning I don't speak unless spoken to, I tell the truth as far as I know it, and I follow your lead. Right?"

"...Close enough. Hopefully nobody's pulled any strings they shouldn't have."

You follow her into the courtroom, and... Well, it's a lot more boring than you'd have expected. There's an overview of the locker situation, followed by a review of your journal, numerous witness statements from your classmates and the staff, as well as reports from investigators and Armsmaster of all people--the Mastering accusation was apparently just that serious. It becomes readily apparent that the 'witnesses' are divided--some of them are telling the truth, some of them are covering their own asses, some of them are trying to sell the 'Taylor's just a troublemaker' lie...

What really surprises you is that Alan and Zoe take opposite sides of the argument. Alan insists that Emma did nothing wrong, but Zoe admits she'd been growing distant and hanging out with 'that Sophia girl' more and more. There's some very obvious tension there. Madison's tearful admission of being constantly threatened and attempted apology is only slightly less surprising.

After hours of confusing deliberation, the jury walks out for whatever their mysterious decision-making method turns out to be. It's a tense half-hour later when they return, with a final verdict: Sophia, Emma, and Madison are guilty of assault to varying degrees, and Blackwell is guilty of a whole LOT of deliberate malfeasance. Madison manages to squeak by with a couple hundred hours of community service and her parents paying a million dollars to you (ha!), but both Sophia and Blackwell are going to the slammer and Emma, just barely, gets approved for a stay at the asylum.

It's funny. Seeing justice done is almost... tedious. Mundane. If it weren't for the space suddenly expanding within you, you'd be incredibly bored. As is, you manage to disguise the wave of pleasure as a sigh of relief, carefully looking over the cards presented to you while you take a lunch break between trials. The first card feels like a rubber suit, wrapped tightly around you. The second is another silver card, of a scientist sticking a sword into a god-damned star, of all things. The third card has a sort of black shimmer, and you can just hear the sound of giggling children from it.

"Taylor?" Your dad breaks you out of your contemplation.

"Hmm? Sorry, I was just..." You shake your head. "I was distracted. What's up?"

"We were discussing what was likely to happen with the upcoming trial," Miss Dallon explains. "Given the outcome of this previous one, we're likely to get most of what we're asking for, if not all of it."

You consider that. "Wow. Uh... Yeah. That's... wow. That's incredible."

"Of course, a good chunk of it will go toward the hospital bills," Dad points out. "And probably buying new school equipment for you. And paying miss Dallon, of course." He shrugs. "And I'll probably put a lot of it toward your college fund..."

"But we're going to at least guarantee a transfer for you," Miss Dallon finishes. "I would personally suggest angling for Arcadia, but Clarendon and Immaculata have their own advantages as well..."

"...Your daughters go to Arcadia, right?" At her nod, you hum thoughtfully. "You know, I had the grades for it before Winslow, and... a case could be argued that I've been scholastically sabotaged there. So... Yeah. Arcadia sounds good."

It'd also get you a chance to meet her daughters. In fact, you resolve to introduce yourself as soon as you can--that brief meeting with Panacea doesn't count, that was just business.

You head back into the courthouse, but into a different courtroom. Things aren't nearly so dramatic, the superintendent of the school is there, and Miss Dallon is ready to lawyer it up. You plan to ask for ten million dollars and a transfer to Arcadia. The superintendent agrees to the transfer, but says ten mill is a bit much--one of their principals was just locked away, and there's going to have to be a complete review and possibly restructuring of Winslow. That's not your problem, but there is a lot of back and forth before everyone agrees that five million is good enough.

Admittedly, a lot of the legalese flies right over your head, but Miss Dallon says that it's all above board, and you believe her. Dad takes the check that the superintendent writes out, and you all drive to the bank, where he cashes it in and writes Miss Dallon a check. You say goodbye to her, and spend the rest of the day driving around town with him; he pays the hospital bill, first of all, then takes you shopping for replacement school supplies, even deciding to get you a laptop computer--a bit of a splurge, but his bank account can handle it now. He's not going to tap the rest of the money unless he absolutely needs to, though, and you can respect that.

You finish up the day eating out at another restaurant, and just savoring the future that lies ahead of you. Obviously, you're not ready to go out caping yet, there's still a lot to do. You resolve to complete the ballgown, since your costume is going to be a lot more important than you first thought; you also decide that securing a good source of tinker materials will be critical to your success. After a few minutes contemplation, you figure you should also learn some basic first aid, since you're likely going to be in situations that may cause a lot of collateral damage; saving lives is one of the most heroic things of all. But if you do all that, you muse, you can be a hero--rescuing people, fighting villains, and forming a harem of cute parahuman girls--!

You choke a bit at the images suddenly shaping in your head.

Those... those were images, alright. You, uh, you hadn't really realized that about yourself before, but... then again, you always were kinda into Emma's hair. Even after... everything. And you used to think Mom and Dad were in a big marriage with Alan and Zoe... and you didn't see anything wrong with it. Huh. You take a moment to imagine cute guys, and they're... cute, but you don't feel your cheeks flushing as much as when you imagine cute girls. And...

"What are you thinking about?" Dad asks.

"NOTHING!" you squeak. "Ahem. Nothing."

Dad raises an eyebrow.

"Seriously, nothing. Just... some literature. You know how Shakespeare got," you joke.

"Mmm." Dad gives you a look for a moment, but goes back to driving.

...Well. A harem of cute parahuman girls. You... you could try for that, yeah. It'd be a longterm goal, but then... you'd be one of the best hero teams out there!

Or rogue teams.

Maybe.

You know, if they're into that.

You decide to pick one of your new cards before you go to bed. You dismiss the rubber suit almost immediately. Everything it can do, you can do better already. The black card... you consider for a while. Being able to split yourself up would give you more hours in a day, and a tactical ability in combat...

...but, honestly, Dad's going to have his hands full with one teenage cape. You don't want to inflict multiple child capes on him. Even if they're all you.

Especially if they're all you.

In the end, you pick the silver card--a tinker power, you know now. And one that gives you the ability to make elementally charged swords! Ice rapiers, lightning sabers, fire broadswords, and so much more, all just a little tinkering session away!

Huh, that's three tinker powers you have now. That's cool!

You fall asleep dreaming of warriors in armored ballgowns.

Sunday morning, you wake up early and start your now normal pushup and situp routine. Dad thinks it's a little weird, but you pass it off as 'fuck letting the locker keep me down!' and he gives you an encouraging smile. The afternoon is mostly filled with paperwork about transferring to Arcadia, but the evening is shared between you and your laptop. You decide to study up on the local heroes--at least the government-sponsored ones. Armsmaster is technically in charge of the local Protectorate, but your research gives you the impression that he prefers to Tinker a lot, so Miss Militia picks up the slack on most of the day-to-day matters; apparently she doesn't sleep anymore. That's neat, you thought her only power was the whole energy gun thing. Dauntless is touted as a big deal, because he infuses objects with power--oh, he's another Trump, of course he's a big deal. Assault and Battery--and how did those names pass the PR team?--are a kinetic manipulator and electro manipulator, respectively; you get the impression they're more frontline fighters than any other member of the local Protectorate. Then there's Velocity, the speedster, who appears to be nice... you can't really find any weird rumors about him online, so you'll just accept that.

The Wards team is somewhat more interesting, since they're around your age. Triumph is the current leader of the Wards, and he's able to manipulate sound; the internet thinks he's set to graduate soon? You decide to look that up, and discover that Wards who come of age can move straight into the Protectorate, so Triumph is... probably almost eighteen. Okay. Aegis is speculated to be the next Wards leader, because he's the next oldest; he flies, has mild superstrength, can shift around his internal anatomy--ew, powers can be gross--and seems like a stand-up guy overall. Not like Clockblocker, who's more of a stand-up comedian according to the internet; his power is a striker one that freezes things in place for a few minutes. You guess that could be useful? Gallant and Kid Win are both Tinkers--apparently you just live in Tinker City--with Gallant specializing in 'emotional transfer tech' and Kid Win... uh... well, you can see there's a lot of speculation, but nothing concrete. And then there's Vista, who's the youngest Ward in terms of actual age but the oldest in terms of experience; she can literally warp space. Not somebody you want to get on the bad side of.

Huh. You were sure there was one more. You poke around a bit and find that the last Ward, Shadow Stalker, has been... relocated? It seems there were 'troubles at home' and she's been transferred to an undisclosed location. Speculation is rampant about what actually happened, because of course the PRT can't possibly be trusted to tell the truth for some reason? You have to chuckle at the idea that she was the 'secret Master' behind the Winslow scandal. Honestly, the only capes involved were Miss Dallon and Armsmaster, and they were just there for the trial.

Having finished your review of the official heroes, you turn off your laptop, yawn, and go to sleep.

On Monday Dad drops you off at Arcadia a few minutes early--you're lucky you had time to go through your exercise routine before you had to head out. And Miss Dallon's daughters are both there to greet you. You say hi to Glory Girl--"It's Vicky when I'm not in costume!"--and enthusiastically reacquaint yourself with Pana--er, Amy. She seems a little annoyed, but recognizes you as 'Carol's latest client'; when you tell her she is the most heroic person in Brockton Bay, she actually rolls her eyes. Damn it, you sounded like another fangirl, didn't you? Amy probably has plenty of those.

The two of them were tapped by the school to show you around, and you get a decent tour of Arcadia--no graffiti at all! That's amazing!--and you manage to get yourself organized just in time to head to class. The teachers actually pay attention to you, even assigning you some extra credit to help make up for Winslow. You decide not to eat lunch in the cafeteria--it might be safe, but trauma doesn't care about logic. That's how you run into Amy again--she also eats alone, and you both like the same sort of isolated spots. You very awkwardly acknowledge each other before both of you pretend the other is invisible.

Amy still looks worryingly tired, though, which prompts you to look into New Wave when you get home. And you pretty quickly find out why she's so tired--she really overworks herself at the hospitals. Geez, you thought she was just being heroic, but she's burning herself out! And Glory Girl has a reputation for causing collateral damage--obviously exaggerated, but you guess being able to fly and having super strength takes some getting used to. Miss Dallon is of course already famous, and her husband--

--huh. For some reason, you thought Miss Dallon--er, Missus Dallon--was a single mother. She just... gave off that vibe.

Anyway, her husband, Flashbang, throws light grenades, when he's out on patrol anyway. Which apparently isn't often. And then there are the Pelhams, consisting of Missus Dallon's sister Lady Photon, her husband Manpower, and their kids Laserdream and Shielder. Aside from Manpower, they all fly, can shoot lasers, and have forcefields, though Laserdream and Shielder are more specialized than Lady Photon. Manpower himself is big, strong, and has a form of electricity empowering him.

You also run across an article detailing Fleur and Lightstar, and you have to suck in your breath. Fleur was killed shortly after New Wave unmasked, and Lightstar left the team out of grief. You silently thank Miss Dallon for encouraging you to keep your powers out of the public eye, you don't want Dad to be targetted for anything you did.

There's also a mercenary group: Faultline's Crew. The general opinion seems to be that they are strictly professional; they don't get involved in gang politics at all, and they only work on jobs outside of Brockton, for money. Also, Faultline has hired Case 53s--monster capes, although that's apparently a rude term. Your research leads you to find out that all case 53s have amnesia and a weird tattoo, and that nobody knows why they exist.

You just have to sit back and absorb that. Amnesiac individuals, who are clearly heavily mutated, just... show up. This is a part of life. This is something that people can expect to happen.

Anyway, you're not likely to ever fight them, but just in case you run into them you decide to have a quick look over their powers. Faultline can split anything inorganic, which could have so many applications. Newter, one of the case 53s, is apparently very flexible and his sweat makes anybody he comes in contact with high; he has a side gig of shaking hands at a local nightclub. The other case 53, Gregor the snail, can sweat various... fluids. Like glue. Or solvent. Or other things. And the youngest member of Faultline's crew, Labyrinth, is... uh... able to transform the world? You don't quite understand what you're reading about her, but after an hour of trying to clarify it, you decide to let it drop.

You wrap up your research in time to do your actual homework. You can actually do your homework now! It's not going to be destroyed! Life is... better!

Tuesday is more of the same: Exercise in the morning, go to Arcadia, attend surprisingly helpful classes, and pretend to be alone while eating lunch with Amy. She shoots you a few odd looks every now and then, but you decide not to bother her. You get home, do your homework, and decide you're going to start looking into the villains of Brockton Bay. Starting with the group you've heard most about: the Empire 88. They can't be that hard to cover, right?

Wrong.

The Empire is the largest gang, having hundreds of 'normal' members and you don't know how many discreet supporters. And they have the largest Cape count of all the groups in the Bay, fifteen whole capes to themselves. It's honestly like three gangs smashed into one. Their leader, Kaiser, can make metal grow out of any surface, and his bodyguards, Fenja and Menja, are a pair of blonde twins that grow into giants. Under him are his lieutenants: Hookwolf, Krieg, and Purity.

Well alright, Purity is speculated to have broken off from the Empire for some reason, taking Night and Fog with her, but you're not sure that it counts if she still regularly attacks minorities. Criminal minorities, sure, but... flying around and shooting laserbeams at them does not sound like somebody who's rejected white supremacy. You're just glad Night and Fog are completely absent; a monster nobody can see and a living cloud of poisonous mist does not sound like something you want to fight.

Hookwolf, of course, is the more famous of Kaiser's lieutenants. You assumed he just turned into a metal wolf, but he has full control of the metal he grows out of himself, and being a wolf is more of a choice on his part than a limitation. He runs pit-fighting rings and dog-fighting rings with his fellow brawlers, Stormtiger and Cricket; Stormtiger is an aerokinetic that likes his wind blades, and Cricket is a supernaturally good fighter that can echolocate. You wonder how people figured that one out.

Kreig, Kaiser's other lieutenant, seems to be the brains to Hookwolf's brawn. Sure, being able to manipulate kinetic energy is intimidating, but he doesn't seem to join in combat too often. He leaves that to his own subordinates, Crusader--who can generate a bunch of ghostly duplicates of himself--and Alabaster--whose body resets to perfect health every three or four seconds. And Kreig has a lieutenant of his own, Victor--a terrifying skill thief that made himself into a peak human through his vampiric ability. Victor appears to be the guardian of Rune and Othala, the two youngest members of the Empire; Rune is a teen capable of telekinetically levitating things she marks, infamous for flying on a large chunk of concrete, while Othala is... a Trump. A power-granting Trump. Limited, thank god, but one of the powers she grants is healing.

No wonder the Empire's so entrenched. They don't just have a good quantity of capes, they have a decent quality of them overall. And they seem to be organized into branches that cover each other's weaknesses... it would take a concentrated effort to break them apart.

You don't sleep well that night.

Still, Wednesday morning brings more exercise and classwork, and another lunch with Amy. This time, she actually sighs and asks what you're doing. You awkwardly explain how you had to eat lunch in the bathroom at Winslow, because of the bullies, so you kind of... avoid the cafeteria out of habit now. Amy doesn't seem too thrilled at that, but you've been polite and quiet this far, so she lets it go.

You decide to wrap up your study of the gangs tonight, so you can move on to more minor things. The Azn Bad Boys... Asian? Azin? Nobody can seem to agree, but they are all of asian ethnicity. Apparently, they used to be a bunch of minor gangs that the various refugees from eastern cultures formed, and there was a lot of nationalism keeping them apart. Then Lung rolled in one day, conquered them all, and made a little empire in Brockton Bay, demanding tithes from all asians in his territory that weren't part of his gang. Aside from that, it's standard criminal fare; the ABB runs casinos, sells drugs, and there are rumors that they kidnap young woman to make into sex slaves. If they were an ordinary gang, they'd be kicked out easily, but...

Well, Lung. Lung can turn into a dragon. A big, scaly, regenerating dragon that breathes fire and can destroy a lot of stuff. Yeah, you might be able to immunize yourself to his power, but you still wouldn't want to go in without a plan. And there's his second in command, a teleport/cloner called Oni Lee, who seems like a merciless killer--complete with suicide bombing himself. Oh, sure, his power means he can survive it, but that's still gotta hurt.

The Merchants, on the other hand, seem like a joke. Their thing is drugs. Drugs and debauchery. They live in the worn-down Docks area of Brockton, and prey upon the desperate, offering a high to get away from life. Also they might forcibly addict teens? The problem with internet research is you can never tell what is and isn't just part of the rumor mill. Their leader goes by the lovely moniker of Skidmark, and he can make launching forcefields and cuss up a whole storm. Then there's Squealer--you still shudder at the story Missus Dallon told you--the tinker that makes dangerous and apparently invisible trucks. They have a third cape, Mush, who can... apparently turn himself into a trash golem. Lovely.

On the one hand, nobody seems to take them seriously, so it might be easier to take them out. On the other, they're still in Brockton Bay, despite the presence of the Empire and Lung, so...

You also discover that there's a fourth gang in the city. Well, calling it a 'gang' is a bit misleading, since nobody's quite sure what their deal is. They're a band of mercenary soldiers with some Tinkertech weapons led by a guy called Coil, but... they don't seem to be concerned with territory, like the other gangs. Heck, they don't even demand payment. People aren't even sure if Coil is a parahuman or not. Basically, all anybody knows is that the group exists.

Kinda creepy, now that you think about it.

Thursday brings with it a surprise--not during your morning exercises, nor during classes, but during lunch! Vicky has decided to join Amy (and by extension you) in her private sanctum. You already knew she was quite the chatterbox from your first meeting, but you didn't realize just how much she can go on at a time. She asks you a lot of questions, trying to draw you into a conversation, and you very awkwardly reply to some of them; it isn't until she starts quoting literature that you can bring yourself to open up a little, but the two of you share a love of the written word and start to actually discuss things. Amy looks kinda miffed, though, even when you try to bring her into the conversation. When the lunch bell rings, Vicky rushes out, and you take a moment to apologize to Amy for breaking the tranquility. She gives you a weird look before she leaves.

After you head home and finish your homework, you decide to go over the last few cape groups in the city that aren't gangs, and spend the rest of the week on independents. The first thing you do is look up Uber and Leet. You've heard about them--vaguely--but when you do look them up you find yourself quite disappointed. Uber can be a master at any skill he focuses on, and Leet is apparently a very broad-spectrum Tinker (with some caveat that makes his tech very unstable). Thinker and Tinker. Two of the three Ts. And very good versions at that. What do they do with these wondrous trauma-induced gifts?

Crimes.

Really, really stupid crimes.

Video-game-themed crimes, even. Which, well, probably takes a lot of research--you don't know your Master Chefs from your Marians, but the way Greg Veder always rambled on there's got to be a whole culture and meaning behind everything. These two could have used their powers for good. Or failing that, for some really epic evil. Hell, they could have built a video-game-themed gang in Brockton Bay! Instead, they're just running around in random costumes and performing outrageous, petty crime.

Your internet research has also made you aware of the Undersiders, a group of four teenage parahumans who've done some robberies. They're most notable for their ability to get away--the most dangerous of them is Hellhound, who has monster dogs and apparently a murder charge. Then there's Grue, who can make a cloud of dark smoke, Regent, who might be able to make people twitch, and... uh... Oh! Here's a name, Tattletale! Is she even a parahuman? She might be a Thinker, or she might be faking it and running around with capes because she looks damn good in a catsuit.

...wow, you really are gay.

Overall, the Undersiders seem like teenage hooligans. They might hurt people in the process of robbing convenience stores, but it's never their intent--just a side effect of them having to intimidate people to rob them. Still, criminal capes. You'd expect a light sentence, but not no sentence.

Friday's the last day of school this week, and you finish your morning exercises with ease. You tap your feet during classes, and when lunch comes around you actually seek Amy out, instead of just showing up where she's eating. She narrows her eyes at you, but at your awkward wave she seems to dismiss whatever problems she had. It takes you a few minutes to work up the nerve to ask her for advice on your exercise routine. She rolls her eyes, suggests weightlifting, and turns back to her food without another word.

Well... at least she hasn't decided you're harassing her...

As school lets out, you roll your neck and decide to spend the afternoon looking over the more well-known independents in the city. And hoo boy, it turns out there are a lot of them.

On the debatably heroic side of things there's Shalem and Polarity. Shalem is a vehemently anti-Empire woman who generates a 'field of void' that not only makes her and those close to her invisible, but can absorb damage and be shot out in little globs to hide other things. She's more of a whistleblower than a fighter, but she's very good at pointing the right people at Empire holdings. Polarity, on the other hand, seems to be more interested in 'fighting' than in 'fighting bad guys', but is intelligent enough to realize the second is more acceptable than the first. He's apparently able to control metal, and has stated he wants to get in a scrap with Hookwolf and/or Kaiser.

Yeah, that's... that guy is probably crazy.

There are a couple of rogues too, Parian and Spectra. Parian can telekinetically manipulate cloth, which she uses to make dolls and clothes. The dolls are useful for her puppet shows and advertising, while the clothes are her main draw--and her main source of income. She wants to become a fashionista, apparently. Spectra, on the other hand, runs what could be called a real-life holodeck with her power, creating hardlight constructs and environments and charging people to fight zombie hordes or aliens in them. She sounds like she could be terrifying, if she ever decided to actually attack anyone; you count yourself lucky that she likes her current get-rich-quick scheme.

And then there are, of course, the independent villains. Hive is some sort of giant bug person that can turn partially or totally into a swarm of bugs; they honestly seem more like a victim of circumstance, squatting in various run-down homes and chasing off people that bother them, but they also don't seem to understand the concept of acceptable force, so the PRT slapped a villain label on them. Cybertron, though, is definitely a villain--he's some giant robot with lasers, drones, and laser drones, most famous for robbing high-security buildings singlehandedly and leaving behind swathes of destruction. Circus, the other independent thief, has said Cybertron gives thieves a bad name. She appears to prefer elegance and performance, portraying herself as a classy cat burglar in various circus-themed getups; it helps that she's a supernatural acrobat with her own pocket space and some fire.

Oh yeah, capes with multiple powers are usually the result of cluster triggers, apparently. So there's somebody out there with more powers like Circus's. Maybe multiple somebodies. That's just great.

Saturday you wake up and, after a bit of finagling, improvise some weights out of a curtain rod, a few plastic cups, water, and duct tape. Yep. You're definitely getting... something out of this.... Yeah, no, you should probably actually get real exercise equipment. You decide to wrap up your cape studies by looking into the various 'rumored' capes that haven't been confirmed to exist by the PRT yet. It's not really a lot; there's some guy robbing stores for parts (Tinker?), some guy gathering scrap in the trainyard (Tinker?), and some guy who sells really cool doodads (Tinker?). So maybe three Tinkers. Or none. Or anything between those two numbers.

There's also a rumor of one guy who jumps through portals a lot, and is a ninja. No, wait... the ninja guy is never seen in the same area as the portal guy. So that's two guys. And then there's a report that, through the drug-addled posting, seems to amount to 'I saw some things floating in circles a lot!' Also a random building burned down with... napalm somewhere?

Wow. These rumors are really unclear.

When you check the clock and realize that it's barely noon, you try to think about what to do... before you remember just how distressed Aunt Zoe was during the trial. And... well, as much as Emma became a psychopath for whatever reason (and you still want to know what the hell was up with that), Aunt Zoe is family. Was family. Is... family? The point is, you're very concerned about the whole situation.

Dad's at work, so you have to take the bus and walk a few blocks, but you make it to the Barnes house. When you knock on the door, Aunt Zoe opens it, takes one look at you... and deflates. "Oh. Taylor. Hello."

She's never looked so old before.

"Hi, uh... aunt Zoe." You see her twitch a little at the aunt moniker. "...Can I come in?"

"...alright." She steps aside, biting her lip as you enter the house. "I'm... surprised you came over at all, considering..."

She trails off. You have to admit it is a little awkward. Especially with... all the boxes around.

You carefully sit on the once-familiar couch, trying to reacquaint yourself with the house you've been avoiding for two years. Zoe gets a few cups and sets out a plate of crackers.

The room is uncomfortably quiet for a bit.

"...I cannot overstate how sorry I am for Emma," Zoe says eventually. "I should have noticed what was going on--I should have done something."

You tense up a bit. "I--yeah." You can see the regret in her eyes, and your throat feels dry. "Yeah. Well, um... you stood up for me during the trial, so... thanks?"

"It feels like too little, too late." Zoe sighs. "I--I shouldn't ask for forgiveness. Forgiveness is given, not earned."

"...I forgive you."

Aunt Zoe blinks, looking at you for a moment. Then she shakes her head and laughs a little sardonically. "It'd be nice if I could forgive myself..."

You bite your lip. You've already lost... almost everyone. Mom's dead. Dad was distant. Emma betrayed you, and nobody at school wanted to be your friend because of that. You... you don't want to lose everyone. You want--you need to reconnect.

You get up from the couch and put a hand on Aunt Zoe's. "Maybe we can work on that together."

"...Maybe." She takes your hand. "Maybe. I, uh..."

She pauses.

"...Let me give you my cell number. I know you already have the landline," she explains, "but just--just in case..." Her eyes drift across the boxes. "Just in case."

"Just in case," you agree.

The rest of your time is still awkward. You... try to ask what happened to Emma, but Zoe's... not willing to talk about it just yet. The trial was a relief for you, but it's a fresh pain for her, and you decide it's probably best to let it drop for now. Maybe later.

When you get home, you take a moment to look over your jetskirt. It still needs to be armored, and you still need the rest of your costume. A helmet, a torso... and a sword, probably. Yeah... it'd be cool to have a sword that matches the ballgown. Maybe... a parasol-sword? It could double as a shield, too, if you make it like that. Yeah... the idea sinks in warmly. Parasol sword.

Not that you know how to swordfight. Or how to fight unarmed. You don't even know how to throw a punch. And criminals use guns...

...if you're going to get into fights, you should learn how to fight. You can't just rely on your powers to magically give you the ability--there's a lot of skills that go into fighting.

You put away the jetskirt with a nod, resolving to master some combat skills as soon as you can. You want to be READY when you start caping.

Chapter Text

The next week passes by mostly normally. You do some exercises in the morning--not with weights, but enough that you can feel the paunch that makes you look like an upright frog shrink away. You go to school. You eat lunch in an awkward out of the way spot with Amy...

...okay, maybe you're just overthinking things because you only just recently realized how gay you are, but she is kinda cute. And... you think she's single? But, um... she's also... not intimidating, exactly, but you're not sure how to approach her.

Your time at home, meanwhile, is spent looking into places you could get tinkering materials from. Near the docks are the trainyards and the boat graveyard, which both are high-risk, high-reward in your mind. Sure, the trainyards are filled with trains that were delivering all sorts of equipment, and you're pretty sure you could rip some parts out of the ships to use for your stuff, but on the one hand there are plenty of hobos and gangmembers lurking around the old rails and on the other the boat graveyard is just... everyone knows new capes go there. If you go there, you'll almost definitely be spotted by one of the big players.

There are a few stores that sell parts as well. Jerry's Junk Shop seems, at first, like exactly what you need--Jerry keeps things off the books if you pay him enough. Only... you have to pay him a lot--like five times as much as you'd pay to get this stuff at a legal store--and then on top of that you'd have to scrounge through scrap. It's a safe gamble, in terms of not getting caught, but it's still a gamble. Or you could go shopping at various home depot and electronic stores, get a good guarantee on what you're getting, and even make sure you got the best quality goods around. Except the PRT would definitely notice if you bought too much, and your costume will definitely take a lot of... yeah.

You do think of a couple other options. You could get yourself a job with a local mechanic. It'd take up a lot of your time, but you'd basically be able to tinker at your heart's content--and you'd have a decent supply of old car and motorcycle parts you could 'take off the shop's hands', and a convenient excuse for your new interest in engineering if people started wondering. Like your dad. You... could ask him for help getting some stuff, he's the head of hiring for the dockworker's association, and it would make things a lot easier on you... only you'd have to tell him you're a cape, and he'd probably be able to veto you getting some materials from him.

Overall, you think you could maybe swing one or two of these without getting noticed or exhausting yourself. It's something you're thinking about on Wednesday when--all of the sudden--Vicky decides to ask you to go shopping with her.

"Er..." You look at Amy, who just rolls her eyes. "...what?"

"I've seen you wearing that same hoodie ten days in a row. And those pants!" She shakes her head. "I get the feeling you could be a model--"

"I don't want to be a model," you say automatically, shuddering as images of Emma rear up in your head.

Vicky winces. "...Right. Uh... my point is I think you need a new wardrobe. I mean, the clothes you choose can affect how you think, and--"

"She heard about Winslow and wants to help with retail therapy," Amy deadpans.

You flinch. "Right."

"Mom didn't tell us anything!" Vicky assures you quickly. "I just... um." She rubs the back of her head. "Okay, so... one of the girls, right? The black one, Sophie?"

"Sophia Hess," you correct, a little confused.

"Sheeeeeeeee may have tried to escape custody and I maaaaaaaaay have helped the police track her down and catch her and she... possibly... said some things about you that, uh, weren't exactly flattering."

You stare at her for a moment.

"...Why... why would you do that? I mean, sure, you're a hero and she was a criminal, but it's--you're a cape. And she's not."

Vicky awkwardly glances away. "It was, you know, a heat of the moment thing. I didn't have the full context. Still don't, really, but, um... new clothes, new you! Leave the bitches behind, am I right?"

You look to Amy for guidance, or at least help. She sighs, dramatically, and puts down her sandwich. "Fine. I'll come along and make sure she doesn't go too far."

And so, after quickly calling Dad on the school phone to let him know what's happening, you find yourself enduring the attentions of a hot blonde alongside her sister. Thankfully, Vicky seems to get that you're not much of a clotheshorse, and doesn't force you into anything too revealing. And you have to admit, you do look... nice in some of this. Of course, you trip when you try on some heels, but for the few seconds you were standing you looked... elegant. You decide to learn how to walk in them... someday.

A few hours in and you're at a local cafe, eating some food. And then Vicky gets a call from her boyfriend and excuses herself to talk to him, leaving you with Amy.

Who, as you've previously noticed, has some very cute freckles.

Unfortunately Amy sees you staring and narrows her eyes. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Ah, no! No. No, just... um." You awkwardly fidget with your arm. "I... uh... are... are we friends?"

Amy frowns. "...what kind of question is that?"

"It's just--I was... very socially isolated, at Winslow. Nobody talked to me, and... and honestly, just... eating lunch with somebody else, like I have been, that's... I think that's the closest I've come to socializing in... years."

You fold in on yourself a little as she stares at you for a bit.

"...I've seen some shit at the hospital--some real tragic crap--and that has still got to be one of the saddest things I have ever heard." Amy rolls her eyes. "I don't know. Most of my 'friends' are actually Vicky's friends. But... I... guess we could be friends. If just eating together all the time is a friendship thing."

"Oh. Good. Um... So, we're friends."

"Yes."

"So we can... talk about things friends talk about."

Amy narrows her eyes. "...yeeesssssss...?"

"So, like... we can talk about..." Your voice drops, nervously. "Cute... girls...?"

Her eyes widen, briefly flicking toward Vicky, before focusing on you. "Not here," she hisses. "Too public."

"Right! Right. I'm, I'm still new at this." You laugh, awkwardly rubbing the back of your head. "Socially maladjusted, yeah."

"...God damn it I'm going to have to teach you how to people, aren't I?" Amy massages her temples. "I am... the absolute worst for that sort of thing."

Vicky returns, pocketing her phone. "Yeah, sorry about that. Dean had some trouble at work that might cause him to reschedule our date on Saturday. So what were you two talking about?"

"The benefits of a quiet lunch," Amy replies, flatly.

The rest of the afternoon is thankfully short, and you make it home with a couple bags of new clothes. You make sure to reassure Dad that you didn't spend too much and that Vicky wasn't too much of a bother, and he seems... happy that you're making friends? Huh. You kind of are, aren't you.

Thursday, you decide to wear one of your new shirts to school--and a different pair of pants, though not one of the ones Vicky picked out for you. You're not comfortable enough for that. Some people notice and compliment you, which you accept with an awkward smile. Amy definitely notices, raising an eyebrow, but doesn't comment.

"So... uh... cute girls."

Amy carefully says nothing for a moment. Then... "Are you coming out to me, or asking me out on a date?"

"...yes?"

"...You are terrible at this," Amy declares. "Look, I--I don't know how you figured out I was gay--"

"I didn't," you say. "I just... kinda... um."

The two of you stare at each other.

"...O...kay. Yeah, so... we've only known each other for two weeks, so that's like... way too soon for a date for me," Amy explains. "Especially since, uh... I haven't come out to my family yet."

"I haven't either. Come out to my Dad, I mean. I, uh, really only just figured this out a couple of weeks ago. After the trial, when I was thinking about... everything."

"...And you decided to ask me out," Amy deadpans. "Not my hot blonde sister."

"I mean... you're cute. You've got cute freckles. And she's dating somebody already. And, like... I might be poly, but she doesn't seem to be, so--"

"Poly?"

You blush a bit. "Polyamorous. Like... I like girls. And... I think I could like more than one."

Amy crosses her arms. "What, like a threesome?"

"Or a foursome... but, uh, emotionally. Not just..." You gesture vaguely. "But with the heart too. Caring about... a lot of girls." You consider her for a moment. "Wait, should I have said that?"

"I don't--I need to think about this."

You nod and awkwardly sink into your seat.

Friday's lunch is quiet, but not... uncomfortably so. Amy's still there, and she still looks at you from time to time, but it's clear she's not... disgusted with you or anything. Just... thinking. You're still thinking about how she looks when you go to sleep, which leads to a weird dream where Amy kisses you, takes off her face like a mask, and turns out to be Madison. And there's a couple swans being street vendors that sell pizza, but that's probably normal dream nonsense. It's the Amydison reveal that sticks out to you when you wake up.

You haven't even thought of the girl since the trial. If it wasn't for her, the trial wouldn't have happened, and--and also she's doing community service and her family paid you a heck of a lot of money. You still don't like her, but you never really hated her, and... frankly, she's still going to the hellhole that is Winslow. Even if it's under new management, you don't think it would have gotten much better since you left. Not in just a few weeks. The whole thing sticks in your mind during your morning exercises, and finally you decide to check in on her--just to satisfy your curiosity, if nothing else.

You remember, vaguely, that she's paying off her hours at a soup kitchen and manage to track it down online. A simple bus ride later and you're knocking on the door, hoping that somebody is in to tell you how your erstwhile bully is handling things. Unfortunately, it seems that nobody's there, so you leave.

And then you run into a group of five menacing men wearing swastikas.They're all wielding knives and a few of them have--thankfully holstered--guns. One of them smiles at you. "Looking for help from the heebs? I get it. You're desperate. But you don't have to be." He holds out a hand.

Before you can say anything, you hear a voice descending from the heavens. "Leave the girl alone, miscreants!"

You look up, and you see a girl. A dark-skinned blonde girl in a blue robe and witch's hat, wearing a large pair of goggles and a bunch of necklaces as she flies above you all and waves a staff. Who the hell is this girl?!

And why the hell does she look like the lovechild of Victoria Dallon and Sophia Hess?!

You look around quickly to make sure nobody else is in danger and completely fail to see anybody else. Yep, it's just you, these five thugs, and the weird cape. Good enough! You rush for the soup kitchen door--

--and barely dodge when a scything chain digs into it and rips it out of the frame.

"Look what we have here," says the shirtless man pulling the chain back. "A nigger bitch and a race traitor." He chuckles behind his metallic wolf mask. "And here I was only hoping to burn out the heebs today."

Your heart pounds in your chest. As if the blatant racism wasn't a good enough hint, the way metal is growing out of the man's skin confirms it. This... this is Hookwolf, the murderblender of the Empire. And all you have is a thinker power and your forcefield that would probably protect you from his blades but not from his thugs.

You spare a glance at the cape hovering above you, and you can see she's as terrified as you are. But she glances at you, steadies herself, and points her staff. "Stay back, miscreant! Lest you face justice's wrath!"

"How hilariously noble of you. Haven't you heard?" Hookwolf continues to bulk up. "Chivalry is dead. And soon, you'll be too."

The cape girl glances down at you, flicking a hand toward the soup kitchen. You realize she thinks you're a civilian--and, honestly, right now you kind of are. Your defense is kind of okay, and your offense doesn't even exist yet. Man, you have got to get something you can use for self-defense when you're not a cape...

You run through the ruined door just as the cape rockets toward Hookwolf, hanging a right immediately to what you presume to be the kitchens--that's what all the ductwork and wiring seems to imply, anyway. You're chased by three of the goons, the other two staying behind and unholstering their guns to point at the flying cape. Thankfully, none of the thugs running at you have anything more than knives. God this is so terrifying, but what's worse is you feel so out of your depth. You need to know what you're doing--you need to win a fight. Maybe not this one, but--

A yelp comes from your lips as you dodge around the island in the center of the kitchen, just managing not to get slashed. You look around wildly, grab a saucepan from a nearby rack, and deflect the second swing before smacking your attacker so hard he falls into one of his buddies. You don't even hesitate a second, knocking them both over on the backswing, but you back away when the final goon scrapes his larger knife against the pan. Your eyes dart about wildly, falling on the oven built into the wall. You grab the handle and lean back as the guy stabs at you again, taking hold of his arm and slamming the oven door shut on it. He cries out in pain, but still retains enough awareness to dodge your swinging saucepan. However, with one arm trapped and the other occupied, he can't dodge your kick to the crotch, and a follow-up swing with your saucepan knocks him as cold as his buddies on the floor.

Holy fuck.

You just did that.

Holy fuck.

The sound of gunshots catches your attention, and you remember that the cape girl is risking her life to keep you safe. Which, with your forcefield, isn't really necessary--although you'll admit you don't know how much help you would be. But, looking at your saucepan, you decide you can't just stay here--and your tinkering urge has been getting stronger. You start taking apart the kitchen, ripping coils from the stove, wires from the microwave, and using silverware as improvised tools--in a few minutes, you've taken one of the unconscious goons' knives and turned it into a plasma machete. A really ugly, sparking plasma machete, but it's functional and that's what counts! You could even use it to defend yourself out of costume--

Oh... another wave of pleasure runs through you. Your space has expanded--but you'll deal with your new cards later, right now you need to help the cape girl! Shit, you don't have a mask. Uh, uh... fuck it there are paper bags here, you'll cut eyeholes in one! Man, you really need to tinker up a helmet to protect your ID. And your head....

You carefully peer around the door frame. The cape girl is playing interference between Hookwolf and the building, flying in and out to smash him back. Huh, she's pretty strong. She's still dodging shots from the gun-toting goons, though, so they're probably a problem for her. Luckily, they're focused on the cape battle in front of them and not the bag-headed girl sneaking up behind them. You raise your saucepan and smack one head into the other, knocking them both out.

...okay, you're keeping this saucepan. It's awesome.

You focus on Hookwolf, getting your forcefield to match his power while you psyche yourself up. The cape girl smacks Hookwolf back with her staff, and you take that as your cue, running forward and cutting a foreleg off with your plasma machete. Hookwolf roars at the sudden loss of limb, more angry than hurt, and tosses you back as he gets up--you smack against a wall and hiss in pain at the rough impact. But, hey, no cuts! Your forcefield is protecting you from his metal!

"No no no no--! ...Uh..." The cape girl flies to you and looks you over. "...are you alright, uh, bag girl?"

"Gestalt," you grumble. "My name's Gestalt. Hold the asshole down, will you?" You grip your machete. "I don't think he'll leave without some convincing."

She looks up just in time to swing her staff and meet Hookwolf's charging form, slamming him up and over and into the road. The asshole is already regrowing the metal foreleg, so you reach out, grab his rear foot, and cut it off. The moment the metal separates, you drop it with a hiss and look at the small cut on your hand. Okay, so it only counts as his power when it's still connected to his body, good to know. Your next attempt at cutting something off of him only leaves a gash in his side, which isn't a problem for the guy, but then you swing wide enough to cut off his other two legs.

That's apparently enough for him to decide to get out of dodge, since his metal body starts shifting like liquid--if liquid was made of sawblades. The cape girl can't keep him pinned, and he hops onto a nearby wall, sloughing himself up until he's on the roof. With one final glare, the metal wolf--much smaller--lunges away.

That...

That just happened.

That just fucking happened.

"Taylor are you alright?" the cape asks.

"I'm fine, I--" Her words hit you, and you slowly turn to look at her. "...How do you know my name?"

"O-Oh! Ah." The cape quickly pulls a strand of hair behind her ear, drawing herself up--

Wait. You recognize that. You know that gesture.

"Well you see, citizen--"

"MADISON?!"

The cape girl jolts. "Wha--No! Who's Madison? Do I look like a Madison to you?"

"No, you look like the love child of Victoria Dallon and Sophia Hess," you reply flatly. "Why do you look like the lovechild of Victoria Dallon and Sophia Hess, Madison?!"

"I must, just, uh, have one of those faces. Just the one though! Ordinary amount of face."

"Ahuh, sure. So how do you know my name, Madison?"

She smiles weakly. "Sssssssuper powers?"

You cross your arms.

She sighs. "Alright, you got me. I really thought the blonde-haired black form would make me unrecognizable. What gave me away?"

"Well, you look like the lovechild of Sophia and Vicky, you did that hair thing you always do when you're about to put on a show, and you called me by my name." You consider her for a moment. "...In all fairness, it probably would work with people who don't actually know you."

"Right." Madison awkwardly adjusts her hat. "So, um. How... how have you been?"

"Surprisingly well, all things considered."

She visibly flinches.

You sigh, uncrossing your arms. "Okay, you're a cape, somehow. And..." You glance at the machete. "I guess... you know I'm a cape too now."

"Yeah. Uh... Tinker?"

"Trump, actually. With some tinkering abilities."

"Oh." She shrugs. "I'm... a tinker/trump, I think. With a side order of changer/stranger, it's... a little complicated."

The two of you stand there for a few moments.

"...you did try to save me. When Hookwolf showed up." You swallow. "So, uh... thanks. For that. I guess."

"Yeah. Uh... yeah. I'm... I'm new at this," she admits. "I've only... really been caping for a few days..."

"Better than me, this was my first day out--and it wasn't even something I planned." You hold up the knife. "I just made this out of kitchen parts. They need a new stove and microwave, by the way."

"...Fuck. Yeah." Madison bites her lip. "I'm... I should call this in. Get these guys arrested. Do you, uh--?"

"I'm not ready to debut, I don't even have a costume yet. I should... I should go."

"...okay, yeah. Do you... want to exchange phone numbers?"

"I still don't have a cell phone."

"I'll just give you my number, then. You can call--uh... whenever... whenever you're comfortable. Or, not at all. If you don't want to. Cause..." She trails off for a moment, then reaches into her robe. "Anyway, here's my number."

She quickly scribbles something out on a notepad and hands it to you. You quirk an eyebrow at the name. "Metis?"

"Yep! Metis. That's--that's my name. My cape name."

"The mother of Athena that Zeus ate while pregnant?"

"...yes." Madison clears her throat. "Uh... anyway... gonna... gonna call the police now. And the PRT because, uh... Hookwolf. Do you want me to mention Gestalt, or--"

"I'd really rather you didn't. I want to control my own narrative."

"Right! Right, right. Anyway." She pulls out a phone, gesturing at it. "Calling... you probably want to leave if you don't... you know, want to get caught up in all this."

After a moment, you awkwardly nod and take off your bag mask, putting your plasma machete and Awesome Saucepan in it.

The bus ride home is filled with confusing thoughts. You're a little upset that Madison's a cape, but you know what it's like to go through a trigger event. You... you think that, plus what she's been sentenced to, should be punishment enough. On the other hand, she was one of the trio...

Why can't life be simple?

You lean your head against the window, doing some more thinking. You definitely need to set up a dedicated Tinkering space. And finish your costume. Maybe you can ask somebody for advice on that--Parian's a fashion cape, right? Maybe she'll tell you to wear heels.

Huh. Could you fight in heels? Something to look into.

Of course, that's all contingent on you getting tinkering parts, without being noticed. Hookwolf already saw your plasma machete, so he might figure there's a new tinker out there. And he might remember your face, from before you got into the soup kitchen. Fuck. This isn't good, you need to keep on the down low. Your best options are Jerry's Junk Shop and...

...sigh...

...asking your dad for help.

You guess that's that, then. You gotta talk with him about it. Sooner rather than later. You are not looking forward to that conversation.

As you finally get home, you remember that you have a few new cards to pick. The first feels like a small lake of living gelatin, bouncing along gently. The second seems, to your sensibilities, like a very strong but shy man. And then there's the third, another silver card that reminds you of nothing so much as an absent-minded scientist who's always losing everything.

You put away your plasma machete, head to bed, and ponder your future.

After some serious thought, you pick the second card. Instantly, in the privacy of your room, you feel stronger. Maybe not strong enough to lift a car, but strong enough to move furniture. You know that it'll only work when nobody can see you--it's a good thing you were planning on a full-body costume anyway. You slip into sleep with a small smile.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning, after you finish your exercises, you gather your jetskirt and your plasma machete. Taking a deep breath, you call up the stairs. "Hey, uh, Dad? Can you come down here? I need--I need to show you something."

"Alright." Dad comes down the stairs. "What do you need to--" His eyes fall on the jetskirt. "Taylor. What... what is that?"

You rub the back of your head, awkwardly. "So, uh... you know how Miss Dallon had a private talk with me? She, uh, told me that capes--they get their powers after a trigger event. Which is... it's usually considered the worst day of their life. And, uh... she asked me if I thought the locker was the worst day of my life, and I... I said yes."

Dad sags. "...you're a cape."

"...Yeah. Well, I'm a parahuman, anyway--"

A throbbing headache hits you, making you flinch as you clutch your head.

"Taylor--?"

"Ugh. Just--just a headache, Dad. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Dad steps forward. "Taylor, if your power is giving you headaches--"

"It's not! It's not. At least... it hasn't before."

"Before? Taylor, what have you been doing?"

"Honestly? I've mostly just been looking for ways to work on my costume without getting on any of the gangs' radars." You gesture at the jetskirt. "It's not finished yet, obviously, but if I can get the parts--"

"I don't want you risking your life fighting capes--"

"Powers need to be used, Dad!" You shake your head, frustrated. "I mean--it's like eating, okay? I need to eat, or I'll get hungry. I could put it off for a few days, but that would be bad. And I could put off using my powers for... maybe a couple of weeks, but then the urge would get worse!" You put a hand on the jetskirt. "I'm--partially a tinker. Like Armsmaster, or Kid Win. I'm not going to go out until I've completed a set of armor, and I do have the tinker specialty for that. And even when I do go out," you add quickly, "I'm not going to do it alone. I'll find a more experienced cape, I'll learn from them. But... the thing is, I need to do this. I need to."

Your dad stares at you for a long while.

"...Carol knows about you?"

"Yes."

"And she told you--"

"She told me a lot of things," you say. "About how to avoid unwanted attention, and what not to do... and how to make sure I'm ready." You rub your arm awkwardly. "She, uh... also said I should talk to you. Before I went out. I just... I was worried you'd overreact and do something... impulsive."

Dad sighs, sitting on the stairs. "I suppose I can understand that... are you... sure this is what you want to do?"

You think back to your unexpected encounter with Hookwolf... and how Madison, of all people, tried to protect you.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm sure. The world... this city... it needs more people looking after it. More people trying to fix things. And..." You run your hands along the jetskirt. "I think I can do that."

"...Alright. But we're going to have a serious talk about what you're allowed to do as a cape." Dad gets up. "You're a Tinker, right? You build things?"

You smile a little slyly. "Well... I'm not just a Tinker..."

The rest of the afternoon, and most of the evening, is spent talking to your dad about your powers--how they work, what you can do, and what you need to complete your costume. Dad grumbles a bit at some of your requests, but--since most of them are for the armor part of the ballgown--he promises to get what he can from the DWA, and buy the rest from Jerry's while you're at school.

Speaking of which, school is relatively normal this week. There's talk of a new cape that tangled with Hookwolf. Most of your classmates think that it sounds pretty cool, but Vicky--of all people--is worried. "Hookwolf's not an easy customer," she explains at lunch. "It's great this new cape survived the experience and came out on top, but that's a hell of a risk to take--especially when you're just starting out."

You feel both grateful that she's concerned, and slightly insulted. Sure, nobody knows you fought Hookwolf, but you did.

"At least the goons got knocked out," you offer.

Vicky sighs. "Yeah, but head injuries are no joke. I hope the new cape doesn't accidentally go too far." She snorts. "If it even was her."

"What... what do you mean by that?"

"The fuckers were hit by a saucepan," Amy explains. "I've seen that kind of thing before. Thing is, the new cape didn't have a saucepan." She takes a bite of her sandwich and swallows. "My theory is a normal took the goons out, and the new cape's trying to protect them by taking the heat. Or maybe just taking the credit."

You awkwardly return to your lunch. "Guess that makes sense..."

That afternoon, your dad returns home with some spare supplies from one of the DWA's offices. You thank him and get to work; after a few hours, you manage to finish armoring the jetskirt. Dad watches as you give it a little test--it lifts you off the basement floor easily, and floats like a charm. Now you just have to work on the rest of your outfit.

The next day is mostly normal, with you enjoying a quiet lunch in the same room as Amy. You even manage to chat a little about... school. Not much, but it's something. Dad's not home when you get there, though, so you take a moment to look over your jetskirt. It's functional, and well-protected, and... hmm. You think it looks cool, but maybe you could use some advice.

A few minutes later, you've set up your laptop upstairs and looked over Parian's website. It's actually very well organized, and you're able to find what you want quickly. You pick up the phone, dialing the number.

"...Hello, Parian speaking."

"Yeah, hi. I, uh, I see you've got an option here for new capes to ask you for fashion advice?"

"Yes. Do you want to arrange an appointment, or--?"

"Can we do this over the phone?"

"I've got a few minutes. I'll have to ask you to send me the money first, though."

You click a few things on your laptop. "Okay, I think I sent it. Have you got it on your end?"

"One moment... ah. Yes. Thank you. Now then, there are three things you need to consider when designing your costume: your power needs, your budget, and the persona you want to project. I've found that the third one is the one that new capes often trip up on--it isn't as obviously practical as the first two, and surprisingly complicated. I assume you've already taken your power needs into consideration?"

"Well, I'm a Tinker," you explain.

"Ah." Parian hums thoughtfully. "Armor is not my specialty, you understand."

"Well, no, but I'm making--basically, it's a metal ballgown with thick armor and jets in the skirt so I can fly around."

"A bold choice. How much of this have you completed?"

"Just the skirt. It works and it looks--well, I think it looks cool, but I'm self-aware enough to know my fashion sense is kind of shot. Are there any things I should do, or not do? I don't want to look like a villain."

"Hmm. Well, first of all, on the practical side of things, you're going to want to wear layers. Your undergarments, then something thin and breathable to let you sweat, then... something to cushion your skin while you're in the ballgown itself. All that before you put it on, you understand?"

"Yes."

"As to the design of the costume itself... tell me, are you going for full body coverage?"

"Yes. No exposed skin. Maybe my hair," you allow, "it's long enough."

"I see. And... forgive me, but I assume this is going to be a combat outfit, with some sort of weapon?"

"A parasol that becomes a taser sword. I'm not sure if it'll unfold or if the parasol is just the sheathe, yet, I'm working on the costume first."

"...certainly an evocative mental image," Parian finally replies. "I believe I see what you're going for though... hmm. First of all, as a practical concern, you're going to want to make sure all the functional components of your armor are evenly supported across your body. Even if you put in some degree of support, if your shoulders have more strain then your hips you're going to have a lot of muscle pain. You may also want to shape the armor to resemble ruffles--emphasize the dress aspect of it, make the plates of the skirt seem like pleats. That sort of thing." She hums a bit in consideration. "You're almost certainly going to want to modify the helmet, both to let your hair out and to make it more uniquely designed. The basic shape of a helmet has too little flair to be considered anything more than a robotic head, which leads us directly into the persona you want to present. Tell me... why a ballgown?"

"...I kinda wanted to stand out," you admit. "To just--just show everyone that I was a girl, you know? A way to reclaim myself, after... after the events that led up to my trigger."

"Aaaaaah. I see, I see. And would you describe yourself as an extrovert or an introvert?"

"More of an introvert."

"Alright. I don't want to review the complexities of color theory over the phone, so I'm going to simplify. Cape costumes tend to have two or three colors: a basic foundation, and a highlight. Now, if the foundation is a more dramatic color than the highlight, then the highlight will accentuate and call out the foundation. Velocity, for instance, has a red base and silver highlights. Red is brave and daring color, and silver is a lively one, so taken together Velocity presents a dynamic and attractive persona. Not that inappropriate for a speedster. If the highlights are more dramatic then the foundation, on the other hand, then the foundation backs up and supports the highlights. Battery, for instance, has a teal circuit pattern on a black foundation, which means the sympathetic and moralizing aspects of the teal highlights are backed by the inner strength of the black foundation. People instinctively expect her to do the right thing, as a result."

"I thought Battery had blue circuits," you point out.

"A common misconception, teal is close to blue, after all. As for you... well, while accents can cover the rainbow anywhere, armor has a far smaller range of reasonable-looking colors. I take it you're not making your dress out of gold?"

"No."

"No, I didn't think so. Then you'll want to use black as your foundation color and... hmm, pink is too bold. Something pink-adjacent... Fuschia, perhaps? It's both level-headed and fun-loving, and backed by the prestige of black, it would make you appear as a 'cool big sister' type."

You bite your lip. That sounds... a little strange, but Parian's the fashion expert. "Ah... okay?"

"Now remember, fuschia is the accent color. You should probably only put it on specific faulds and armor segments, to break up the black foundation and make it look like a dress. And you'll want a third color around your face, just to make it less... robotic. Maybe a white cloth mask, or a silver plate. That sort of thing."

"Okay." You nod. "I'll remember that. Uh... thanks for talking with me, Parian."

"You're quite welcome... ah..."

"Gestalt."

"Gestalt. Interesting. I look forward to your debut, Gestalt."

You hang up the phone, give it an odd look, and take a few notes.

Wednesday afternoon, your dad gives you even more materials to work with. You hug him before descending into the basement, and in a few hours you've finished the torso and upper shoulders of the ballgown. You have to admit, Parian's advice actually helped out--the stabilizers and reverse jets resemble ruffles and a waist bow, and the regenerative plating of the armor vaguely reminds you of a corset. You walk around in it for a bit, admiring yourself in the mirror; you can see where this is going now.

Thursday afternoon isn't as good though. You don't have enough materials to really work on the outfit, beyond digging through your closet for the undersuit. After a few minutes of frustration, you throw up your hands and decide to do something else. Your thoughts drift back to what happened last week, and you awkwardly dig out Madison's phone number from your drawer.

She picks up after a few rings. "Uh, hello?"

"Hey, Madison. It's--it's me."

"Oh! Hold on." There's a quick ruffle of something on the other end. "Hi, Taylor. Sorry, I just--I think my parents would ask questions if they knew I was talking to you."

"Really."

"Yeah, uh... they're... not exactly my biggest fans, at the moment. So..." She sighs. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

The two of you are awkwardly quiet, for a moment.

"...Can I ask you something? Something a little, uh... awkward."

"I... guess."

"Do you know what Emma's deal was?" you ask. "I mean, she was my best friend for most of my life, and then right before we got to Winslow she turned into the uberbitch."

"Uh. Well... I don't actually know," Madison admits. "Like... she was like that for as long as I knew her. Obsessed with you, for some reason. She'd snipe at other people in a more general sense, but you in particular..."

"She just hated me, huh?"

"I'm not sure it was hate. I mean, not just hate. I think she... wanted to hate you?" Madison offers hesitantly. "Like, some times I'd see... something in her eyes when she was talking about you. I think Sophia saw it too. And Emma was her first and kind of only friend, so she was jealous of you, but Sophia was just... emotionally illiterate, and didn't understand why she was jealous, so she expressed herself with aggression. Sophia was a lot easier to read then Emma, really, but there was definitely something going through Emma's mind... about you. I don't really... I don't really know, myself."

You frown a bit, considering that for a moment. It's... weird.

"...um." Madison clears her throat. "So, uh... how's the tinkering going?"

"Oh, it's going great. I've almost got my costume done. Just a few more pieces."

"That's great! I'm trying to come up with a few pieces myself. You know, on the down-low." Madison chuckles self-depreciatingly. "Of course, my tinkering involves jewelry, so..."

"Jewelry?"

"Yeah. I basically enchant gems with powers from parahumans I've talked to. Like my necklace has Glory Girl's super strength, force field, and flight. I decided not to add her aura, though, I don't think I'm nearly responsible enough for that."

"Wait, is that why you looked like--?"

"Yeah, that's why."

"I--I don't understand. Sophia was a parahuman?"

There's a moment of awkward silence.

"...Taylor... Sophia was Shadow Stalker."

"What."

"Yeah, I didn't know either, until she tried to break custody, and--"

"That bitch," you growl, "was a Ward?"

"...yeeeeeah, that's part of the reason I decided not to tell my parents about my powers."

"Did they know? I--I saw on the news that Shadow Stalker had quit because of 'family problems'--"

"Pretty sure that's PR speak for 'she's in juvie but we don't want the public to lose faith in us.'" Madison sighs. "Politics."

You stew in your anger for a bit. Then you let out a grumble. "Well, at least she's out of my hair now."

"...yeah."

"...so. Tinkering."

"Yeah, I have to use gemstones for some reason," Madison quickly replies. "And I mean it's like... they're cool? But also, expensive, and--well, you know why finances are tight for us right now."

"Oof. Yeah. Uh... I'm not going to say sorry, because you know, but that sucks."

"Right, right. Still... I'm going to look over the vigilante laws, see if there's anything that can support that sort of purchase..."

The two of you chat a bit about the difficulties of tinkering, before you eventually have to hang up. Man, you've got to get a personal phone--both for heroing and because it's apparently a necessity for modern teens to socialize with.

Friday afternoon brings with it a whole new set of materials, brought home by your dad. You are agog with glee, since among all the materials there is a helmet just perfect for what you want. Giving him a tight hug, you take the materials downstairs; after a few hours of tinkering, you've not only put together a set of gauntlets but also modified the helmet with a perfect-looking turbine tiara.

Okay, so you still suck at names. But you know what you don't suck at? COMPLETING THIS COSTUME!

Your inner space expands, and you can't help the pleased sigh that comes out. Wow. That just... it's probably addictive. Wow. Uh. Maybe you should see a power doctor. Or something.

Later.

For now, you look at your complete superhero outfit. Well, almost complete. It just needs a paint job. And, well, you need a better weapon than your plasma machete. You also take a moment to look at the three cards that have come up in your head--another silver one, with a scientist that seems to be in multiple places at once, a strange jellyfish that floats in midair, and a black card that feels like a radio antennae. But, you decide, you can wait to make your choice. Wait till you're ready to head out.

Saturday, after you finish your morning exercises, you take a moment to admire your body in the mirror. You definitely look fit. And you're sure you can keep the exercises up without needing to focus, now that they're a habit. Then you head downstairs and ask your dad to take you to the general store for some paint. He agrees, though he does suggest you disguise your activities with a more general shopping trip. The two of you wander around the home repair store, grabbing nails and spray paint and some boards and tape--you even spot an umbrella that would be perfect for turning into your primary weapon.

When you get home, you take your supplies, put on a mask and goggles, and head straight into the basement. It takes some time, and you're carefully precise with how you apply the various layers, but after a few hours you step back and consider your work. You head upstairs to clean yourself off before you eat lunch with Dad.

"...So," he says. "How's... the project?"

"Basically done. I mean, I haven't made the parasol taser sword yet, but the dress is complete. Just waiting for the paint to dry... should only be a few minutes now."

He nods at your words. "And it's fully armored?"

"Yes, dad. Regenerating armor everywhere. The helmet, the torso, the gauntlets, even--no, especially the skirt! Since, you know, that's how I'm going to be flying." You smile at him. "I'll be perfectly safe."

"...I'll believe that when I see it."

You check the clock. "Well, the paint should be dry now. Want to see how it looks on me?"

Dad rolls his eyes. "Alright, little owl. If you insist."

You dive into the basement with a grin. A few minutes later, you hover out, confirming your increased strength remains while you're completely encapsulated. "So: How do I look?"

"...you look great, Taylor. Regal, powerful... and elegant." Dad smiles a little sadly. "If only you didn't have to grow up so fast."

You blush behind your mask, awkwardly fidgeting a bit. "Thanks. Uh... I kinda want to take this out flying, soon."

"Alright. But you're not going to do it alone," Dad states firmly. "You have to find somebody to practice with."

"Don't worry, Dad," you reassure him. "I know exactly who I'm gonna call."

Chapter Text

Sunday morning, you finally decide to look at your new cards--they're really starting to pester you to choose one. You don't know how abstract representations of your power can pester you, but there you are. It doesn't take much for you to pick the scientist--tinker powers have never betrayed you before--and you soon find yourself thinking about teleporter robots. Not robots that teleport, but robots you can teleport to. And...

...and...

You groan as you put your head in your hands.

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

"You know how I have my thinker power, the one that lets me see how things are put together?"

Dad puts down his fork with a hesitant nod.

"And you know how I have, like, a lot of tinker powers?"

"My wallet and I are well aware," he deadpans.

You huff a bit, but acknowledge the point with a shrug. "So--the thing about tinkertech is that it's blackboxed, right? Nobody knows how it works. But with my thinker power, I can see how the components fit together. Which means I can build a tinkertech jetpack, say 'these blackboxed parts do this,' and replace the blackboxed parts with something that does the same thing but isn't blackboxed. So you get a jetpack anybody can maintain."

"That's... incredible, actually."

"I know. And the thing it, I can do that with my regenerating armor, and I can sort of do that with my elemental swords. Not all of them, but some of them; it wouldn't be as impressive as my tinkertech stuff, but it would work." You throw your hands up in the air. "But I just got a tinker power for teleport drones--robots that I can teleport to. Do you know how useful those could be if I could replicate them? Except--I can't! There is no mundane equivalent to teleporter components! At best I could maybe gut a drone and turn it into an ordinary robot, and I'd have rewrite the software from scratch!"

Dad quirks an eyebrow. "The trials of being a superhero are multitudinous."

"Yeah... um." You rub your arm awkwardly. "Speaking of which--"

"Taylor, I'm not sure how long I can afford to keep sneaking you materials. The DWA is on a shoestring budget as it is, and the junkshop is... kind of expensive."

You wince. "I'm fine with what I've got for now. And that's not what I wanted to talk to you about, anyway."

Dad frowns. "Really? Then what did you want to ask?"

"...Miss Dallon, um... she pointed out that, uh, because of how... chaotic caping can be, I actually basically need... a cell phone." You cringe at his sharp intake of breath. "I-I mean, you know, calling for help if I'm overwhelmed, a-a-and keeping aware of the city's situation--"

"I get it." Dad sighs. "I don't... like it, but I get it."

"...so... I was thinking, um... maybe we could go shopping for one together?"

Dad stares at you. You swallow nervously.

A few hours later, you're at the phone store, listening to a salesman yammering on about all the features different models have. Your dad doesn't seem too interested, and you really aren't either, but despite it all you get a fairly high-quality phone at a decent price. You promise Dad that you won't use it while driving, then clarify outside the store that you also meant flying but didn't want the shopkeeper to know you were a cape.

When you get home, you decide to do some personal study, pushing yourself through a bit of coursework the school's not having you focus on. It's a nice break from tinkering overall, and you feel like you're catching up to your classmates in regards to what you know.

Monday is the last day of January, and that reminds you that February is the month with Valentine's day. Which is in... oh, two weeks? You swallow nervously, thinking about it all day, and then lunch rolls around.

"So, uh..." You glance at Amy. "Hey."

Amy rolls her eyes. "Hello, Taylor."

"...are you free Friday afternoon?"

Amy gives you a dry look. "Are you asking me out on a date?

"Um. Yes. I mean, if you want. You don't have to if, if you don't want to, I can just--"

"Yeah sure." Amy shrugs. "What do you want to do?"

"Uh... I haven't, uh, actually been on any dates before."

"Lucky you. Vicky tries to drag me on double dates with her boyfriend all the time." After a moment, Amy sighs. "Dinner and a movie is traditional, I think. I'll look up what's playing and tell you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay yeah, I'll--I'll be ready," you reply, lamely.

You feel horribly embarrassed for the rest of the day, so when you get home you decide to drown yourself in some tinkering. A few hours later and you've managed to make the skeleton of your umbrella sharpened and electric. It's still a far cry from a taser parasol, but you think you'll be able to add some special panels with a bit of finagling.

On Tuesday, Amy informs you of a film and matinee that you can go to. It's nice to know you've got something to look forward to and haven't completely screwed everything up. You decide to finish up your taser parasol, and a few hours more with it has given you a parasol with an armored canopy that can fold into an electrified bladed club. You twirl it on your shoulder for a bit, before putting it away with a small grin.

After you do that, though, you decide to visit Aunt Zoe again. She wasn't looking too great the last time you saw her, and it's been a couple of weeks. You head out to Emma's house and--

Hang on, is that a moving van?

Anne, Emma's sister, spots you staring. "Oh. Hi Taylor." She sighs as she moves a box into the van. "Sorry, you, uh... you caught us at a bad time."

"You're moving?"

"Well..." She glances back at the van. "...the thing is... Mom and Dad are getting divorced. And Dad owns the house, so..."

Ah. You wince sympathetically.

"You guys need help?"

"You don't have to do that--"

"I want to. I'm... I feel responsible for this."

Anne shakes her head. "Taylor, this wasn't your fault."

"Just because I know that doesn't mean I don't feel responsible. Please, Anne."

"...Alright." She gestures at the house. "Mom's upstairs."

You walk in and see Aunt Zoe handling a few boxes. She seems surprised to see you, but her expression softens when you offer to help. Things... are awkward, but you do manage to get everything loaded. Before the moving van drives off, Anne and Zoe give you a hug.

Your bus ride home is pretty solemn.

Wednesday is pretty normal, even with Vicky dropping in during lunch to chatter away about this and that. You get the impression she's mostly checking in on Amy, but the fact that she at least tries to keep you involved is... kind of sweet. Of course, something she mentions catches your attention.

"I know reputation is important for Capes, but I'm kind of annoyed that we're not exactly allowed to grow. I mean, I was fifteen when I became Glory Girl, and I'm pretty awesome--don't get me wrong--it's just, you know, Glory Girl? And Glory Girl..." She sighs, dramatically. "So few people take me seriously with that sort of name, Ames."

"How horrifying," Amy drawls.

"Oh don't you start. I know you're tired of the Panacea reputation."

You flinch a bit as Amy scowls. "I'm not tired of it, Vicky, I'm just... tired. In general."

The conversation trails off after that, and fortunately--or unfortunately--the lunch bell winds up cutting off further discussion. Still, it sticks with you when you get home, and you take a moment to think about your role as a cape.

What exactly do you want to be...? Presentation matters, Parian basically said as much, so after considering it, you start looking things up online. Of course, you don't really find too much useful beyond the usual 'keep calm and composed and don't use slurs' general advice, so after a bit you close the browser.

You lay on your bed, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes, and your thoughts drift back to Madison. Madison and her ridiculous cape outfit. A witch's hat and robe, and... and yet, she somehow made it work. Actually, how do her powers work anyway? The mystery of Metis enthralls you...

...and eventually, you get an idea.

"Hello?"

"Hey Madison."

"Oh! One sec." There's some shuffling on the other end. "Hey Taylor! New phone, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. Hey, listen--I finished my cape costume."

"Really? That's amazing!" Madison enthuses.

You flinch a bit, but the encouragement seems genuine--for all that it triggers bad memories with that tone. Instead of hanging up, though, you press on. "Yeah, the thing is, though: it's a flying outfit. I can fly in it. I just... don't have a lot of experience flying."

"Aaaaah. So... you want somebody to spot you for your public debut."

"Yeah. I was thinking of asking New Wave--they've got a lot of experienced fliers. But... I also thought, maybe, you could come along?"

There's silence on the other end of the phone.

"New Wave," Madison mutters. "And... Glory Girl will be there?"

"I mean, yeah, I'm going to be flying around in a big hunk of metal," you point out. "So probably. I mean I know it'll be awkward since, uh, Metis kinda looks like her--"

"It's not just--" Madison sighs. "...It's not just that. It's--" She sighs again. "I guess you ought to know. Glory Girl kinda made me trigger."

"...What?"

"I mean, like--listen, she's like Brockton's hero, right? I mean sure, you've got the Protectorate, but they're all governmenty. And I'm not saying the rest of New Wave isn't heroic, the Pelhams are like a family of heroes, but Glory Girl is... she's an Alexandria package. She's bold. She's in-your-face, a sort of force of cultural power, you know? And I... you know, I admired that, she was a beacon in the darkness. But..."

Madison's quiet for a moment.

"...well. She was a beacon. And there I was, doing... well, everything I did to you. And in the back of my mind, I think I knew it. I knew I wasn't living up to that standard, I just... never admitted it to myself. And then, well, that day happened, and--and sure, I was arrested with the other two, but I thought that because I flipped on them I could get away scot free, you know? Then Sophia tried to run for it, and I don't know how Glory Girl was there but she was. And there was a whole cape fight, and Sophia... she said something about predators and prey, I don't exactly remember, but I remember what Glory Girl's reply was. She said anybody who did what we did, who treated people like that without any respect, they were a villain."

Madison's sad laugh comes out of the phone. "Glory Girl called me a villain. And the thing is... she was right. I realized it, right then, and my world shattered, and... I triggered."

"...I didn't know that," you say awkwardly.

"It's not like I blame her," she reassures you quickly. "Like, sure, she lit the fuse, but... the guilt and the shame it was... it was all already there. It was just the straw that broke the camel's back. I think she went through something similar--like, sure, she triggered at a basketball game, but it wasn't the game that made her trigger, it was everything else that happened before, and the game--just... was the last straw. So, I don't blame her, I just... I just don't know if I could handle it if she got mad at me."

"She won't get mad at you," you reassure her. "I talked with her at school, and she was worried about you. Well, about Metis, anyway."

"...Really?"

"Yeah, the Hookwolf thing... you've got a bit of a reputation now."

"Huh." There's a pause. "...Alright. I--I'll come. Let me know when you've got things set up, alright?"

"Alright."

"And Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"...thanks for, uh... giving me a chance."

"...yeah." You hang up, awkwardly.

Thursday afternoon, after spending a good day at school, you look up Lady Photon's number and ring her up. She doesn't answer immediately--she's probably a busy superhero--but you leave a message amounting to 'My name's Gestalt, and your sister gave me some serious advice about being a cape. I've tinkered up a flying suit, but I kind of want some help while I learn how to use it.' While you're waiting for her to reply, you surf the internet for more PR advice and come across a remarkably in-depth article about the presentation and costuming of capes and how performance can leave an impression, written by a mysterious G. Chambers. It is, frankly, a stroke of ridiculous luck for you, and you write everything down plus a few notes of your own. By the time Lady Photon calls you back, you've mentally assembled your cape persona and answer her much more confidently.

"Hello, is this Gestalt?"

"Why yes, yes it is," you reply in a mildly posh tone. "Thank you ever so much for calling me back, miss... Photon?"

"Miss Photon. That takes me back... Lady Photon is fine. I got your message, but I'd like some clarification."

"But of course. I had the good fortune of running into your dear sister shortly after I, ah, obtained my abilities, and she gave me some very helpful advice on how to proceed. She might remember me as Three T H, if that's helpful."

"One moment." There's a pause on the other end of the phone. "...Okay, yes, she knows who you are."

"Wonderful! So, as I informed you, I have crafted an outfit intended to allow me to engage in aerial maneuvering. However, while it is most certainly flight capable, I am less certain about myself. And this brings me to the point of the matter; I would be ever so appreciative if you and yours were on hand for the first public testing of my equipment, in the event that I make any errors."

"Because we have the largest collection of fliers in the Bay," Lady Photon replies. "I see. And you aren't going to the PRT because...?"

"Now why would I want to get bogged down with all that bureaucracy? I'll certainly print out a copy of the independent hero registration, but I feel very little need to step foot in there myself beyond that."

"Hmm. Alright... do you think you could come to Captain's Hill this Saturday, at around twelve?"

"I do believe I can. Oh!" you add, as though just remembering it. "I did have a little encounter with Metis earlier this week. The poor dear seems to genuinely want to be heroic, but the legalities of the situation might escape her grasp. Would you mind terribly if I brought her along for a little advice from experienced heroes?"

Lady Photon hums thoughtfully. "Well... alright. I suppose we could accommodate her as well."

"Wonderful! Thank you ever so much. I shall see you then!"

You hang up and quickly dial Madison's number, telling her the good news. Madison is nervous--especially when she learns you volunteered her for legal lectures--but agrees Saturday is probably the best day to have a good public outing.

Friday comes, and with it the post-school date with Amy. You're nervous when you realize she's taking you to see a horror film, and you're even more nervous when things get super gory on screen, clinging to the unaffected Amy like a terrified limpet. Luckily, she recognizes your distress and decides to leave the theatre midfilm.

"I'm sorry," you mumble as you poke at your salad--you don't feel like eating meat right now. "I couldn't--I knew you liked it, but--"

"No, it's my fault," Amy assures you. "I've gotten... desensitized, with the crap I see at the hospital. Horror's not for everyone, after all."

The two of you talk for a bit, but it kinda drifts off when you both realize you don't really have that much to say. Nevertheless, Amy says that the whole thing wasn't the worst date she's ever been on, and she seems... okay with you maybe asking again in the future.

When you get home, you pick up your taser parasol. Then you put it down, because you aren't completely stupid, and pick up a toilet scrubber instead. A quick internet search has you finding a basic guide to sword techniques, and you practice your grip with some thrusts and swings. It's kind of ridiculous, but then this has been a kind of ridiculous day. Still, you're a cape now. One day you're going to capture a villain. Maybe you'll even get to work with another tinker on... something, you don't know!

Saturday finally arrives. And with it, your first outing as Gestalt, in your full battlegown. You're not planning to fight anybody, but as you surreptitiously put on your costume in an alleyway a few blocks away from Captain's Hill, you feel that today is going to be incredible.

You step out of the alleyway, twirling your parasol on your shoulder as you meander down the street. Quite a few people give you space, though an equal amount of people pull out their phones and start filming you. It's a little nerve-wracking, but you keep your cool, making your way to the park with dignity and aplomb.

Madi--er, Metis, floats down to you about a block away. "Hail and well met!" she proclaims, a little bombastically.

"Ah, Metis. I am quite glad you could make it," you reply with what you hope is an elegant-looking gesture of greeting. "There is much and more to do afor we have the right to provide assist to the citizens of this striking city. Shall we on?"

Metis bows in midair, gesturing down the road with her staff. "Lead the way, milady!"

The fact that you're both basically playacting characters very different from your actual selves hits you, and you barely manage to turn a laugh at the ridiculous situation into a high-class titter. "Oh, you charmer! There is no need for such titles between us, you may call me Gestalt."

"Very well..." Metis gives you a cheeky grin. "...lady Gestalt."

You harrumph sarcastically at her, but before you can actually say anything in response you're across the street from Captain's Hill park. The two of you share a look--although the nervousness on her face is much more readily apparent than the nervousness you're feeling, since you have a fully face-concealing helmet--before you take the steps into the park. You're determined to make a good first impression with New Wave, and you believe Metis is too.

Numerous parkgoers give you curious looks, but you make it to the waiting hero team without incident. You twirl your parasol once before swirling it in an elegant curtsy, nodding to Lady Photon and Brandish in turn. "A good day to you, members of New Wave. I am Gestalt, and my companion here is Metis. We are quite grateful that such a skilled and multifaceted team has taken the time to show us the ropes, as it were, and it is my distinct hope that we take the lessons I learn today and apply them to the benefit of Brockton Bay as a whole."

Flashbang's eyes are, of course, hidden beneath his helmet, but from the way his lips are twitching he seems at least a little amused. Brandish nods approvingly, and Manpower grins a bit at your antics. The younger heroes--Glory Girl, Laserdream, and Shielder--appear to puff up a little at the praise, although that may just be them levitating a little. Even Amy seems briefly impressed, though from the way she's looking at you it's probably more to do with the fact you managed to curtsy in a metal ballgown than anything you actually said.

"It's always good to see young heroes willing to learn," Lady Photon replies with a warm smile. "Especially ones as gifted as you two."

Thank god things are going so well--

You clench your lips tightly together to keep yourself silent as a wave of pleasure flows through you. Your inner space has expanded again, at one of the most inconvenient times.

"Is something wrong?" Lady Photon asks.

"Ah, no. Nothing crucial. Just... a power-related quirk." You wave off the concerned looks you're getting, thankful your helmet is hiding your blush. "I'm fine. Truly. Ahem."

"...So... how are we going to do this?" Metis asks, diverting attention from you. "There are many things you could teach us aspirants after all."

Lady Photon shoots you one last glance, but thankfully drops it. "You're an Alexandria package, right? Flight, superstrength, invulnerability?"

"Limited, but yes." Metis lowers her voice. "I'll admit, I was mostly panicking during the fight with Hookwolf..."

"I have similar abilities myself," you add. "Though I came about them through the construction of my outfit, I'll admit. And I am unsure if they extend to Metis's level."

"Hmm." Lady Photon looks you over. "And... the parasol?"

"It serves as an effective shield from sunlight and assault alike. And," you add, snapping it shut, "it might be a preferred miscreant deterrent as well."

Lady Photon raises her brows as sparks run along the now-obvious blades. "I see. Do you know how to use that thing?"

"Well..." You turn off the electric sparks and sigh. "Sadly, while I understand its function, I am unskilled in the art of swordsmanship. I am practicing," you clarify quickly, "I just... am relatively new."

"Hmm." Lady Photon shares a look with Brandish.

"...Would it be permissible of me to ask for some mentoring in the subject?" You gesture toward Brandish yourself. "I would believe you could teach me some basic techniques, if nothing else."

"Honestly, I would also like to know how to use my staff to its fullest effect," Metis adds. "It was useful against Hookwolf, but because I didn't know what I was doing, I felt... a little overwhelmed."

"...How about we rotate things?" Lady Photon suggests. "Glory Girl, Manpower, and Shielder will give Metis some brute training, while you have some swordfighting lessons with Brandish and Laserdream. We'll do that for a bit, then switch you two so Metis can learn staff combat. Then we'll look over your independent hero paperwork during lunch, and we'll wrap up with some flying training."

You consider her proposal and, finding nothing wrong with it, nod in agreement. "I'm amicable to that arrangement. Metis?"

"Seems fair enough to me."

You set up, with Flashbang and Lady Photon making sure that the onlookers are a fair distance away and Amy promising to heal any injuries before you begin. Your grip training with the toilet brush proves to be fortuitous, as Laserdream is able to quickly guide you from that to something that works; soon enough you're slashing at air somewhat competently, and Brandish runs you through a few basic drills. By the time you switch with Metis, you're able to dodge the metal bar Brandish swings at you and even parry it decently well, though you can tell she's going easy on you.

Your brute training... does not go nearly as well. You find you're able to lift a decent amount, but nothing near the level of Glory Girl. And your super-powered throwing is horrible. And you don't have a good degree of control over it in the first place. You keep trying, but by the end of it even Shielder is shaking his head and telling you to maaaaaybe stick to your taser parasol until you know how to leverage your superstrength properly.

Lunch comes around and, as it turns out, Metis had the foresight to actually bring something for you and her to eat. Even though New Wave was ready for you to not have anything. You all share a bit of a laugh over that, before you pull the paperwork for independent heroes out of your pocket.

Metis stares at you. "That thing has pockets?!"

"Of course it does," you reply with a degree of offense. "I designed it, after all."

You pore over the forms, discussing the details between yourselves and New Wave. When they ask if the two of you are forming an independent team, you admit you haven't discussed it yet. Metis takes that statement with an awkward chuckle.

Eventually, after making absolutely sure you understand everything and have filled out the forms properly, you put the papers back in your pocket and seal it up. At which point Glory Girl suggests you all fly to the PRT to file it that moment.

"I mean," she gestures between herself, Metis, and the other three fliers, "we're all pretty good already. And it'll be great practice for Gestalt."

Lady Photon sighs. "Vicky..."

"Come on, Aunt Sarah! You know how much first impressions matter. Getting an aerial escort will keep people off their backs for a bit!"

"I'll admit I wouldn't be opposed," you agree. "Better to file these papers sooner rather than later. And it does seem a lovely day for it."

Lady Photon sighs. "...Fine. But we'll take it slow. Don't want you falling out of the sky and squashing a car."

You harrumph. "I am certainly NOT that heavy."

After talking with Brandish for a bit, and giving Manpower a kiss, Lady Photon hovers into the air, joined by her children. Metis and Glory Girl look at you, and you affect a sigh as you grip your parasol. Your jetskirt turns on, lifting you into the air after the heroine, and two very similar-looking faces of very different hues join soon after. The six of you glide over Brockton Bay at a decent clip, with Lady Photon lecturing everyone about the rules regarding parahuman flight; you even manage a little bit of aerial ballet, which leaves Shielder audibly baffled at the capabilities of your battlegown while the other ladies are impressed.

Fortunately, Lady Photon had the good sense to call ahead, so when you arrive at the PRT headquarters they're already waiting for you. You take a moment to hand Metis her paperwork, looking around with interest; the degree of awe you would feel is tempered by the knowledge that Sophia Hess used to work here, so you're overall ambivalent. The officers who take your paperwork complement it, but tell you that due to certain regulations they can't accept the versions you printed out--you have to instead fill out forms printed out in the office.

Almost half an hour later, you leave the PRT office annoyed but satisfied. The paperwork's all been filed, and you've had a decently productive day. Saying your farewells to New Wave and Metis, you take to the skies, flying until you spot the discrete alleyway a few blocks from your house. You land, pulling out your phone and calling your dad to pick you up.

While you're taking off your battlegown and waiting for him to come, you look over the cards that appeared when your inner space expanded. The first one feels like... a giant intelligent friendly talking spider. It's weird, but that's the vibe you're getting. The second, meanwhile, seems to be something like an internal gyroscope. It takes you a minute to recognize the third, but it's the lake of gelatin--gently bobbing along like it had been before. You're still considering the options when Dad pulls up.

The two of you quickly stick your battlegown into the backseat, and you hop to the shotgun with him. "So," he asks as you buckle yourself in, "how'd it go?"

"Pretty great, actually! I got along great with all of New Wave, and I learned a lot about how to use my powers."

"Really?"

"Yeah." You think a bit more. "Although... hey, Dad? You know about those teleporter robots I told you about? I think I should put a master remote into my cape costume, so I can streamline how I use them--you know, once I make them."

Dad sighs. "Taylor... Kiddo. I'm not made of money."

"...didn't we recently get paid millions of dollars?"

"Yes. And some of that went to the hospital. And some of it went to our lawyer. And some of it went to getting you new school supplies. And some of it went to your college fund. And a lot of it went to your new projects." Dad gives you a look as the car rolls to a stop. "This Tinkering of yours? It's going to get expensive, fast. You can't just take that money for granted--especially if you don't want to tip off the gangs."

You sink into your seat a bit. "...I guess you've got a point."

"I do. And I remember what you said at the hospital--when you got fit, you wanted to get a job." Dad takes a breath. "And I think I'm going to have to enforce that. No more Tinkering until you secure a source of income."

You swallow and nod. "...Okay, Dad. I'll... I'll look into it."

You get home and quickly put your battlegown away, considering the cards in your mind. Gelatin is boring, and spiders... well, they're not bad, but they don't fit your theme. The gyroscope is the obvious choice, so you slide it in and...

...hm.

You can tell there's a passive benefit. It's something to do with vertigo, or lack thereof. It takes you a few minutes of experimenting to figure it out, but after spinning in place in your room you realize... you're not dizzy. You can't get dizzy, not anymore. That's... well, that's probably a major benefit for any cape fights you get into, especially since you'll be flying around for them. You also seem to be more aware of your environment, in some... undefinable way. You guess the gyroscope was more metaphorical than literal?

All in all, it's been a satisfying day, and you go to bed happy that things are starting to look up.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning, after your now normal exercises, you decide to push through some more studies. You get through a good portion of the coursework, although you start to wonder why some things are focused on more than others. History's important, sure, but there's more to it than the big wars... right? After a few hours, you decide to move on to something more practical: looking for job openings. You do consider patenting a replicable form of your tinkertech--it's not tinkertech if you can replicate it, after all--but that's more a long term goal than anything, so you instead decide to look into local mech shops. There are a few good places around that might hire you, but you'll probably need a recommendation from somebody. Like, maybe, the head of hiring at the DWA...? Actually, you should probably talk to Dad anyway, he's got a lot of experience on how to get employed.

Image is important, both as a prospective employee and as a superhero, so you transition easily into looking up references for your 'techno-governess' persona. There's an article about how cultural norms of politeness have changed over time, as well as a collection of victorian-era insults you can add to your vocabulary. It'd certainly be interesting to play up your 'refined' persona as much as you can. You spend sunday afternoon practicing in front of a mirror, trying to come up with a general way of speaking that is 'high-class' without being 'snooty.'

Monday rolls around, and with it comes school. Arcadia really is a hell of a lot better than school. It has teachers that care. It has food that is actually edible. It has your first (tentative) girlfriend, Amy! Granted, you saw her on Saturday--

Wait.

Shit.

You saw her on Saturday. In costume. You don't know the exact protocol for dating other capes, but you never really told her you were Gestalt. What if she figures it out? What if she thinks you were just using her for cape stuff? Oh shit, did she recognize your voice? You've got to come up with a, a voice modulator thing, it'll make it harder for people to connect your two identities--you hope.

Still, you hide all your anxiety when you come by for lunch, and the two of you enjoy the quiet for a bit. Then you clear your throat. "So, uh..."

Amy gives you a dry look.

"I was thinking," you say. "Like... dinner and a movie is traditional, but it's... also kind of theatrical? By design. It's the sort of date for, uh, established couples, and we're--we're still feeling this out. So..." You shrug. "You wanna, I dunno, go to a bookshop? One of those fancy ones with an attached cafe."

"...you know, I want to say something snarky, but that actually sounds kinda nice." Amy smiles a bit. "Sure, why not."

And so that afternoon, you find yourself browsing the shelves of a relatively homey bookstore. The two of you chat a bit about your reading tastes, with Amy introducing you to some... rather interesting books that you don't want your father knowing you've bought, and you showing her some of your mother's favorites she's never heard of before. You feel like you're getting to know her better--not just as Panacea, but as... herself. Then her phone rings, and she apologizes for having to leave because there's something going on at the hospital, but you make sure she's at least got a snack from the cafe before she heads out.

All in all... it was nice.

When you get home, you call Dad and tell him about all the job prospects you've found, asking if he'd be willing to help you write up an application later in the week. He says he'll pick you up from school on Wednesday, and you can do your job stuff then. It seems like a good plan, so you thank him, say goodbye, and hang up. Your eyes fall on the high heels Vicky bought you a couple weeks ago, and you hum contemplatively.

A bit of trial and error later, you've confirmed your new power does help you navigate wearing heels, but you still struggle to maintain your balance. You are definitely NOT taking Amy out anywhere with fancy formal dress any time soon. Especially since you don't know if she even likes girls in heels.

Tuesday is less exciting overall, though you're overhearing a lot of your classmates discussing their Valentine's day plans with each other. Right, that's on Monday. Are you and Amy even close enough for that? Should you make a token gesture anyway? Thinking of how bad you are at romance makes you think about all the romances gone bad you've heard about... which leads you to thinking about Aunt Zoe. You decide to check in on her after school, taking a bus to her new apartment and knocking on the door.

"Taylor!" She seems surprised to see you. "Ah... I didn't expect... well. Would you like to come in? I'm still... unpacking."

"Thanks, uh, aunt Zoe." You enter the apartment, careful to step around the boxes. "...do you... want to talk about it?"

"Taylor--"

"I mean," you continue, "I--yeah. I'm fifteen and I've been through a lot, and... and I'm still healing. But a big part of that healing was getting help from others. And... honestly? As much as all this hurt me, most of that's in the past. But it's obviously still hurting you, and I--I don't want to lose another family member. Not like... not like this."

Zoe sighs. "I shouldn't. You're young, and I--I really shouldn't..."

You say nothing, but you do hug her. You're tall for your age, so you can wrap your arms around her shoulders. And, eventually, she hugs you back.

"I... we were married for twenty years. Almost half my life, and--" Zoe sniffs. "I loved him. I still do, but he--he doesn't... he can't. He's always been more focused on image than substance, on looking good. He... he never told me what happened to Emma, not until the trial. He should have--he should have. We could have gotten her help, then--none of this would have happened if he wasn't so selfish--if I'd seen what he was hiding--" She inhales sharply. "I--I'm just... my family broke that day, and I never even noticed. Not until it was too late."

"...We can put it back together," you offer.

"Taylor, that's..." Zoe leans back, shaking her head. "That's sweet of you, really. I wish it would work, but... Emma's going to be in that ward for a while, maybe the rest of her life. And after what happened, I don't know if your father would--"

"I can talk with him. Maybe... not this week, but... sometime soon."

Zoe doesn't say anything for a moment or two. "...real life isn't as clean as that, Taylor."

You sigh, breaking off the hug and sitting on one of the sturdier boxes. "Don't I know it. I still don't know why Emma--why she did all those things."

Zoe hesitates for a moment.

"...She was attacked."

You look up, confused.

"While you were at summer camp," she clarifies, sitting down next to you. "Alan decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway and some... some ABB goons pulled them out of the car. They threatened her, Alan didn't say whether it was just with a knife or--or something else. That destroyed her--even though Shadow Stalker saved them. She was still a vigilante back then, you understand, probably didn't... have as much restraint as she learned when she became a ward. And then, one day, Emma met that Hess girl--"

"Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker."

Zoe blinks. "I... I didn't know that."

"I didn't either. I didn't learn until... recently."

"That---well. That explains a lot." Zoe frowns. "I know she pulled Emma out of her slump, but... I don't know what she was filling her head with. She always seemed focused on being strong. On being the strongest."

"...So Emma listened," you conclude, "and because she was already fucked up she just... tried to be the strongest she could be. And I guess that meant trying to put me down all the time." You shake your head. "Or whatever it was going through her skull."

"...I'm sorry, Taylor. Sorry for missing all the signs, and--and for what happened."

"Yeah... well... now I know, at least." You take a breath and put your hand on hers. "Thanks."

"...I guess we have to just... keep moving forward. One day at a time."

Going to school on Wednesday is a good palate cleanser, since school is thankfully normal. Your dad picks you up after, and you drive to one of the first mechanic shops. You're extremely nervous during the interview but, between your dad's help and your own powers, you manage to get a trial period of two weeks to prove you're worth hiring.

"...That went well," Dad says.

"It did?"

"Well, it could have gone worse. And honestly, a temporary hire is pretty good, for somebody your age. You're going to have to keep at it for a week or two, but eventually it'll be like second nature."

"Huh." You smile a bit at his words. "Thanks, Dad."

When you get home, you decide to work on your swordfighting, twirling your taser parasol in the basement. After a few hours, you think maybe you could take on some gang members, but you're unsure about capes--especially capes with their own weapons. Still, it was a good workout, and you decide to hang it up and browse the internet for more info on how to be a well-liked cape. Acting on a hunch, you look up G. Chambers--and gasp when you find his personal website as head of the PRT's image department.

Holy shit! How do more people not KNOW about this?!

You spend the rest of the evening poring over every last article, anecdote, and tip on the site. By the end of it you've memorized what to do and not to do in almost every situation, how to project your image and protect your brand, and even learned a little bit of actual cape law on the side. Not a lot, mostly stuff related to licensing, but for all the man looks like he'd be difficult to talk to in person he does know exactly what he's talking about.

You go to bed that night with visions of becoming a beloved hero.

Thursday is the first day of your new job--well, maybe-job. You head over to the mechanic's place after school, primarily helping out by handing tools to the people who are working on cars and stuff. Most of the employees only take notice of you as the new trial worker, but with the subtle hints of your thinker power you do gain a reputation for knowing exactly what tool to use for the job. When the time comes for you to leave, your possibly-boss notes that you did... decently. For a new girl.

Home is quickly followed up by homework, which is just as tedious to finish as ever. But you do manage to finish it, and as you lie back on your bed you consider your battlegown downstairs. Being a hero is great, but you know full well how dangerous Brockton Bay is. Maybe you shouldn't go out alone.

Actually... you do know one other independent hero...

"Hey Madison."

"Oh! Hi Taylor. What's up?"

"I was just thinking... maybe we should form an independent hero team."

"Um." Madison sounds a little nervous. "Taylor... are you sure? I mean, uh... with everything that happened at Winslow--"

"I'm trying," you say calmly, "to get over that. I have control over my life now. Real power. And..." You sigh. "Look, it's high school, alright? We graduate, we move into our adult lives, and it all just fades away."

"...I don't know if it works like that."

"Do you want to be on a team or not?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I do. Maybe we should talk this over on PHO."

"I, uh..." You bite your lip. "I don't have a PHO account."

"Taylor."

"I mean, after all the e-mails, I just decided I didn't--"

"Taylor," Madison repeats, flatly. "Everyone has an account on PHO. Clockblocker has an account. Miss Militia has an account. Hell, LEGEND has an account. It is the way to interact with the public these days."

You sigh. "Alright, you've got a point. I'll... I'll think about it."

"And make sure you get two accounts--one for you, and one for Gestalt. Trust me, it'll save a lot of headaches." Madison sighs. "As for the team thing... yeah. Uh... how would that work?"

"I guess... we meet up on the weekend, in costume, and do... hero stuff?"

"Alright. We'll figure something out. Actually... before we do this officially, maybe we should talk about how our powers work. Strengths and weaknesses, you know, just in case we need to cover for each other or have weird power interactions."

You swallow. "Alright... so. I have, um, this empty space. And every time it expands, I get a selection of three cards that I can put in it. Right now I've got eight cards--four of them are Tinker powers, although I haven't used the teleporter drone one yet, two of them are Thinker powers, there's a brute/trump combo that makes me bulletproof but not knifeproof and can make me immune to one cape's power at a time, and I also have a changer power where I can have super strength if nobody can see my body."

"Oh. Wow, that's--that's quite the loadout. What're your thinker powers?

"Well, the first one lets me get a sense on how things are put together--the connections between parts and how they all fit. It's, uh, how I finagled my way out of the locker. The second one I got just this week, it makes it so I can't get dizzy, or disoriented. Like... at all."

"...Huh." Madison hums. "Well, that's interesting. Not what I got from you, but--"

"What you got from me?"

"...Okay, so." Madison clears her throat. "Let's start with Glory Girl, right? She's got her powers--flight, superstrength, force field, aura. But those are the end product, the--the things everyone sees. Like... if you have a car, you buy it, right? But you don't have to know every little aspect of 'this is how to make the undercarriage' or ' wire here to make the headlights work', you just need to know how to drive a car. Her powers are the car, in this metaphor."

"...okay...?"

"What my power does, it looks at the car, goes to the factory that made the car, and it notes down all the machines it takes to make the car. And then it tells me how to make those machines--except the machines are gemstones, and the jewelry is the factory line. So I have to put together parts of the power to use the car, and I also have to take on a physical aspect of the person whose power it is to drive the car. Which is how I made a 'Glory Girl but without the aura' necklace, right? I just made the factory and left out the machines that make the aura. And I also made a 'Shadow Stalker' pendant. Is any of this making sense?"

"Kind of?" you answer hesitantly.

"Now the thing is, your power--the factory I went to, it was really complicated. So I think what I got wasn't your cards, but the basic power itself. And... I've managed to tweak it into a sort of, uh, earring, that lets me read and understand the purpose of the machines in other factories. And... like I've got a bunch of things labeled now, for powers from New Wave, and technically Hookwolf's power, but I have to put the machines down and arrange the factory line, and that's the jewelry I make. And it's not as easy as it sounds, turning the gems into machines alone... it's a long and complicated... it's a process."

"Sounds like it," you agree. "So you know how powers work?"

"Ooooooh no no no no no. I know how powers are put together. I can put together powers. But ask me to explain from first principles, and I'm clueless."

"...still sounds impressive."

"Yeeeah. I guess. So... uh... how's Arcadia been for you?"

The two of you awkwardly chat about your respective school situations for a bit. It's... weird. Are you friends now? Is this what friendship is like? Or is it some sort of weird... thing that isn't friendship?

Friday is another day at school, and after it breaks you head to your job. You actually manage to point out some issues with the cars and help out finding the right parts to replace and install, and your reputation among the mechanics grows. Your boss even praises your good eyes, though he's not quite ready to give you a toolset yourself. When you leave, proud of your accomplishments, you consider the weekend ahead of you. There's a lot of things you could do...

Well... Monday is Valentine's day. Which means the shops are likely to all be crowded by last-minute shoppers, but--well... while you and Amy might still be relatively new girlfriends, you probably should get her something. And while the standard shops might be free, you know the bookstores are open! You decide to do some browsing before you head home, and you find a copy of an old book you think Amy will really enjoy. Happy with your purchase, you get aboard the bus.

It's pretty late when you get home, so instead of doing anything major you just finish up your homework and do some research on cape laws. There's a bit on what does and doesn't count as excessive force, but while that's useful in the field, it doesn't really make what you should do in the future that clear. You shut your laptop with a sigh, wondering what Amy would think of you being Gestalt. If she doesn't already know, anyway...

...actually, you should probably tell her. Yeah, you'll tell her. And... Vicky too, you guess? She seems like she should know, just in case.

Saturday morning rolls around, and after you do your morning exercises you decide to train your sword-fighting style. You manage to note some common errors you're making, and by the afternoon you're fairly confident in how you're handling things. When you hang up your taser parasol, you give it a fond pat--soon it'll prove its worth in the field, if you have anything to say about it. And, actually, now that you think about it... you should probably take the time to verify yourself on PHO anyways. You check the website's rules--apparently you need to have a video of yourself using your powers or get an already verified cape to verify you.

And you decided to pretend to be a Tinker.

With a sigh, you take your laptop down to the basement--"Just doing some cape paperwork, Dad, I'll be a few minutes."--and set up the camera. You suit up, hit record, and introduce yourself to the camera as "The Marvelous Gestalt, crafter of fine wears and finery," while floating into the air and twirling your parasol. When you finish the video, you send it off to PHO, and they have an account set up for you within minutes. You take off the battlegown, put your equipment away, and bring your laptop back upstairs. It seems like Saturdays are just good for hero business.

Sunday, you wake up, do your exercises, and pick up the book you got for Amy. And you realize...

...it's a book.

All the things in the world you could have gotten her for Valentine's day, and you picked a book.

You put the book down and rush out the door. You have GOT to be a better girlfriend, Amy probably gets loads of admirers trying to woo her! You manage to find an open grocery story but--surprise, surprise--most of the valentine's candy is gone. You're left getting a merely okay box of heart-shaped chocolates. And that's JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH. You think about your crisis very seriously...

...and then you're struck with inspiration!

You drop by the local craft store to pick up a few supplies, some metal chains and things, then you head home and take your laptop downstairs to look up references. Over the course of an hour, you feverishly apply your first thinker power to the careful crafting of a necklace--not just an ordinary locket, but a heart that will unfold into a butterfly that shows an array of small pictures on its wings. And you didn't even use ANY of your Tinker powers to make it. God, you hope she likes it...

By the time you're finished, it's pretty late. You take the chocolate and the book and tie them together with the locket chain as an impromptu ribbon. Tomorrow is...

...well...

you hope it'll be okay, at least.

Chapter Text

Monday morning, you wake up and--

Take a slow, steadying breath.

You do your morning exercises, put your gift in your backpack, and give your dad a wave as you head out for school. And when you get there, you sense a vibe in the air--and it's not just Vicky's aura. No, it's more general than that--guys and girls sharing looks, smiles, sometimes even holding hands in public. Also some rather... intense kissing, holy shit, how the FUCK are those two even breathing?! It's been five minutes! A teacher finally breaks them apart and you shake your head, but you're blushing throughout your classes.

When lunch rolls around, Amy grabs your hand and drags you away from her usual haunt. "Everyone's looking for a 'private' place to make out today," she explains wryly. "We'll be safer on the track field. You can stand a little sun, right?"

"Yeah, I--I can."

"Good." Amy huffs as she leads you to your destination. "Honestly, this is kind of one of the worst days."

You think about the gift in your backpack. "You're, uh, not a big fan of romance?"

"Oh, romance is fine. I'm not a big fan of the slew of STDs and dramatic breakups that are going to crop up at the hospital over the next week or so." She sighs. "It's just... so fucking tiring. Every year, the same thing. 'Oh, I didn't know I had strep throat!' 'Honey, it was only the one time!' 'I didn't mean to get you pregnant!' Blah blah blah blah blah. It's supposed to be a day about reaffirming relationships, and so many fuckers keep fucking it up."

"...So I'm guessing asking you out for a date after school might not go over well."

Amy gives you a long look, and then shrugs. "Eh, what the hell. Might as well enjoy the afternoon before everything goes to shit."

Your shoulders relax, and you enjoy the rest of your lunch in comforting silence.

After school lets out, you meet Amy on the steps and, on a whim, decide to take her to a restaurant your parents used to take you--before Mom died, anyway. It's a decent Italian bristo and, while there are a decent number of couples, it doesn't lean into the Valentine's atmosphere too hard so you and Amy can at least hear each other talk. You ask her about her job, which she seems initially hesitant to talk about, but after hearing her complaints about Valentine's fallout you encourage her to speak her mind. And you learn a lot about the hospital you never knew you never wanted to know, and exactly the kind of idiots that make being Panacea so stressful.

As you're leaving, you notice Amy idly running her hand against a bush and, with a burst of inspiration, decide to take her to a local botanical garden. There's a little bit of an issue when you can't pay for admittance, but Amy decides to pay for the both of you. You spend a good three quarters of an hour wandering around, enjoying the weather while you watch her silently trail her fingers along a variety of exotic plant species. She seems to grow more relaxed by the minute, her hand slowly clasping around yours.

"So, uh," she says eventually, "You want to go to the library?"

"...Yeah. That'd--that'd be nice."

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are sitting on a small bench hidden behind a few dozen bookshelves. Amy glances around a bit awkwardly. "I... I don't know what exactly I was thinking. I mean, we could both read different books, or... try to read the same one? But what book would we pick? It's quiet and all, and... I know you like books, but--"

"Actually..." You reach into your backpack. "I, uh... have something I wanted to give you."

She sighs. "Please tell me it's not one of those gaudy cards with all the hearts on them."

"It's not one of those gaudy cards with all the hearts on them," you promise, and hand the gift to her.

"Huh." She quirks her eyebrows at the chain, unwrapping it. "That's a fancy locket. Where'd you get it?"

"I, uh, made it. Myself, actually."

"Really? I didn't know you--oh!" Amy blinks as the locket unfolds into its butterfly form. "Wow. Hold on, is this tinkertech?"

"Nope. Totally ordinary craftsmanship," you assure her. "Just carefully measured and cut metal."

"...wow. I didn't realize you were this talented."

You rub the back of your head. "It's... something I picked up after the locker. Something about that whole situation--I was trapped by metal, so I wanted to become a master of metal. If that makes any sense."

"...Did you write this book, too?" Amy says, her voice almost deadpan--though there is a waver of amusement in it.

"Nah, I just bought that. And the candies, too--which, uh, I get are kind of ordinary, I just thought it was traditional to--"

"It's fine. It's..." Amy closes the locket and looks at it. "You know, I--I don't usually get this sort of attention. I mean, I get a lot of attention, but not... stuff like this. People are usually more interested in how I can help them, and they don't care about..."

"They're more concerned with Panacea, and not Amy."

She nods. "Yeah. That's a good way to put it."

"Hey." You take her hands. "Panacea is an incredible hero who saves hundreds of lives a week. But she's not who I'm dating. I'm dating the girl who likes gorey horror films, who's exasperated at Valentine's hypocrisy, who gets tired at all the stupidity of humanity. I'm dating the girl who likes to eat her lunch in private, who told me to improvise a weightlifting set, who likes to run her fingers across exotic plants. I'm not dating Panacea, the hero. I'm dating Amy, the girl. That's who this," you tap the locket, "is for--the girl I want to know better."

"...You are so fucking sappy," she mutters, but she doesn't pull her hands away.

"Yeah, well..." You shrug. "I... haven't dated anybody before. Maybe I'm overcompensating."

Amy rolls her eyes. "No, I'd say you're... doing good." She picks up the book. "So how do we read this together, do I just put my head on your shoulder and we... ya know...?"

"That sounds great."

You stay there, idly sharing some merely okay chocolates as Amy flips through the pages, for about half an hour more. Then you both realize you should probably head home--it's still a school day after all. Before you do, though, Amy darts into a local florist shop and, after four minutes, comes out with something behind her back.

"I wasn't--I hadn't really planned on doing anything special today," she admits. "But, well, this... this has been one of the best afternoons I had in a while. So, uh, here." She holds something out to you, not quite looking you in the eyes.

"...It's a cactus," you note.

"It--it's easy to take care of," Amy grumbles. "And it's got flowers, so it's kind of pretty--"

You take the small pot from her hand and, careful to avoid pricking her with the spines, hug her. "It's perfectly you," you say. "Thank you."

Amy huffs, but she hugs you back. "...see you tomorrow," she mumbles, before breaking away.

When you get home, you put the cactus on your windowsill and regard it with a smile. Today... was a good day.

Chapter Text

Tuesday you see some of the Valentine's fallout Amy warned you about. Various awkward glances between students you were sure were couples yesterday, and some angry looks. But... you also see a lot of held hands and fond smiles. Maybe the entire thing is a societal construct and its import is defined by one's relationship with the concept of romance itself, instead of any real hard values?

...yeah you're probably overthinking it.

During lunch, you notice that Amy's wearing the locket you gave her. She notices you noticing, and rolls her eyes, silently telling you to ignore the blush on her cheeks. You silently agree not to bring it up. The silence is comfortable, as it always is.

After school, you head in for your mechanic... internship? You're given a chance to prove yourself by patching up an old motorcycle, and you manage to do so within an hour of looking it over. Your boss is impressed, but warns you that skill alone won't get you the job--you need to show dedication, initiative, and intelligence. You very blandly point out this is Brockton Bay, and he very firmly points out that makes it even more vital. Still, he gives you a pat on the shoulder as you head home. You decide to try to devote yourself like he said, going over some school material, but you just get so distracted thinking about everything that has happened that you barely manage to cover some basic lessons. Eventually you just throw up your hands and pull out your phone.

"Hey Madison. Wanna patrol the docks tomorrow?"

"Yeah, uh, sure. Flying, right?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

Wednesday passes by without much fanfare, and in the afternoon you take your battlegown down to the docks, put it on, and fly up to meet Metis. The two of you wander around the area, but you don't really see anything you'd need to intervene in. Still, you look pretty cool, which is a bonus. You get to chatting about your powers, and your new card comes up.

"You don't get disoriented at all?" Metis asks, agog.

"Mmmwell, I haven't really tested it against powers, but... as far as I know."

"Wow. You could fly upside down like that. Heck, you could probably fly on your side!" Metis demonstrates, lounging in midair. "Like, I can do this easy, but I can't exactly fight while looking so casual."

"I can't either. I use my gown, remember?" You hum thoughtfully. "Although... I guess I could upgrade the battlegown so I could fly in new and unusual ways..."

"Yeah! And you could probably learn to fight really gracefully, too!"

"...Yeah. I'll try to do that, yeah."

Metis sighs dramatically. "I'm just stuck with my Alexandria package."

"How tragic," you say dryly. "Actually, shouldn't you have upgraded? I mean, you've met me, and New Wave--and Hookwolf, technically."

"Mmmm." She bites her lip. "I'm actually working on a light-sword from Brandish, and some lasers from Laserdream. Hookwolf..." She shows off a ring. "All I'm comfortable picking up from him is the 'metal-reinforced bones' thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I have to take some aspects of a parahuman into my appearance to use their powers, remember?" Metis shudders. "And there is so much about Hookwolf that's just disgusting. I finally settled on just his toenails."

"Wow."

"They're surprisingly well-maintained," Metis adds. "I guess even racist bastards have some sense of hygiene."

"I did not need to know that."

"How do you think I feel? I'm the one with his nails on my feet!"

"...I'm going to chalk that up in the 'petty vengeance for bullying' column."

"...fair enough," Metis mumbles. "Hey, uh... Gestalt?"

"Yeah?"

"You go to Arcadia now, right? Do you know Panacea?"

"You could say that," you reply warily. "Why?"

"I need to talk with her. Cape to cape. It's a power thing."

You look at her for a long moment, before you sigh. "She doesn't know I'm Gestalt. But... I'll see what I can do. No promises."

After you've flown around for an hour or two, the two of you agree to call it. You head home and =run yourself through some sword drills. Slow and steady builds up the skill, after all...

Thursday, Vicky does her weekly 'drop by' to check in on Amy, and notices the locket she's wearing. "Hey, when'd you get that?"

"Couple days ago."

"Couple--ooooooo." Vicky smiles broadly. "Do you have a secret admirer?"

"Vicky, if I had a stalker I'd tell you so you could beat some sense into them," Amy deadpans.

"Okay, do you have a not-so-secret admirer then?"

Amy rolls her eyes--

"Oh! You're blushing!" Vicky turns to you. "Look, she's blushing!"

"...um," you say. "Yes?" You try to play up your confusion.

"Fine, alright. I'm dating... somebody," Amy admits flatly. "No need to make a big deal out of it."

"I knew it! So, who is it?" Vicky needles.

"...Tell you what, Vicky, if they ever break my heart I'll let you know."

"What? But I'm your sister!"

"Yeah, and you can overreact sometimes. Case in point: Aura."

"Oh! Oh right." Vicky smiles apologetically, damping down her aura. "Sorry. I'm just so happy for you!"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Seriously though, who is it? Is it somebody I know?"

Amy groans. "I'd rather not just blurt their name out without asking them first, you know. There's problems with dating a famous cape."

Vicky's face grows more somber. "Yeah... I know. Alright. But you'll talk to them about it, right?"

"...yeah, sure. Next time we go on a date, maybe."

You carefully pretend you didn't hear anything, focusing on your food.

When you get out of school, you head for the mechanic's shop and get straight to work doing what everybody tells you to do. You do pretty decently, but something feels like you're not doing enough. It isn't until the end of the day that you realize you were being way too passive. You've got to show you want to work here! Or at least fake it. The joys of a retail job... You get home, not feeling all that energetic, and decide you might as well practice walking in heels. It goes a lot better than expected, and you're eventually confident enough to do a casual walk, although you don't want to try running any time soon and navigating stairs is right out.

Amy apologizes for Vicky's overenthusiasm on Friday. "She's just... like that," she explains with a wry shrug. "It's always full speed ahead with her. She's not stupid, just..."

"Impulsive?"

"Yeah. I--...do you want to tell her? About us, I mean?"

You hesitate. "I... don't think she'd react badly, but... I haven't even told my dad yet. But... if you want--"

"I think I'll wait until you're ready," Amy says. "We're supposed to respect each other, right? Like, that's what a healthy relationship is?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." Amy bites her lip. "So... how's the cactus?"

"It's still gorgeous. I water it every morning..."

After school, you go to the mechanic's shop, but you're so distracted by your tinkering urge that you're barely able to concentrate. Your boss notices your hands twitching and sends you home early; when you get there, you head into the basement and just--let go. Let your mind sink into the building process, your tools fly across the unused resources...

"Kiddo?" Dad's voice breaks you out of it. "Your boss called, said you came home early. What's--?"

He stops and stares at the product of your work.

"...So yeah," you manage, "I went into a Tinker Fugue. And, uh, I made this little gal!"

"I... see. And is this why you had to come home early?"

"Um. Yeah." You rub the back of your head. "Tinkering. The urge got... too great. I don't think I can go long without actually, uh... yeah."

"Alright. So..." Dad gestures a hand at the robot, who looks up at him. "What does she, uh, do?"

"Oh, the Mobile Aperture Initiation Drone's primary function is to create a one-way dimensional shunt to herself from any location," you explain, pulling out a remote. "Basically, I press this button, and no matter where I am, I'm taken to where she is! And, uh, she also does house chores! Like laundry, and washing dishes, and vacuuming, and stuff like that!"

"...Taylor."

"Yeah?"

"I know we didn't have enough resources to make that."

You cringe. "So, uh, you should know that Tinker Fugues don't, uh, discriminate--"

"Taylor."

"...weeeeeee may need a new computer." You pause awkwardly. "...and a new dryer."

Dad sighs, dragging a hand down his hand. "At least it wasn't the fridge..."

You decide to stay out of the way when Saturday rolls around, since Dad's kind of low-key annoyed at you. You didn't mean to tinker him out of house and home, it just... sort of happened! Instead, while Dad heads out to buy replacement appliances, you decide to check in on Aunt Zoe.

And she seems a little happier to see you, this time. Which is to say, she seems happy at all. "Taylor! I... guess I should have expected this. Come in!" She steps aside. "Sorry for all the papers, I'm just... preparing for the divorce. Alan knows his stuff, unfortunately, but I'll be happy if I can get my daughters away from him. Anne's taking my side, thankfully, I'm just... I'm worried about Emma. Not that that's your problem," she quickly adds, "I understand if you want nothing to do with her after, well, everything--"

"How is she?"

Your honest question stops Zoe in her tracks. "She's... at least stopped pretending she's not guilty. But... well, the poison's exposed now. And it isn't pleasant. I guess we'll have to dig in deep to get her out of that mindset." She sighs. "God, you hear about awful parents on the news but you never expect to be one...."

You, being a fifteen-year-old, have no idea how to address this. So you pat her instead.

"...I'm sorry, I'm... you shouldn't need to hear this. I--I think I'll probably be seeing a therapist myself. If I can find one."

You rub your arm awkwardly. "Yeah... well. At least you're... getting ready to move on."

"...I suppose that's something," she agrees. "So, uh... how has school been?"

The conversation stutters into something more normal, as the two of you begin to regain what was lost. Eventually, you give aunt Zoe a fond, if awkward, farewell, and head out, quickly finding a good alleyway to teleport home from. Which leaves you with a surprising amount of time, so you call up Madison and ask if she wants to do another patrol--and fifteen minutes later, you and her are flying over the docks, looking for crime. You don't actually find any, but you figure it was a good effort anyway.

By the time you're ready to teleport home, Dad's already bought all the new appliances, and some more materials for your tinkering on top of that. You awkwardly offer to get everything installed, since it was your fault he needed to go out, and he allows it. When your head finally hits the pillow, the house is functional again, and you're feeling... kind of listless. You didn't think heroing could be this, well... boring.

Oh well, there's always next week.

Sunday morning you wake up, do your exercises, water your cactus, and decide to get down to the business of preparing for heroics. You head downstairs and lay out your battlegown, going over it with a critical eye as you pull out your tools. A few hours of thought and tinkering later, you've upgraded the various jets and manifolds to allow you to perform unwise aerial acrobatics with dangerous ease. It'd only work for you, between your secret muscle growth and ability to not be disoriented, but it makes you ridiculously mobile. You can probably pull off something from one of Aleph's animes now!

...maybe.

Well, it's probably best to make sure you've got everything about it down, first. You run some more drills with your taser parasol, just... knowing you're almost at the point where you can really shine, but you don't quite get there. You can feel it, you can feel you're getting closer, but something's really blocking you. Oh well, there's more than one way to get ready. You open up the internet to learn more about vigilante laws, and you stumble on a really interesting article about how vigilantes and independent heroes can legally fund themselves. It's--well, it's not anything you would have thought of, but it explains the reasoning and gives you a few ideas for what to do when you finally catch a criminal.

Monday afternoon, during lunch, you look at Amy... and at the locket. She asked if it was Tinkertech. She... probably suspects. You should could come clean...

You swallow. "Hey, Amy?"

"Yeah?"

"....you want to go out for a date Wednesday afternoon?"

Damn it that wasn't what you wanted to say--

"Sure."

"Great!"

--ffffffffffuuuuuuck now you need to plan a date--

You're kind of out of it when you get home, suffice it to say, but your eyes fall on the heels. Maybe you could take Amy somewhere fancy? You decide to practice with the heels.

Thirty minutes later, you decide that that's not going to happen any time soon. You're getting better, sure, but you wouldn't want to dance with these on, and you're definitely not going to subject Amy to the chance you could step on her feet. You kick the heels off and decide on another bout of research into cape laws. It seems Missus Dallon has published a list of what not to do, since doing any of these things would let arrested criminals contest their arrest at court. Holy shit, why didn't you think of looking up her work before? You feel better educated, but also kind of stupid.

Tuesday afternoon you show up for your job, taking a deep breath. This time, for sure, you'll show them. You actively provide the parts and tools the mechanics need, point out various problems, and even manage to do a little paperwork on the side. Your boss nods approvingly when you walk out, and he even hands you something he thinks will help you.

It's the phone number for an addiction clinic.

You'd be a lot more insulted if you hadn't gone home and tinkered up a robot out of the dryer last week. As it is, you're only kind of miffed you can't explain what happened without exposing yourself. Instead you put on a grateful smile, thank him, and stiffly walk out of the building. After glancing around to make sure nobody's watching you, you step into an alley and teleport home, idly patting the M.A.I.D.'s head as she scrubs some pots. The job's a little rough, but your power is giving you just the boost you need to keep up the good work.

...actually, what is the law regarding using your power for work? You decide to look that up, opening up your laptop and checking the internet... and you quickly find an article covering all the technicalities of the NEPEA-5 bill.

You bite your lip as you look through it. What you're doing now is technically legal, if only just, because you're not doing anything a nonparahuman can't do at the same cost. But patenting some of your reverse-engineered tinkertech, while possible, should be done very very cautiously. If you can't prove one hundred percent that an ordinary Joe-Schmoe can handle and maintain it, you'll get shut down fast. Granted, there seems to be a list of clauses and exceptions--some of which sound like things your dad has complained about from time to time. It's probably legalese to allow the rich and powerful more control of profitable parahuman assets.

Well... nobody ever said heroing would be easy.

Wednesday afternoon, after school, you and Amy slip away from the crowd and head for a small tea cafe. It's decently quiet and isolated, with calming knicknacks hanging from the wall, and you take a table in a secluded corner while Amy gets your order.

You take a deep breath when she sits down across from you. "I, uh... I have a confession to make."

"On a scale of 'I'm allergic to roses' to 'I'm secretly in charge of the Endbringers' how terrible is it?" Amy asks.

"...I'm a parahuman," you offer.

Amy frowns for a moment, looking at you. "...Gestalt."

You blink. "What?! How did you--"

"Long black hair, check. A parahuman who 'got advice' from Carol recently, check. Plus," she points at the locket, "you tinkered up this."

"It's not tinkertech," you point out. "It's not!" you insist at her look. "Trust me, I made absolutely sure--"

"Did you make it using your powers?"

"...not my tinker powers," you mumble. "Thinker power."

"Thinker. Really."

"And... Trump. I get more powers over time."

Amy whistles with appreciation. "Wow. Let me guess, Carol put the fear of God and the gangs in you when she found out."

"Well, I mean, I had just triggered--"

"No, yeah, I get that. She had a similar reaction after I triggered. Not Vicky, though," Amy grumbles. "Vicky just got praise for it."

"That... sounds incredibly unfair," you manage. "I mean, Vicky's nice and all, but she could stand to be a bit more... restrained."

Amy snorts. "That's one word for it, yeah." She fingers her locket. "So... does this change anything between... us?"

"I don't want it to," you say. "I mean, I guess it makes cape business... a little easier, since we know who each other is. But besides that--oh!" You snap your fingers. "Metis needs to talk to you. Power-related weirdness, apparently."

"Right, you have been patrolling with her," Amy acknowledges. "You know, PHO is wondering if you two are a thing."

"What?!" you sputter.

"Honestly, they'd wonder that about anybody," she continues with a shrug. "Stick two capes in a room, and if they're not fighting somebody'll think they're fucking." She pauses, tapping the table for a moment. "So, uh... are you two a thing?"

You take her hand gently. "Amy, just because I'm polyamorous doesn't mean I'm a cheater. If I ever decided to date another girl, I would make absolutely sure you were aware of it first."

"I--...thanks." Amy smiles a bit. "That means a lot. And... it's not like I'd object to you dating Metis."

"What?"

"She seemed nice enough when she met with us and, well, she is pretty hot." Amy rolls her eyes at your look. "Come on, Taylor, I'm not blind."

You decide not to bring up the whole 'fusion of Sophia and Vicky' thing Metis has going on, that would probably make things even more awkward than they are now. Despite the rough start, the rest of the date goes incredibly smoothly, and Amy even gives you another hug before you go your separate ways.

When you get home, you decide to do some more cape research. However, the legalese of what you're looking over is highly dense. You manage to learn a few key terms, and even how to get a police radio, but overall you feel you made more progress on your homework than on your understanding of cape law. You still go to bed satisfied, since Amy took your reveal with grace.

Thursday afternoon, you head for the mechanic's shop. You smile, wave to the boss as you enter, pick up your tools--and you drop them in shock when the sirens go off.

There's an Endbringer attack starting.

Chapter Text

"Good, we're all here," the overweight blonde woman growled, looking across the meeting table. "Now let's go over this shitshow from the top."

She slapped a folder onto the table, pulling out the printed papers one by one. "What we have here is a copy of written evidence and repeated testimonials of bullying attempts by three individuals, one of which is Sophia Hess and another the daughter of the man who she called in for character reference. This evidence, as well e-mails pulled from Winslow's computers, paints a picture of a years-long bullying campaign against one Taylor Hebert, who called the police earlier today to report getting stuffed in a locker packed with rotting tampons. When the police arrived, the third perpetrator flipped on the other two and claimed they had been threatening her to engage in the campaign for years." She took a deep breath. "Now, why the hell is this the first time I'm hearing about any of this?!"

A nervous-looking woman swallowed. "Director, I--"

"Each and every one of you is responsible for reporting your observations to the PRT," the director continued unabated. "Armsmaster, you are in charge of the Wards; it is your duty to check how they're integrating with each other. Triumph, you're the Wards leader, which means you speak for all of them. And you, Karen. You were her handler. You were the one directly responsible for her."

"Director--"

"There has been a complete breakdown in communication. This is not an accident. This is deliberate, internal sabotage. I don't know who did it, and I don't know how, which is why I am having director Renick go through each and every one of your records personally. If he finds a single misfiled report, a single time you 'let something slide', in any of your files, then I will make absolutely sure to drag the responsible party to justice. I will not tolerate this sort of thing any--"

Her phone buzzed. She glared at the people across from her as she answered it. "This is Piggot."

There was a moment of tense silence.

"...I see. Was she successful?"

More silence.

"Good. Make sure she doesn't do it again."

With dangerous calm, Emily Piggot shut off the phone and folded her hands together. "Shadow Stalker attempted to escape arrest. Fortunately, she was stopped... by Glory Girl."

Karen paled.

"A million from the Clements family?" Miss Militia frowned. "That's... a lot, isn't it?"

"Paid over time," Director Piggot clarified, watching her. "If I understand the legalese right, the Heberts can agree to drop it later."

"I hope so. Even at a thousand a month, that'd still be... eighty-four years." Militia shook her head. "How could Carol do that?"

"It's a pretty heavy divergence from her usual methods," the director agreed. "Something about this case has her heavily invested."

"There were claims of Mastering. And it's an open secret that Hess was Stalker--you know New Wave's opinion regarding the PRT."

"Mmm." Emily looked at her computer screen thoughtfully. "Yes, that would explain her investment in the case. But pushing for such a harsh treatment of the girl? Especially after she flipped? There's something more going on."

Miss Militia put the file down. "...she could see some similarity to her trigger event," she pointed out. "Trigger trauma is rarely rational, after all."

"Trigger trauma..."

Emily looked over the case records again.

"...Hebert's a cape."

"We don't have confirmation on that."

"Nothing concrete," Emily agreed. "Just circumstantial evidence. A radical personality shift, showing a degree of competence and confidence she apparently didn't have before. The fact that she managed to get out of the locker at all. And frankly, the only trigger events I've heard of that could be worse involve sexual assault. She's already on our watchlist, but Dallon pulling this crap basically confirms it."

Miss Militia put the files aside. "You think she was trying to bribe her."

"Bribe her, sweeten the pot, just stay on her good side. Trumps happen when somebody triggers around or because of a cape, and Taylor Hebert was tortured by a cape for two whole years." Emily rolled her eyes. "Of course, if Dallon knows she's a trump, she probably told her to avoid getting noticed."

"Before slapping a ridiculous fine on the Clements family," Miss Militia said flatly. "Which seems counterproductive."

"She probably wouldn't have gotten away with it if the Clements could have gotten a better lawyer. And if this wasn't Brockton fucking Bay." Emily snorted. "Woman talks about justice, and then manipulates the situation so Hebert's probably going to remain on everyone's radar far longer than normal and gives her a hell of a gift on the side."

"Or she's just a little overeager," Militia offered. "And Hebert might not be a Trump. She could just be a Tinker, or a Thinker."

"Same end result." Emily sighed. "I'm going to have some people set up long-term oversight on the Hebert house. And the DWA, if the Empire decides to force the issue they'll probably try to nab the father."

"Wouldn't that draw more attention?"

"Only if we're obvious about it."

"...which covers the ABB for this week." Piggot looked over the assembled protectorate. "And then there's what happened to Hookwolf."

"Yeah, I heard he got his ass handed to him by that new cape. Metis, right?" Assault smirked. "Sounds like somebody we'd be interested in."

"That's only half the story," the director corrected. "Armsmaster?"

"The gang members accompanying him were incapacitated via blunt cranial trauma," Armsmaster reported, "with the impact matching that of cookware missing from the nearby soup kitchen. Furthermore, the stove and microwave of said kitchen has been... scavenged, in a matter resembling a tinker fugue. Which might explain the plasma burns on the recovered Hookmetal." He gestured toward the screen. "And then there are these."

Velocity leaned forward. "...what are we looking at, exactly?"

"Two slightly burned circles of paper, that look like they could have been cut out of a paper bag." Armsmaster exhaled. "I might not have noticed them, if I hadn't noticed the evidence of tinkering."

"Improvised mask." Assault sighed. "And going from the scavenged kitchen, improvised weapon as well. You think they caught a new Tinker offguard?"

"It is the prevailing theory."

"Which means Metis isn't working alone," Emily interjected. "Either by accident or on purpose, she's gotten this Tinker on her side. New capes can cause enough of an upset on their own, but when they double up they become twice as unpredictable."

"...at least Metis seems heroically inclined," Battery offered. "Should we pitch her and her partner on the Wards?"

"If we run into them, yes." Director Piggot sighed. "We could use some good press after the Stalker debacle." She checked her records. "In other Empire-related news, Shalem has exposed another safehouse of theirs. Which of course means they're going to try that much harder to wipe her off the board..."

"...So." Piggot sighed. "Taylor Hebert is Metis."

"Or Gestalt," Miss Militia offered.

"No, that's clearly a diversionary tactic. The hair could not more obviously be a wig. Metis, on the other hand, appears to be a natural blonde black girl. The problem with that is not only are the genetics for that ridiculously rare, most people like that would move away from Brockton Bay. The Empire alone... so obviously, Metis is some sort of Changer. Which means she could be anybody, but Taylor Hebert's the only one who might have triggered recently."

"...That's a large leap of logic," Miss Militia pointed out.

"Is it? You can't tell me that Metis doesn't look like a perfect blend of Shadow Stalker and Glory Girl." Director Piggot shook her head. "And she's demonstrated both of their powers. Changer/Trump. Fits her trigger to a T."

"Where does Gestalt fit into this?"

"They're the Tinker Metis rescued from Hookwolf. Being funded by Taylor's money from the trial." She rolled her eyes. "Which would explain why the two of them showed up for a picnic with New Wave only a few weeks ago, Taylor was probably introducing her new partner to her mentor/sponsor."

Miss Militia nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense. What are we going to do about it?"

"Nothing we aren't already doing," Director Piggot muttered. "I'd like her in the Wards, but with Stalker still fresh in everyone's mind she'd likely react... poorly." She gestured vaguely out the window. "Working with New Wave at least keeps her from breaking anything too badly."

"Alright, if you're sure that--"

The computer beeped, ominously. Piggot glanced at the screen, then tapped a few keys. A moment later, sirens began to sound.

"The Simurgh," she explained as Militia stood. "She's descending on Canneberra."

Chapter Text

You look up from your phone with some relief, and notice your boss staring at you.

"...Canberra. Australia. It's the Simurgh."

"I see." He lets out a low breath. "Do you need to call anybody?"

Well--

Shit.

"Yeah, I--I probably do."

"You've got fifteen minutes." At your stare, he shrugs. "World doesn't end just because of giant monsters. There'll be a big bunch of fender benders coming in tomorrow, so I'll need EVERYONE to be ready."

"R...right." You nod. "Fifteen minutes. I'll be quick."

Shit who should you call--Amy. Amy's experienced. Oh no, Amy's experienced, they're probably going to want Panacea there--

You dial her number, hoping she's not gone already. Your fingers tense as the phone hums once... twice...

The third time, Amy picks up. "Taylor, what--?"

"Oh thank god. Amy, what do I do?! I mean I--"

"You do nothing," Amy says firmly. "Absolutely nothing."

"But--"

"You're a new cape, and you don't have any experience fighting ordinary criminals, let alone Endbringers. Even asking you to come in for the Search and Rescue afterward isn't a smart play. You'll help out more if you stay here and prepare for the post-Endbringer panic, there's always a bunch of 'the world is ending' nutjobs who try to use the truce to their advantage."

"If--if you're sure." You swallow. "Hey, uh... stay safe, alright?"

"What?"

"I mean, you're going, aren't you?"

"No. Well, not to the battle. New Wave will join the clean-up after the fact." Her voice drops slightly. "Our fliers are mostly too young and our strikers aren't powerful enough. That's what Carol says, anyway."

"Oh. Well, uh... stay safe anyway," you manage. "It's probably not going to be good even after... things wrap up."

"Fine, if you insist." There's a hint of amusement in her tone. "Hey, can you call Metis? Make sure she knows about the post-Endbringer truce, capes shouldn't be fighting each other for a week after the fact."

"Uh... sure. Is that a thing?"

"It's not a law, but it's kinda important." Amy clears her throat. "Gotta go, we're making plans." She hangs up.

You look at the phone for a moment, before shaking your head. Madison. Gotta call Madison.

Madison, thankfully, picks up quickly. "Taylor--"

"Post-endbringer truce. Capes don't fight each other for a week after--"

"Yeah I know about that. You're not going, are you?"

"I--no, Amy said I shouldn't--"

"Good."

"Are you going?"

"Are you kidding?! No! Hell no! I'm fifteen for fuck's sake! Maybe when I'm thirty I'll be able to do something, but--god damn it, Taylor, my life's enough of a mess as it is." She sighs. "Which is mostly my fault, I know--"

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"...Okay. Uh. So. I guess... we can talk after everything's finished?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that--yeah."

"Good. Uh... talk to you later."

"Yeah." You hang up, glancing at the clock. Your fifteen minutes are almost up. With a deep sigh, you put your phone away and return to the workplace.

"You have a good chat with your dad?" your boss asks.

Oh shit. "Yeah," you reply. "Let's, uh... let's get ready for tomorrow."

Doing more manual labor distracts you from the terrified pounding in your heart. And you do pretty good at it despite yourself, although part of your mind is on what'll happen when you get home, and part of it is on what the hell you'll do next week. You should... probably memorize a few emergency hotline numbers, now that you think of it. The police, the PRT, the hospital... the fire department. It'll all be important for being a hero.

And it looks like you'll have a good chance to practice that over the next week.

Friday morning, you wake up, do your exercises, and then glance at your cactus. Have you been overwatering it? It's looking a little peaky. Maybe Amy would know--

SHIT! AMY WENT TO CANBERRA!

You whip out your phone and dial her number. After a few tense seconds, she answers.

"Hm'lo...?"

"Amy oh my god do you need help with anything I mean after yesterday--"

"Taylor," Amy grumbles, "it's six-thirty. And I'm jet-lagged."

"Oh." You swallow. "But, uh... do you need help with--?"

"I'm... ugh. Fine. If you're really that worried about me, you can get me a coffee later. This afternoon," she clarifies. "At the boardwalk. Okay?"

"Okay, if you're sure--"

"I'm sure, Taylor. Also... do you not know how to send a text?"

You cringe. "I've only had a cell phone for a month."

"...Fuck. Fine. Afternoon at the boardwalk. Now I'm going to sleep off this jetlag so I'm at my normal level of bitchiness when we meet up." Amy hangs up.

You stare at the phone for a moment, then put it away with a sigh. After that you start preparing for school--only for your phone to buzz. It takes you a couple of minutes to figure out what it's doing, but you eventually find a text stating that school is canceled for a week because of the Endbringer attack.

"...ooooookay then."

You have some time before you head out to meet Amy, so after doing some thinking you head downstairs. "Hey, Dad? School's... been cancelled. The Endbringer attack and all. I'm, uh, going to be in the basement for a while, but I did call a friend and we're going to be meeting up on the boardwalk this afternoon."

Dad sighs. "...alright. Just... try not to do anything too expensive, alright?"

"Sure thing."

After you eat breakfast, you head downstairs, absently patting your M.A.I.D. on the head as you pass her doing laundry. You really should build a drone teleportation network, something that can get you across Brockton quickly... though that would probably mean putting drones in a lot of places, and you don't know how that would work out legally. But short-range drones could be useful in a more active heroing sense, especially if you can use them mid-combat.

After a few hours of careful designing, refinement, and replication of the basic idea, you have your Shortrange Personal Robotic Immediate Teleport Engines. Alright, fine, you deliberately backronymed it, but they look like fairies, so you think you're justified. You spend a few minutes making sure they can obey your commands, ordering them around the basement with your shorthand, then you test the rapid teleport system before you finally order them into rest mode. Having six individual remotes for each one is a little problematic, but you can patch that up later. Right now, you have a...

...date?

A meeting with Amy. Probably not a date, just a check-in post Endbringer.

You head to the Boardwalk and yep, there's Amy. And Vicky, just because. Actually it's probably something to do with them being sisters. You give them an awkward wave--

"Oh! Darn." Vicky crosses her arms with a melodramatic pout. "I was so sure Amy was going to meet her secret boyfriend."

You and Amy share a long-suffering look. Maybe you should come out as gay to your friends and family, just to make a point.

"...What? What'd I say?"

"Let's just get some coffee," Amy mutters, and the three of you head into the coffeeshop. You talk a bit, but even with Vicky's attempts to overenthuse things there's a grim pallor over the conversation.

"...I, uh... I was thinking of taking a first aid class," you finally venture, glancing at Amy. "You know, since... we live in Brockton Bay. It feels like something I should do, especially since..."

You pause.

"...since I kind of needed it. A while ago."

Amy sighs. "There's a first-aid class at the hospital on Wednesdays. You can get signed up easily enough, but it's a whole-day thing."

"I think I can handle that," you reply.

Saturday, you decide to do some more research into cape law, just to make sure you've memorized everything. Your review does help you catch a few points you've missed, but other than that it just seems a little tedious. Maybe studying school materials would be a better use of your time... nope, you're not that focused there either. You set aside your laptop with a groan.

"Something wrong, kiddo?"

"Just..." You wave your hands vaguely. "The weight of the world, after the Endbringer attack. I'm trying to distract myself with research but it's not... working."

"Mmm." Your dad sits down next to you. "Some things, you can't do anything about. That just means you need to focus on what you can do."

"...like being a cape?"

Your dad sighs. "I suppose that technically qualifies. You aren't doing anything dangerous, are you?"

"Nope. Just flying around the docks, looking for crime and not finding any." You shrug. "How are things at the DWA, anyway?"

"We're keeping afloat." It's an old joke, and you roll your eyes for his sake.

The two of you sit there for a while.

"...Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Want to help me find a place to move my workshop? I'm... thinking the basement isn't the best place for a tinker."

Dad sighs, getting up. "Let me get my keys."

About an hour later, your eyes widen when he pulls up in front of an abandoned fish cannery. "I didn't know this was here..."

"I didn't know about it either, until I looked through some old paperwork." Dad smirks a bit at your expression. "There are some benefits to being the head of hiring at the DWA."

"Wow. Who owns this?"

"Right now, nobody. And it'd cost a lot to buy it outright. But..." He pulls out a key. "Well, the dockworkers have keys to a lot of old places."

You think about all the old machinery that has to be in there, all the materials that are just waiting in dusty storerooms...

"It's perfect." You hug your dad. "Thank you."

"There are conditions."

You huff, but lean back with a smile. "Of course."

"Some homeless people are probably going to come in every once in a while, so you need to make sure your tinkering and any evidence of it is out of public sight. You can't draw attention to this place, understand?"

"Yeah."

"And you let me know if you're here, alright?"

"I will."

"And you're spending your nights at home. No late-night tinkering, you understand?"

"I got it," you agree with a nod. "Can I get set up now?"

He hands you the key and, after one last hug, you rush into the building. You've brought a couple of your S.P.R.I.T.E.s and you quickly send them to scout out various nooks and crannies, finding a good space wedged between a few large vats that would be almost impossible for anyone to get into without teleporting. Hopping back and forth with your drones, you quickly pull everything from your house and get it set up; you leave behind the M.A.I.D., because that's just common sense, but in a few hours your tinker lab is ready.

God it's amazing. A little cramped, but amazing.

And on Sunday you decide to test it out, making a few modifications to the SPRITE remotes and incorporating them into your battlegown. Well, four of them--you leave two independent so you can still teleport in and out of your workshop--but now you have instant teleportation in your offhand gauntlet! It's an incredible feeling--

You allow yourself to fully indulge the wave of pleasure that comes over you. God, how long has it been since you got a new power? A couple of weeks? At least this time you're alone, so nobody can see you blushing.

Admittedly the cards feel a little lackluster. The first one is just a flashlight. That's what you're getting: Flashlight. The second is another silver scientist, who seems to be packing a suit of armor into a briefcase? And the third... okay, the third's kind of impressive, it's an elephant that has each one of its four feet on a seesaw, and it's being lifted by the boulders on the other ends of the seesaw.

You get the impression that whatever's trying to translate these cards to you is terrible at metaphor.

Between the improvements to your costume and the sudden selection of cards, you decide you've done enough for the day and head home.

Monday morning, you're feeling enthused, and you decide to wrap up your study of cape laws. You take all the various articles you've found, as well as copies of the laws in question, and do a full and thorough review. At the end of it, you're certain that you know exactly how to keep everything you do legal. You've even memorized some emergency hotline numbers on the side! Hot damn, you are definitely good at this cape stuff! You're definitely going to catch a criminal one of these days.

You feel so enthused that you decide to do a little sword-training on the side. Just a little though, to keep yourself at the level you're going. Yeah, you're not exactly fooling anyone, but you're still pretty capable.

Tuesday, you go to your job and impress everyone with how put together you are after everything. At the end of your shift, your boss calls you in; you're going to be officially hired starting next week, on a tuesday/thursday schedule. You thank him for letting you know, and you tell Dad the good news. You won't have to focus on trying to get a job anymore! It's just... going to become part of your increasingly complicated routine. In order to get ahead, you try to do some more school study. Try being the key word. Eventually, you just toss up your hands and decide to spend the day doing nothing.

Wednsday you hop over to your workshop and decide to incorporate little chambers for your S.P.R.I.T.E.s into your battlegown. The end result is almost invisible, letting you store them in the faulds of your skirt until they're needed. You're definitely going to be a surprise for anybody who decides to fight you. You glance at your phone and realize it's almost time for the First Aid class Amy told you about, so you quickly teleport to a nearby alleyway and hop a bus to the hospital. The class is long and intensive, but by the end of it you think you know enough to keep somebody alive until a professional comes along. And really, isn't that the point?

When you step out of the class, you take a deep breath. You know everything you need to be a hero for this city. Probably. Well, everything you need in order to start, anyway.

Thursday, you get to work and have a fairly average day. Well, except for your boss giving you an employment contract... and your first paycheck! You head home with a skip in your step. This week's been great. Sure, the truce'll be over tomorrow, but you're really on a roll. Your life's been looking up since...

....ah.

Yeah, your life's been looking up, but other's lives have been pretty devastated.

You take a detour on the way home, just to check in on Aunt Zoe. She opens the door when you knock, and shakes her head with a fond smile. "Hello Taylor. How are you?"

"Pretty good, all things considering. How about you?"

"Well... I've unpacked. And... the divorce went through." Zoe smiles a bit as you step in. "I managed to retain custody, and... well, Alan's not going to be anywhere near my girls. Any of you."

"Any of...?"

"I managed to get a restraining order on him for them. I wasn't able to get anything for you, but frankly your father is probably a restraining order enough."

"...I suppose he could be." You nod. "So... nowhere to go but up, Aunt Zoe?"

"Well, yes. Granted, money'll be a bit tight for a while, but as soon as I get a new job--and I have a few leads on that--I should be able to settle in. Anne's been a big help, of course."

"Of course. If, uh... if money's a problem, I'm willing to help out."

Zoe shakes her head. "The court money is for you, Taylor, to pay back the life that was stolen from you."

"Oh, sure, but I was actually referring to the money I get from my new job." You pull out your paycheck. "Just got paid for the first time today!"

"That--that's wonderful! Let me guess--you work at a bookstore."

"Mechanic shop, actually." You shrug at her shocked look. "Surprised me too, but apparently I have a talent for it."

"So it seems. Well... if you ever need any help, you'll know I'll always be here for you."

"Thanks Aunt Zoe." You smile genuinely. "I appreciate that, I really d--"

You tense up as another wave of pleasure suddenly rolls over you. Again?! You haven't even picked from the first trio of cards!

"Taylor?!"

"Just--just a little side effect from you know what," you manage with a shaky grin. "Psychosomatic. Completely random. I'm fine, really."

"I--I'm going to call your father--"

"That--" You sigh. "...I guess that's fine."

"Good. Good. You stay there, and--just... stay there."

You sit on the couch, fighting back an annoyed blush as you consider the new trio of cards that floated into your head. There's the rubber suit of armor, back from the abyss--it's been a while since you saw that one. Then there's what looks to be, for all the world, a crystal ball, one with a very clear image of yourself. And then there's... a forest? Except it's not a forest of individual trees. All the trees are connected.

Yeah, whatever's translating these cards is terrible at metaphor. You sigh, leaning back in the chair. "Aunt Zoe? I'm a cape."

Zoe pauses mid dial.

"Yeah, I have powers. Really, really weird powers." You shrug. "I'm what they call a Trump. I get more powers over time. It's just... whenever I do, there's this... thing that happens. It's a little awkward, but it's basically harmless."

"...really?" Zoe puts the phone down. "You... go through a wave of pain every time you get a power?"

"Erm." You blush. "Not... pain, no."

"...Ah." Zoe clears her throat. "Well then. I still feel a need to call your father... does he know you're a cape?"

"Yes."

"I see. And... he's okay with whatever you're doing?"

You bite your lip. "Weeeeeell... I haven't actually been doing much, beyond flying around the docks. But I am wearing a lot of armor while doing so, so I think he's okay with it."

"...if you're sure you're alright," Aunt Zoe says finally. "When, uh... when did this start?"

"...how much do you know about trigger events?" you reply cautiously.

Aunt Zoe is quiet for a moment, and you catch--something in her eye. A brief hesitation, a tension that speaks to more knowledge than you'd expect...

...almost as if...

The momentary flash of sorrow and pain flickering across her expression all but confirms your suspicions, and you stand up and go to hug her.

"Taylor--"

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I--I'm sorry that... you had to go through that."

She tenses in your arms... then chuckles a little sadly, returning your hug. "I guess there's no point in denying it, is there?"

"They... they say that trigger events are the worst day of your life. The day when everything comes to a head, and you just... break. That's what I was told, after... the locker."

"Aaaa." Aunt Zoe nods. "Yes, it would be that. It would be that for you, wouldn't it."

You look up at her. "...You don't have to tell me what yours was. It's... sensitive, I know--"

"No, I--you might understand better than most." Zoe sighs, breaking off the hug and taking a seat on the couch. "I... love my family. Despite everything, I still--I still love my girls, my... I still loved Alan. So when... when all of that happened, I wanted to know why Alan was so... why it happened. I confronted him, hoping for something rational, or at least something I could understand and... it was like a stranger wearing my husband's face. He didn't care that Emma was broken--or, well, he did, but he cared more about how it would reflect on us, on... avoiding the danger. It was so alien, and I just... I couldn't understand. I needed to understand, and I needed to be with the man I loved and away from this stranger wearing his face and..."

She took a deep breath, wiping away tears.

"...Well. Suddenly it was obvious what he was thinking. How he was thinking, rather. It was like... reading a web of connections. I didn't understand, and then suddenly I understood all too well."

Shit. She's a thinker, and if missus Dallon was at all correct anybody who figured that out would be after her like--

"Taylor?" Aunt Zoe looks up at you. "What's got you so worried?"

"...The three Ts," you explain, sitting down on an armchair. "Thinker, Tinker, Trump. They're game changers--even more than ordinary power classifications--and the gangs and the government try to gather them as quickly as possible. And it sounds like you have a Thinker power...?"

"I... can focus on people and get a better sense on how they think," Zoe admits. "And I'm able to find them in my dark world."

"Dark world?"

"I didn't realize I had it at first, but I figured it out after..."

She trails off for a moment.

"...after?"

"A few days after I triggered. I wanted to hide from what I saw in Alan's mind, and then the world went dark. Except for a few people--Alan, Emma, and Anne, they were like beacons that illuminated the world around them. I realized what was happening when--when I came back, and Alan acted like I'd just walked into the room." She huffed. "Apparently people forget I was there for a bit when I go into the dark world."

"That--that's probably a good thing," you admit. "It'll help you get away from anybody who's... trying to catch you."

"It would help more if I was able to see more," Zoe says. "I can see a short distance around everyone I've read, but everything else is darkness."

"...Can you see them if they aren't in the same room?"

"I can see them from pretty far away, yes," Zoe admits. "Alan, Anne, Emma... you. I can... spot you, if I look, even if you're across the city. And I can get to you quite quickly, I'm... very fast in the dark world. I just can't see much of anything else. "

"That's still pretty potent. And, uh..." You rub the back of your head. "If you're ever in danger and need somewhere to go--"

"I'll be fine. I... don't intend to get caught up in cape stuff anytime soon."

"Still--I'll be available if you need someplace safe," you promise. Actually, thinking about it, you should make an emergency teleport for Dad as well...

Zoe sighs. "I'll think about it." She chews her lip. "Goodness, I--I've been making this all about me--"

"I have my dad and... a few friends at school," you point out. "You... didn't have anybody to talk about this sort of thing with... did you?"

"...No, I suppose not. I'll look into fixing that, Taylor, I promise."

Chapter Text

The rest of your visit is filled with small talk, and eventually, you head out. On the way home, you decide to finally pick one of the first trio of cards. Scientists--tinker powers--have always seemed useful, and the briefcase armor scientist turns out to be very synergestic; you can already picture how you're going to modify your battlegown so you can carry it anywhere, or at least put it on swiftly. And it's another thing you're pretty sure you can reverse engineer with your first Thinker power, if you ever get around to doing things like that.

The second trio of cards you consider only for the briefest instant, before picking the crystal ball. And instantly your mind expands--you sense the world around you with great detail, not only seeing things behind you but also able to track things a short distance into the past and--you realize as you react to a guy heading to the bus stop before he trips over you--a short distance into the future. A very short distance, you can't see more than five seconds, but that's still impressive. Your ride home is filled with experimentation and ideas.

Friday rolls around and you decide to practice your skills for a bit. You soon find your new clairvoyance amplifies your sword-fighting skills, and after a few hours of very intense training you think you're almost ready to use your parasol taser professionally. Emboldened by your success, you turn to your greater enemy: High Heels. Not only does your old ability to not be disoriented still applies, your new ability allow you to avoid some very embarrassing trip-ups, which makes you grow more confident as you do a few basic dance moves in your room.You are feeling pumped up, so you call Amy.

"Hey, you want to go out tomorrow?"

"...Yeah, that sounds good. Should we meet up at the Bistro around one?"

"Uh... yeah! Yeah, sure!"

"Great. See you then."

You hang up, patting your cactus--carefully, you don't actually want to get pricked. You're really looking forward to going out with your girlfriend...

...your girlfriend.

You sigh. You should tell your dad.

Well... no time like the present. Steeling yourself, you head downstairs. "Hey, uh, dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going out tomorrow. With my girlfriend. On a date. Because I'm gay. I just--I just thought you should know."

Dad looks at you for a long moment. You fidget a bit.

"...Do I know this girl?"

"You've met her. Uh... Amy Dallon?"

"You're dating Panacea?"

You straighten up. "I'm dating Amy Dallon. Panacea is... part of her, but not her, you know?"

"Right, of course. I just..." Dad sighs. "Just... try not to give the paparazzi anything, alright?"

"I won't. We're being low-key about it."

"Good." Dad pauses. "Your... mother used to, ah, date a woman, you know."

"O-oh?"

"Yes. It was... well." Dad smiles faintly. "She was still dating her when we first met. It wasn't quite the best first meeting..."

You sit down, deciding to indulge your father's trip down memory lane.

Come saturday afternoon, you're absolutely ready for your date! You meet Amy at the bistro and wave. "Hi! So, uh--"

"I'm paying," Amy interrupts quickly. "Because... I want to. You know." She reaches out, pauses, and then takes your hand. "How have you been since, uh... the attack?"

You sigh. "I've been... preparing. Checking in on my family, doing some... projects, getting ready to go back to school." And go caping, you don't say, but both of you know it.

"That... yeah, that makes sense."

"How about you?"

"Oh, I've been resting, actually. There's actually a downtick of hospital work during the truce." She sighs. "But starting tomorrow, it'll be back to the grind..."

"Yeah. Well... at least we'll have quiet lunches."

"Heh. Yeah."

"...I told my dad. About us, I mean. That we're dating."

Amy blinks a bit, but nods. "Yeah, that's... yeah. How'd he, uh, how'd he react?"

"He's mostly worried about the paparazzi. He, uh, did mention that my mom used to date a woman, though, so I think he's supportive...?"

"Lucky you. I don't... know if Carol would approve."

You blink. "Wait, do you mean 'approve of you dating a girl' or 'approve of you dating me?"

"I--ugh. I mean 'approve of me dating at all,'" Amy grumbles. "She's not exactly the most supportive of people. Great as a lawyer, but when it comes to actually being a parent, well--"

She suddenly realizes what she's saying and looks around quickly. Nobody seems to be listening in.

"...Sorry, I didn't want to bring the mood down. I know she helped you a lot with.. ya know."

"No, I--it's fine," you assure her. "It sounds like you need to vent."

"...not here," she mutters. "Not in public."

"...during lunch at school?"

"Heh. Sure." Amy clears her throat. "Anyway..."

As the two of you chat, you feel like you're really starting to get her. Understand the girl behind the mask, at least a little. You even manage to get her to laugh a bit with some rather dark humor. And you... feel like she's starting to understand you as well. All in all, it's not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Sunday morning, you head to your tinker lab and call Madison along the way. "Up for a flight around the docks?"

"Uh, sure."

"Great!" The two of you arrange a time and place to meet up, and you hang up after that. You consider the fact that you're teaming up with her more and more... and sigh. Maybe you should try to be a better friend with her, if you're going to keep partnering up. Heck, maybe you should reach out to Victoria as well--Amy would probably find it awkward if you didn't at least try to befriend her sister.

When you get to your tinkering base, you put on your battlegown as quickly as you can. With all the modifications, and your own powers, you'll probably be a master in the air. Well... hypothetically. That's another skill you need to train. Shaking off the thoughts, you teleport out and quickly make your way over to the meeting spot, where Metis is waiting.

"Hey!" She waves at you. "Er, I mean... Greetings, comrade! Shall we wander about and attempt to prevent malfeasance today?"

"I do believe it's a fine day for it," you agree. "Though I've had some improvements done, since last we met."

"Oh? Do tell, do tell."

You allow your S.P.R.I.T.E.s to fly out of your petticoats--

"Ohmygod they're so cute!"

"They're short-range teleport beacons," you explain as she coos over one. "I can teleport around a battlefield now."

"Cute and useful," Metis says happily. "You--...you're really going to be something, Gestalt. Hit the ground running."

"Yes, ah, well." You recall the drones and smirk a bit behind your helmet as Metis pouts. "What of you? Have you mastered any new spells, young wizard?"

Metis smirks. "Indeed, so I have! Recognize these?"

She holds out your hand for you to inspect; you not only notice the rings, but careful consideration allows you to place the fingernails as suspiciously familiar to Missus Dallon's. "I do indeed. Shall I expect you to wield a blade of light?"

"Not with much skill," Metis admits. "But I also have laser blasts, laser fingers, so many force fields, and it turns out Lady Photon can actually see in the dark and is immune to flashbangs. Still working on the rest of New Wave, though," she admits.

You tilt your head. "Nothing from Panacea? I would have thought healing would be a priority."

"I'll need to talk with her first, her power is... monstrously complicated," Metis admits. "Way more than she lets on. Even telling you that much is probably a violation of privacy."

"Hmm." You accept that with a nod. "Alright. Shall we?"

Metis gestures with her staff. "Lead the way. I'm not sure we'll encounter anything, though..."

It turns out, she's wrong about that. By a lot.

Thirty minutes in, the two of you hear a loud crash and lots of screaming. You quickly fly toward it and find a scene of pure chaos--one of Squealer's garish vehicles has smashed into an old building, partially collapsing it. Skidmark is on top of the truck, yelling something about 'our turf' and 'you hoes' amongst streams of far more crass expletives. The two of them are supporting eighteen ragged-looking people waving around pipes and other improvised weapons as they approach... a whirlwind of rubble. There's also some girl in ragged clothes, a short distance away, who starts spitting molten... something at some of the goons who approach.

Yep. This is a cape fight.

And you're the capes who found it.

"I can take apart the truck," you tell Metis, "and I think I can surprise Skidmark with a teleport. Can you handle the gang members with your lasers?"

"I--I can definitely try," Metis agrees with a nod. "What about the two capes?"

"They're victims. I don't know a lot about them, but they're obviously being attacked. Let's make sure they know we're here to help. And keep an eye out for Mush," you add, "he's the Merchant cape that turns into a giant trash golem and I don't see him anywhere."

Metis nods, braces herself, and flies into the crowd. "Keep your filthy hands off them, miscreants!" she cries, shooting a blast of lasers that only just clips a few of the goons on the shoulder.

Wow. That's just... sad.

Fortunately, her sudden appearance distracts Skidmark enough that you're able to send a S.P.R.I.T.E. behind him without him noticing anything... well, until you teleport in. He spins around with half a curse ready and meets an electrified parasol to the face, knocking him flat on his back. He raises a hand woozily, clearly not coherent anymore.

The sound apparently catches Squealer's attention, and she opens the door. "Skids? You--FUCK! YOU BITCH, I'LL--!"

Some screams from the crowd draw a look from both of you. You see napalm girl has spit a wall of fire between her and the thugs, while the whirlwind has ripped the weapons out of the hands of a few of the thugs. Metis, meanwhile, has stepped up her game, becoming a living light show that's knocked out two-thirds of the crowd. With only half these remaining upright being armed, Squealer snarls up at you and shuts the truck door shut. "GET IN, FUCKERS, WE'RE GETTING OUT OF HERE!"

You quickly employ your thinker power to look over the truck and slam your parasol between a few cracks, cranking the electricity up to maximum. Something in the truck explodes, kicking the hood into the air and startling back the gangers who were running toward you. Squealer swears up a storm as she rolls out of the truck, a wrench in one hand and a gun in the other. You aren't quite fast enough to pull your parasol out to deflect her shots, but the bullets ping off you harmlessly.

Unfortunately, it's distracting enough that you entirely miss Skidmarke getting up and putting fields under you until you're sent spiraling off the roof of the truck. That said, between your jetskirts, clairvoyance, and inability to be disoriented, you turn the slip into a midair summersault and land right behind him, popping the parasol in his back and knocking him off the truck into Squealer. Metis fires off a few lasers, missing anybody, but then she sighs and tries again, managing to knock out Skidmark and Squealer in one hit.

You twirl your parasol on your shoulder, looking at the standing gang members. "I believe it's time for you gentlemen to stand down," you say in the most posh voice you can. The gangmembers share a look, glance around the devastated battlefield, and quietly begin to put up their hands.

"I'll round them up, then we can call the PRT and the cops," Metis says, already putting zipties around Squealer and Skidmark's wrists. "Nice flip back there by the way. Seriously, it was insanely awesome, I'll show you the footage later."

"The footage?"

Metis taps her goggles. "Bodycam. Useful in cape fights. You might want to add one to your armor." She glances back at the two other capes, who are staring at you warily. "Uh, what do we do with them?"

Both of the capes are girls--teens, or early twenties maybe. You can tell from their rough-looking clothing that they're probably homeless, and one of them is using her own dark hair as a mask. They're both watching you warily.

"That's a very good question," you admit. "Give me a second, I'll talk with them," you tell Metis, before launching off. You make sure your approach is telegraphed, spinning your parasol on your shoulder in what you hope is a nonthreatening manner as you glide over the flaming substance. "Good afternoon, ladies! Might I have a moment of your time?"

The one with a mask glances at the other one, who crosses her arms. "What do you want?" she snaps.

"You were clearly the victims in this altercation, but I recognize the PRT can be... obstinate, sometimes. Nevertheless, we will have to call them to take in the boor and his concubine." You gesture toward the restrained Merchant capes. "If you wish to give your own testimony, you may stay, but if you want to avoid the authorities, now would be the time to leave."

"...I'll stay," says the one with a mask. "I mean--you can take my side, right? In case they, uh, try to pin the damages on me."

"Certainly," you agree. "And you, ma'am?"

The other cape scoffs. "Yeah, I'm outta here. Like the pigs'll listen to anything I say."

You sigh, but concede the point with a nod. "Yes, they do tend to live up to their own biases. Might we at least exchange contacts? On the offchance you require assistance in the future."

She stares at you for a few minutes, but then sighs. "Fuck it, sure. Better to have you on my side than crushing me beneath the heel."

The two of you exchange numbers before she quickly hops the rubble to rush off. You turn to the other cape--

"Is your team accepting new members?!"

--and have to blink a bit, but you quickly recover. "I'll be quite honest, dear, my partnership with Metis is mostly informal at the moment. That said, the idea of forming a team has been floated between us, and I would be quite willing to discuss the possibility of incorporating other members with her, miss...?"

"Um." The cape glances at the molten material. "...Spitfire?"

"Like the airplane?"

"Um. No, I just... spit fire." The girl blushes. "Okay, it's more like napalm, but Spitfire sounds more... heroic."

"It's a good enough name for now," you assure her. "And if you ever wish to change it, I can certainly help with the paperwork. Speaking of, shall we assist Metis in restraining these miscreants?"

"Oh! Right. I--...don't have anything for that."

You chuckle and hand her some zipties. "Just wrap these around their wrists, Spitfire."

Metis notices the two of you descending from the rubble, and gives you a look. You take her aside, helping her with some of the unconscious Merchant goons.

"So Spitfire there wants to join our team."

"Huh." Metis chews her lip. "I wasn't aware we had a team."

"We could--we should," you correct yourself. "I mean, we've done so much together--"

"Taylor."

Metis--Madison is letting her actual voice through. Not the one distorted by her changer aspect, but the one she has in her natural form. You look at her and see her nervous, serious expression.

"...Look," she continues, "we have a history. You know that. I know that. And--and I want to move beyond that, become a better person. I just... if we become a team... are you sure you'll be okay with that?" She glances over her shoulder, making sure nobody's looking, then lets her face shift into one you became uncomfortably familiar with at Winslow. "Are you sure you'll be okay with me?"

You let out a low breath. "If I wasn't okay with it, we wouldn't be here, would we?"

"...Okay." Madison lets out a low breath, before her face becomes Metis's again. "Okay," she says in her hero-voice. "How do we become a team, anyway?"

"Mostly? We just file more paperwork with the PRT."

"...Yeah, I'm going to leave that part to you. How did you know what papers to file?"

"I did study a lot before I went out caping." You wrap the last ziptie closed. "And Spitfire?"

Metis sighs. "Yeah... she could do a lot of damage on accident. Probably best for us to keep her close and train her to use her powers safely." She chuckles a bit. "Listen to me, we're both fifteen and she looks like she could be headed for college if she wasn't homeless."

You smile a bit yourself, though it's hidden behind your mask. "Go ahead and call the PRT. And, uh... can you give them a copy of your bodycam footage when they get here? Just to show that Spitfire was acting in self-defense."

"Sure. Your cool flip has nothing to do with it, right?"

"Nothing at all."

While you're waiting for the PRT and cops to come, you mentally review the battle in your head. You think you've mastered swordfighting with the experience, but you really should figure out how to swordfight while flying. Or parasolfight, as the case might be. And your S.P.R.I.T.E.s... they were useful at the start of the fight, but you didn't use them that much during the fight itself. You should make better use of them in combat. Still, you did pull off some good moves during the whole thing, and you're sure the PRT will be impressed.

With your efficiency.

Yeah.

Maybe you should see about meeting the local Protectorate heroes. All of them. And the Wards too--even if Sophia was a bitch, you can at least make sure the nominal heroes know you're on the side of angels.

Speaking of which, one of them is rapidly approaching--very rapidly, since he's the local speedster. You curtsy as he slows down and walks up to you. "Ah, Velocity I believe? It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a fine gentleman. I am Gestalt, and these are Metis and Spitfire." You gesture with your parasol at the restrained goons. "We found this rabble assailing miss Spitfire and another lady, who had to excuse herself before your arrival due to medical concerns."

Velocity half-smiles. "Medical concerns?"

"Mmm. I didn't ask for details, seeing as that sort of thing is... private. Still, we would be quite willing to relate our report regarding this altercation."

"In fact," Metis cuts in, "I have a copy of my own bodycam footage for you, if you want it."

"That would be very helpful," Velocity agrees. "Certainly streamlines the paperwork. A PRT van should be here in a few minutes, and the police... well, they'll be here pretty soon afterward."

The three of you give your statement as you wait for the authorities to arrive, making sure to emphasize that Spitfire only acted in self-defense. By the time Skidmark and Squealer start to shift awake, you've covered most of it and the van is already there for them. You ignore their cursing as Metis sends a file of the bodycam footage to Velocity's phone, and he's kind enough to let you see how you looked on camera.

"Now then," he says as the police finally arrive, "I'm obligated to make the pitch for joining the Protectorate--or the Wards. I know Metis already heard it, but there are many benefits to having a team supporting you."

"Indeed," you agree. "Which is why we will be forming an independent team very soon. After we ensure Spitfire is properly outfitted, of course."

Spitfire doubletakes. "Wait--you mean--?"

"I discussed your request with Metis, yes. And she agreed we could take you on. Although we don't have a formal name yet..." You turn back to Velocity with a shrug. "Something to cover before we come in with the paperwork."

"Of course." He smiles wryly. "I'm guessing quoting statistics at you wouldn't work?"

"Not at this time, no. Are we free to go?"

"Yes. It was nice to meet you all."

"If only it weren't under such unpleasant circumstances," you reply. "Hmm. Metis, can you carry Spitfire and your staff at the same time?"

Metis twirls her staff and puts it on her back. "Of course, Lady Gestalt."

"Please, just Gestalt will be fine."

The three of you fly off, Spitfire in Metis's arms. She's still looking at the both of you with something like... awe. And, alright, you guess you might have looked impressive, especially with your battlegown... maybe you should experiment with your tinkering, figure out how far you can go. You should definitely create an emergency teleport beacon for Amy, just in case she needs it--

The thought of your girlfriend makes you blush for a moment. You're grateful your helmet hides it. Honestly... you should probably tell Madison you're dating Amy. Since, well, she's your teammate and all. And you might want to tell Aunt Zoe as well, just... just in case.

You clear your throat, glancing at Metis and Spitfire. "We can drop you off wherever you want to go, darling. Is there any place we should be heading for?"

Spitfire cringes. "Actually... well... I've pretty much got everything I've got on me. I was planning on sleeping in that building before... well... you know."

...great.

"...Well, I was going to need to take you to my Tinker workshop eventually anyway," you decide. "To make you a proper set of gear, you understand. Both of you," you add, nodding to Metis. "I promise I'll get around to it as soon as I can."

Metis quirks an eyebrow. "We're taking her to your place?"

"It isn't quite set up for visitors yet," you admit. "Would you mind terribly if we made a small detour, purchase a few... necessities? I think the cost should be covered by the capture pay the PRT will give us for those two ruffians, if that is at all a concern."

Spitfire tries to look casual, but is clearly grateful. "It's your money."

The sight of three capes walking into a supermart does garner quite a bit of attention, and you very awkwardly avoid talking to anybody as you wander through the shelves. Between the three of you, you've eventually loaded up the cart with food, clothes, toiletries, a minifridge, a bedroll, and some pillows and blankets. The clerk rings your purchases up with professional confusion, which leaves the question of who's carrying the groceries and who's carrying the Spitfire.

"You're stronger than I am," you point out. "By a fair margin."

Metis rolls her eyes. "Oh, sure, make the Brute carry everything," she complains with a small grin. "Gestalt, I know you're strong enough to at least carry some of it. You're wearing that remarkable piece, after all."

"I'm also reliant on my battlegown for flight. I wouldn't want to fall because a potato went into the wrong port!"

In the end you come up with a compromise, taking the minifridge out of the package and stuffing the pillows into it before strapping it to your back with a few quickly purchased bungie ropes. Metis ties the blankets and bedroll to her own back and moves the toiletries into the bags with the clothes, handing them to Spitfire; your four on-call S.P.R.I.T.E.s manage to hang most of the grocery bags from their stubbly little limbs with only a faint protest. You pick up the rest, as well as your parasol, and fly into the air as Metis picks up Spitfire and follows after you.

"...This is going to wind up on PHO, isn't it," you deadpan.

"Mmmyep. Probably already up," Metis agrees.

You lead her to the cannery, and through a complicated teleport dance manage to get your new teammate and all your purchases set up in the same area your workbench is. You go to take off your battlegown--and then pause.

"I... suppose we don't necessarily have to unmask to each other," you say slowly, "but... well, this is my workshop. And I do need to take my armor off sometime. So..."

Spitfire sighs. "Well, my family is dead anyway," she mutters, pulling off her mask. "Emily Rogers, teenage hobo extraordinaire," she introduces herself sarcastically. "Seriously, thanks for taking me off the street."

"Not a problem," Metis says, taking off her own mask... and reverting to her own body, which is shorter than that of her superhero form. "Madison Clements."

"Hold up, what?! You're younger than we are!"

"Actually, she's about my age," you correct, taking off your helmet and putting on your glasses. "We're both fifteen. Taylor Hebert."

Spitfire--Emily--looks between the two of you, before her shoulders slump. "Well, I'm still better off than where I was," she admits. "Uh... thanks for taking me in, and everything."

"Don't thank me yet. We're going to put you through your paces and make sure you're up to snuff." You shrug as you start taking off your battlegown. "But that can wait. Madison, you have a way to get home or am I going to have to teleport you out?"

"I can phase through the walls," Madison reassures you. "Wait--shit. You don't have a bathroom for Sp--for Emily here."

You groan. "Right... there should be a working bathroom around here somewhere. I'll go look and get a couple S.P.R.I.T.E.s to stand by so you can teleport out and do your business."

"...they're actually called sprites?" Emily asks.

"They came out looking like fairies and I rolled with it. Tinkering's not an exact science."

After a quick search of the cannery, you position the S.P.R.I.T.E.s, make sure Emily knows exactly how to use them, and finally return home. Then you facepalm when you realize you forgot to get the PRT pay for Skidmark and Squealer. You can do that later this week...

Chapter Text

Monday is, by contrast, not as dramatic. You go through your classes and meet up with Amy at lunch.

"So I heard you adopted another cape yesterday."

"I mean, that's not... all I did..." you admit hesitantly. "And, like... she was homeless and jumped at the chance to be on a team."

"Oh, you're a team now?" Amy asks dryly.

"We will be," you say. "You know, after we get to know each other better. As people." You pause thoughtfully. "You're not... jealous, are you?"

"Not yet," Amy assures you with a small smirk. "But with what PHO is saying..."

"What?" You sit up. "What's PHO saying?"

"Taylor." Amy leans forward. "You really should learn to check these things more often."

And so, when you get home, you open your laptop and log in to PHO. You briefly look through the news--huh, apparently the Undersiders hit the Ruby Dreams Casino earlier today--before finding the thread you're looking for: the one about the arrest of the Merchant leaders. You open it up and are instantly inundated with threads and comments about Gestalt and Metis adopting poor little capes, with at least three distinct images from your shopping trip becoming standard format for memes. Fortunately, you are also gaining a reputation as the cape that took down the Merchants--or at least temporarily inconvenienced them, some people are pointing out that the Merchants are the kind of gang that doesn't need strong leadership to keep on trucking, only to form. And Madison--sorry, Metis--uploaded her bodycam footage, putting it to song and very specifically highlighting your midair flip.

You sigh. She's part of your team, and... fuck, you've been keeping her at arm's length. After a moment, you shut your laptop and call her up.

"Oh hi, Taylor! What's up?"

"...d'unuh'n'ut...?"

"...didn't quite catch that."

You hang up and slam the phone down, tossing yourself onto your bed and putting your pillow over your face as you scream. What the fuck were you thinking?! She'd never want to hang out with you, there's just too much going on right now--

Your phone buzzes.

It buzzes again.

It buzzes a third time.

With a sigh, you reach over and look at the text messages.

Madison: Sorry, I think there were some connection issues there.

Madison: What was it you were trying to say?

Madison: Please tell me you weren't kidnapped or something.

You groan, readying yourself for the horror of communication.

Taylor: I was asking if you wanted to hang out.

Taylor: As... friends.

Madison: I want to say yes.

Madison: But are you sure you're comfortable with this?

Taylor: No, but that's why we should.

Taylor: Leave the past behind us.

Madison: Fair nuff!

And so, a few plans and some hours later, you're awkwardly wandering around the mall with an equally awkward Madison.

"...Sssssooooooo." Madison rubs her arm. "How, uh... how are things at Arcadia? Good?"

"Yeah. Took a bit to get into the swing of things, but I'm getting good grades now."

"Good. That's... good."

"...hooooow are things at Winslow?"

"Better. The teachers are actually... trying to teach. Some of them have been replaced. And the new Principal... he's actually got a spine." She gives you a wry smile. "The punishment for knife fights is cleaning up graffiti."

"Nice."

You pass by a clothing shop. Madison stops for a moment, her eyes drifting over the display. Then she puts her hand in a pocket and forces herself to move on.

"...Things still... rough at home?"

"Things are cooler now, but it's still pretty tense. Especially since--well... since I need to save up for jewelry." She shrugs. "My parents... wouldn't understand."

You bite your lip. "...how much?"

"Taylor--"

"How much am I taking?"

"...a couple thousand a month," Madison mumbles.

"...Fuck that," you growl, pulling out your phone.

"Taylor, you don't need to--"

"We're teammates now, your problems are my problems." You dial missus Dallon's number. "I'm dealing with this now."

Madison balks a bit, but before she can say anything, the phone picks up. "You've reached the office of Carol Dallon. How may I help you?"

"Hi, missus Dallon? It's Taylor. Taylor Hebert."

"Miss Hebert, hello. I've heard of your performance yesterday. Did you call for advice?"

"No, this is unassociated legal business," you assure her. "How do I drop the fine against the Clements family?"

"...Why, exactly, would you want to do that?" Missus Dallon asks in a cool, professional tone.

"Look, the community service hours for Madison, I can understand. But a million dollars? They're not made of money! I only ever wanted justice, not revenge, and frankly after running the numbers I am incredibly uncomfortable with the position I've put them in."

"I see." There's some tapping keys on the other end of the phone. "Hmm. I suppose I might be able to work something out. I'll have to talk with your father."

"How soon can you have it done?"

"There are quite a few legalities--"

"How. Soon."

Missus Dallon huffs. "If you're willing to come in after school Wednesday, I might have the paperwork organized."

"Thank you. I'll call make sure the Clements family knows."

"Miss Hebert--"

"Have a good day." You hang up and turn to Madison. "Wednesday after school. Have your parents meet us at Brandish's law office."

"...you sure this will work?"

"It had better," you mutter.

Madison glances away awkwardly. "...thank you."

Tuesday's lunch has you facing the weekly confrontation with Vicky. "So Mom's gotten extremely annoyed," she says without preamble. "Apparently one of her clients decided that justice was not properly served. Which, you know, happens sometimes when she loses a case. But this is the first time I've heard of it happening with a case she won." She gives you a look. "You know what's up with that, Taylor?"

"Uh, kind of? It's a little--"

"I mean, after all that hard work getting you justice--"

"Vicky," Amy says firmly. "Clamp down on your aura NOW."

Her sister is a little startled, but she obeys. You decide to retune your forcefield to be immune to her powers. Just in case.

"Taylor?" Amy asks.

You take a deep breath. "So, like... here's the thing. Madison isn't rich. Asking her family for a million dollars? After she specifically flipped on the other two, after she admitted her guilt, after she already has community service hours? That's not justice, that's just spite. Especially since she's still in Winslow, gang recruiter high. Even over the course of years..." You shake your head. "It puts her where I was. Poor, isolated, in a dangerous environment. I don't want anybody to go through that, not even a high school mean girl."

Vicky frowns. "...fuck. Mom was just ranting about hormonal teenagers."

"I'm pretty sure my hormones are shot."

"Hmmm." Amy reaches over and pokes you. "Well, they're good now, but there is evidence of stress-based imbalances. Which, given what you went through, makes sense."

"Right. Sorry, Taylor, I guess I just thought... I don't know what I was thinking."

"Pretty sure you weren't," Amy deadpans.

You hide a laugh at Vicky's suddenly offended face. "I can think!"

"I know you can. You just don't do it often."

Vicky maturely sticks her tongue out at her. "So, Taylor," she turns to you, "aside from maybe giving my mom a clue-by-four, do you have any other big secrets?"

"Well..." You share a look with Amy, who sighs and gives a subtle nod. "...I guess I am dating somebody."

"Ooooo!" Vicky leans back. "Give me the deets!"

"I mean, we're trying to keep it on the downlow so we don't kick up the rumor mill," you warn.

"Of course, of course, I won't tell anybody." Vicky crosses her chest. "Scout's honor."

"So we've been on a few dates," you continue. "Our first date--actually it went kind of terribly. Turns out they're a film of gorefilms and I'm... not."

"Oof."

"But they were nice enough that we agreed to try again, and ever since then we've really connected." You chuckle a bit. "Which is saying something, since they're kind of closed off most of the time."

"Oh, a tough nut, huh?"

"Salty, too. With a wicked sense of humor." You chuckle a bit as Amy rolls her eyes. "But there's a heart in there. I saw that on valentine's day."

"Reeeeeeeally?" Vicky grins. "What happened?"

"They got me a cactus."

That got a startled bark of laughter from Vicky, as well as a huff from Amy. "A what?"

"It's a very pretty cactus!" you insist. "I'm still watering it and everything!"

"No no, I--I guess you had to be there, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, I kind of got them a bunch of gifts myself, and they weren't really planning anything for Valentines, so--"

"Aaaaah. Last-minute purchase. I get it." Vicky grins. "It must be a very, very pretty cactus."

"Gorgeous."

"Oh my god," Amy mutters.

"So how did you meet this seductive cactus lover?" Vicky asks.

"Oh, I started eating lunch with them when I first got here."

Vicky blinks. "...wait, but the only person I've seen you eat lunch with is..."

She blinks again.

She slowly turns to look at her sister, who is fidgeting with her locket and blushing.

"...Huh." Vicky crosses her arms. "Well now I feel stupid."

"Oblivious, more like," Amy mumbles.

"Hey, you want to go on a double date on, uh, Friday?"

You blink a bit. "Uh--"

"Vicky--"

"Oh come on, Ames, I just want to hang out with my sister's girlfriend!" Vicky insists. "I'm sure it'll go great!"

"...you did hear the part about us keeping it on the downlow?" you point out.

"Shopping date," Vicky decides. "We'll just tell everyone I dragged you all along for some clothes!"

"Just go with it," Amy sighs. "She's not going to take no for an answer."

You sigh. "Alright, alright. Friday it is."

"YES!" Vicky fistpumps.

"Now get going, us introverts need to recover."

When school ends, you head for your mechanic job, do your time, and get your compliments. Then you go to your tinkering workshop. "Hey, Emily."

"Taylor! Wow. Hey, uh, is there a shower around here somewhere?"

"...I don't know," you admit. "Uh... I can make you a tub and put it in one of the bathrooms?" Maybe you should have just taken her home.

"That--that's fine. I'm not too stinky yet. I just don't want to, uh, firescrub in your workshop."

"You're fireproof?"

"No. But the stuff I spit doesn't actually start burning until it comes in contact with something inorganic. Steel, wood, concrete, it'll melt through like a hot knife through butter, and the fire will burn. Spitting on my hands and running it over my skin? Harmless, and it picks up all the little grit." She sighs. "Except, well. It's fire juice, napalm, whatever. Not exactly something I want to drip."

"...how do you know that?"

"You get desperate when you're homeless."

"...I'll think of something," you promise her. "In the meantime, I was thinking of making some armor for you."

"What, really?" Emily blinks. "You want to make me armor? Like your... uh... battlegown?"

"Well, not necessarily. I can make quick-deploying, regenerative armor with a built-in flight system."

"You can turn me into a dragon knight?!"

"Uh..." You blink. "Yeah. I... guess I can. Do you want a weapon?"

"Oh, can I have a glaive that, like, I can spit on? So I can slice at things with it! More precise control, you see."

"...I'll see what I can do."

You spend a few hours tinkering on the armor, using your metal-thinker power to tear out the parts that are blackboxed and replace them with something Emily can understand. The end result is something that looked like a science-fiction minifridge, but rapidly expands into a full suit of armor when Emily holds it to her chest, complete with stabilizer wings and a microjetskirt. While she's examining her new outfit in the reflective metal, you spend a few minutes carefully applying your thinker power to make a fire lance she can maintain; once you're done, you hand it to her and explain how to use it.

"So the armor and the weapon are both fueled by my spit?" she asks.

"The weapon, yes," you clarify. "The armor's thrusters can be supercharged with your spit, if you use that hose attachment, or you can just spit it out of your mask."

"I was wondering what that was for." Emily looks herself over in the reflective vat metal once more. "Hot damn I look good."

"Yes... yes you do." You clear your throat, glancing away with a blush. "So... uh... you still wanna call yourself Spitfire?"

"Nah. WIth this? I think I'll call myself... Drakeward."

"Great! We'll file the team paperwork and practice flying on thursday, after I upgrade my battlegown."

"Wait what?"

"Anyway, I'm headed home now, see ya!"

You teleport away from her shocked stance with a mischievous smirk, humming as you head upstairs. After you finish your homework, your eyes fall on the heels again. You steel yourself, put them on, and start to strut; after a bit you've figured out all the little tricks to keep yourself from falling, and feel you're almost ready to face the stairs. But not tonight. No, tonight, you mentally prepare for tomorrow.

Wednesday rolls around--and you remember that you promised to arrange a meeting between Metis and Amy. So, during lunch, you ask her when she'd be available, and she decides to aim for Saturday on the hospital roof. "Besides, I need to meet your new teammate anyway," she adds casually. "Gauge how hot she is."

You awkwardly bite your lip. "So, uh... I made her some armor, and... weeeeeeeell--"

"Let me guess," Amy deadpans. "You couldn't resist incorporating some eye candy."

"I honestly didn't intend it! It's mostly practical, but it really highlights her hips! It just... you know, sort of happened!"

"Okay. What does she look like?"

"...A fusion of you and Vicky," you mumble. "And the armor just highlights it."

Amy quirks a brow. "Well, well, well. Now I'm really looking forward to Saturday."

You blush through the rest of the day, only managing to fight it back just before Dad picks you up to head to the Dallon office. Madison's parents meet you there, and you all head in. A whole bunch of legalese happens, but you all eventually hammer out an agreement and file the papers, and the Clements family is free of their fine.

But not the community service hours. Everyone agrees those stay.

The looks of annoyed relief Madison's parents have remind you of the other fallout of that day. You clear your throat. "Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to take the bus home, okay? There's something I need to do."

Dad frowns. "Is this about... the new friend you made on Sunday?"

"...I'm checking in on Aunt Zoe," you tell him, bluntly.

"What--? Taylor, that woman--"

"--divorced Alan and moved out of the house after the trial," you interject. "Dad, she's... she was in a bad place for a while. I understand why you're upset, but--"

"Taylor, you just got one of your bullies off the hook, and now you're telling me you've been visiting a responsible party behind my back?!"

You're grateful you're in the parking lot, since most people who notice his explosion just keep walking. "...I don't care about revenge," you say firmly. "I never did. Only justice. And justice was served."

Dad inhales deeply. "...fine," he growls. "But don't expect me to support this."

You sigh. "Dad--"

"I'll see you at home."

You watch him drive off, and sigh yourself.

The bus ride to Aunt Zoe's apartment is a little rough, but you've gathered your thoughts when you finally arrive.

"Taylor, it's good to see you!" Zoe shuts the door after you and smiles. "I understand you had a little adventure Sunday?"

"A little one, yeah. I mean the Merchants are one of the least... powerful gangs in the city. But it was still exciting!"

"I suppose it must have been. That was you in the pink dress, right?"

"Fuschia," you correct. "Yes, yes it was. And, uh... I decided to form a team with Metis and Drakeward."

"Oh?" Zoe starts pouring some tea for the both of you. "Caping is a dangerous business, so I'm happy to hear about that."

"Do you want to be on my cape team?" you ask. "We haven't quite finished the paperwork."

Zoe sighs. "I don't know, Taylor...."

"...Powers need to be used, Aunt Zoe. It's an urge, like hunger, or exhaustion."

"Ah." Zoe exhales. "That... would explain some things. I've... had to dip into the dark world once or twice. Just to calm my nerves--I don't know why I get so jumpy if I don't. Well, I suppose I do now," she mutters, handing you a cup.

You both take a sip of tea.

"...Tell me about your team? Not their powers, but who they are as people."

"I'll be honest: We're all teenagers. Drakeward's homeless and has outright said her family's dead, and she's the oldest of us. Metis... Metis is atoning," you admit. "For her sins as Madison Clements."

"....ah," Zoe says slowly.

"And then there's me," you continue. "Somehow, I've gone from high school whipping girl to the leader of a bunch of capes. And I'm good at the cape part of it--the fighting, and the paperwork--but team cohesion? Socialization? Aunt Zoe, I don't know how to handle that. I understand you're going through a lot with... with how your family fell apart. And I don't want to put pressure on you, but... we need a stabilizing element. Somebody who can understand us and talk us through... whatever shit we're going through." You put down your cup and look her straight in the eye. "And I think you could be that."

She stares at you for a long moment, and then sighs. "Wait right there." She walks into another room for a few minutes, then comes out and strikes a pose. "Well? How do I look?"

"You look.... like a housewife," you say, somewhat confused. "Or a maid."

"I don't intend to be a frontline fighter, dear. My power's more useful in a support role. Something I suspect you are gravely lacking in...?"

"Ah." You take in her words. "Wait, you'll join up?"

"If it means keeping a bunch of superpowered teenagers from destroying themselves and the city? Yes."

You roll your eyes, but smile all the same. "Alright... well, we're meeting tomorrow to finalize everything..."

The two of you exchange details, and eventually you head home. Your dad gives you a look, but you give him one right back. The M.A.I.D. continues her chores.

It's an awkward evening.

Thursday Amy reminds you of the double date on Friday, and the 'team introduction' on Saturday. You awkwardly inform her you've picked up another cape.

"Don't worry, she's old enough to be my mother so I'm definitely not attracted to her," you reassure her.

"Haven't you heard of MILFs?" Amy replies.

"...no," you admit. "No I haven't."

Amy rolls her eyes. "It's an acronym. It means 'Mother I'd Like to Fuck.' Pretty common in some internet circles."

You blush hard. "Yeah, trust me, NO. Just... just NO."

"Alright! Alright. I was teasing." Amy goes back to her food, awkwardly glancing at you. "...sorry."

"It's fine. I... it's fine."

After school comes work, and after work comes tinkering. Specifically retrofitting your battlegown to be collapsable. You eventually get it to switch back and forth between the full battlegown and a semi-stool/chair you sit on to activate it. Perhaps not as impressive as it could be, but by the time you look up you realize Aunt Zoe is already there, chatting with Emily and Madison.

"Wait, when did you get here?" You shake your head. "Scratch that, HOW did you get here?"

"We both have Breaker forms, it turns out," Madison explains. "I was telling Missus--er... Miss...?"

"Glenn," Zoe offers. "I took my old name, from before the divorce."

"Right. I was telling Miss Glenn about all our powers." She smiles wryly. "Did you know that whenever she enters her breaker form, she's wiped from the past ten minutes of memory of anybody she's interacted with?"

"...Vaguely. You can just tell that?"

"Well, kinda sorta. I'm starting to understand the alphabet and grammar of powers, but I'm still learning."

Drakeward laughs and shakes her head. "And here I am with only the ability to spit flammable liquid. You people are nuts, you know that?"

"You also have your dragon armor," you point out. "Speaking of..." You sit down on the stool and smirk as your battlegown unfolds around you. "I think it's time for us to register at the PRT. Drakeward, Metis..."

You turn to Aunt Zoe, who rolls her eyes and puts on her mask. "Matron."

"Matron." A few S.P.R.I.T.E.S fly out of your jetskirts. "Shall we on?"

You teleport out, using the trip toward the PRT as impromptu flight practice. Your own efforts are pretty decent, mostly building on what you already know and abusing your clairvoyance and lack of disorientation. Drakeward, on the other hand...

"...we should probably practice somewhere more open in the future," Metis admits as the two of you pull your new teammate out of the burning rubble of an abandoned apartment building. "Like the beach."

"That would be a good call," Matron agrees. "Are you alright, dear?"

"...hold me," Drakeward whimpers.

Metis winds up carrying her for the rest of the trip while Matron fusses over her, and you worry about the Saturday rooftop meeting. Hopefully you can at least help her fake confidence when it comes up. Fortunately, by the time you arrive at the PRT headquarters, she's cleaned up and able to walk in on her own. After a moment's discussion, you all agree on how to present yourself.

You stride in confidentially, twirling your parasol on your shoulder before curtsying to the secretary--and all three of your companions manage to curtsy at about the same time as you do. "A good afternoon to you, madam! I am Gestalt, lady of wonderous crafts. My companions are Metis, a mage of some renown, Drakeward, the knight who follows the footsteps of dragons, and of course Matron, our long-suffering patron and mentor. We have come to register ourselves as a group of independent heroes, under the fortuitous title of Fable. And you needn't worry," you add, reaching into your pockets, "We have already completed the paperwork you require."

There's a smattering of applause from a few other people in the lobby, and even the secretary seems entertained as she takes the papers. "Hmm. It all seems to be in order... would you like to transfer the reward money for capturing Skidmark and Squealer from your personal I.D. to your group I.D.?"

"That would streamline quite a few things, thank you."

There's a bit of talking after that, and a few reminders of the laws regarding caping, but when you exit, you're officially a GROUP OF HEROES!

"...Hey, uh..." Drakeward puts a hand on your shoulder. "Matron offered to let me move in with her. I think I'm going to take her up on that."

"Oh, of course! Uh... you need help packing?"

"Sure, sure."

Thankfully, the teleport dance is a lot less complicated this time since Aunt Zoe has a car, though you do have to remind Emily to make sure nobody sees her armor who isn't in the know. It does take you the rest of the afternoon, but you teleport home satisfied with a job well done.

And then Friday rolls around, and you find yourself increasingly nervous throughout the school day. Because today... is the day of the dreaded DOUBLE DATE.

Chapter Text

As school ends Friday afternoon, you are introduced to Dean Stansfield, who is... a guy. He looks vaguely familiar? Maybe you have classes with him or something. You can't really tell, he's just another generic blonde prettyboy to you.

"Ladies," he says with a smile. "A pleasure to see you again, Amy. And you must be Taylor! It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," you reply, shaking his hand firmly. "I hope you, uh, don't mind us tagging along."

Dean shrugs. "I'm used to being the walking wallet."

"...Oof." You give Vicky a look. "You do know people are more than walking accessories, right?"

"Oh har de har har," Vicky snipes, though there's a small grin on her face. "Do you want new clothes or not?"

You share a look with Amy. "Should I be insulted your sister thinks I need new clothes?"

"She thinks everyone needs new clothes," Amy assures you with a smirk. "Something about 'trendiness', I believe."

"Well, I can see this is going to go swimmingly," Dean deadpans.

You all pile into his car, which is actually very fancy, and drive off toward the mall. A few comments lead to you revealing your mechanic job, and it turns out that you're actually surprisingly knowledgeable about cars. You're a little surprised to find that Dean isn't--he just drives the thing--but Vicky, it turns out, actually is. "Brute training," she explains simply. "Pick up a car the wrong way and you're paying a fine. Uncle Neil made absolutely sure I understood what I was doing before I started using the family car for reps."

"...does she actually--?"

"Yes," Amy confirms dryly. "Once a week."

"Huh." Quietly filing that information away in your head, you realize you should probably get to know your date's sister a little better. "You mind if I talk shop with her?"

Amy shrugs. "Go right ahead."

She and Dean share an amused look as you and Vicky start chatting away about transmissions and engine specifics, even continuing into the mall itself. It's a welcome distraction from the whole 'clothes shopping' thing, which you're just not vibing with. After about half an hour of that, you notice a bookstore and suggest you check it out; Amy readily agrees, Vicky only a moment after, and Dean shrugs and goes along with it. This, of course, prompts the three of you to start teasing him about his illiteracy and showering him with increasingly ridiculous book recommendations. You focus on dry classical literature, Vicky provides high-concept science fiction, and Amy finds all the especially dark books and tells him "You'll absolutely LOOOOOVE this one!" with a gleefully wicked smirk. Dean, of course, takes it like a trooper and actually accepts some of the recommendations, and eventually you're all giving each other books which--thankfully--he agrees to buy.

"...You know," Amy says as you're walking out of the mall, "before I met you I thought all this dating stuff was just 'let's hang out and maybe kiss later.'"

"It kind of is," you agree.

"...Well, yeah. But... it's not just that," Amy muses. "I mean, there's something there that... wasn't there in any of the dates Vicky dragged me along to. Something she and Dean had, that I never did. And I thought 'maybe it's just a double date thing' but..." She gestures ahead, at where Dean is chuckling at something Vicky said. "I used to be so annoyed when that happened. And now... I'm fine with it. I'm fine with you."

You take her hand and grin. "You're fine with me?"

"Ugh. You know what I mean."

You hide a chuckle. "You are such a cactus."

"And you're a real fucking sap." Amy's smiling despite her words.

The two of you look each other in the eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, Amy rises up on her toes, and you carefully lean down. Your noses bump, she huffs and twists her neck slightly, and then your lips meet--it's a gentle warmth, but focused, expanding slightly as you clutch her hand tighter.

A few seconds later, you break apart, looking at each other.

"...was it good for you too?" Amy sasses, but there's an undertone of giddiness and a slight flush to her cheeks.

"Yeah," you manage. "I--yeah. That was--amazing."

"Oh, so now I'm amazing instead of a cactus?"

"Oh, you're an amazing cactus." You grin broadly. "Can't wait to get those spines in my lips."

"Pffff--" Amy breaks down laughing. "What the fuck, Taylor?! Hahaha, that was--oh god!"

"I'm still new to this!" you protest. "I don't know the sweetest thing to say all the time!"

"Hahahahahaaaahaha--!" Amy pats your arm lightly, shaking her head. "God. Don't worry, we're still good. We, uh... we should probably get going before Vicky shows up to tease us."

"She's going to tease us all the way home," you point out.

"Yeah, but at least the car's air-conditioned."

Vicky does, in fact, tease you all the way home, but it's lighthearted and she seems genuinely happy for the two of you, and Dean's polite enough to drop you off at your house first. "It was a real experience meeting you, Taylor. I hope we can be friends in the future."

"Mmmmmaybe," you say, carefully. "You seem... decent."

He smirks wryly. "Yeah, I get that a lot." Then he drives off with the Dallon sisters.

You head inside with a bit of a grin--one that your dad notices. He quirks an eyebrow. "So... hanging out with friends?"

"You could say that, yeah."

"Hrm."

Right, he's... still hung up on the thing with Aunt Zoe. Well you know what? You're not going to let your family drama ruin this amazing day! You'll figure out some way for Aunt Zoe and Dad to work out their issues with each other! And in the meantime, you march right up the stairs, pick up your heels, and put them on!

Between the confidence boost of your first kiss, your previous experience, and your parahuman powers, you quickly reach a point where you're sure you've mastered heels. Heck, you're strutting up and down the stairs easily! Amy's going to be so impressed if you ever take her on a formal date--her and any other girl you manage to woo.

Although the idea of fighting in these things is just plain ridiculous. At least you figured out a few graceful moves that'll work with or without them. That could look good in a combat scenario.

After you've mastered the heels, you finish your homework and then head to bed, tapping your chin with a pen thoughtfully as you look down at your notebook. You aren't using your teleportation drones that much yet... you should really consider focusing on that sometime soon. Maybe make a whole swarm of easily hidden drones that you can station around Brockton Bay, so you can respond to any situation quickly. Heck, that could be useful for Endbringer attacks, if you could design a system for them. And you probably should create emergency teleport beacons for your teammates, like Madison, and Emily, and Aunt Zoe... will your teleport drones, can you use your armor foldy thing on them? Or on... the... the stabby staaaaaaabs...

You drift off to sleep, circuits and swords bouncing around your mind, and dream of Amy suddenly walking through randomly appearing doors. Also Vicky is a car. It's a pretty fun dream.

Saturday, after checking your cactus and doing your exercises, you call Aunt Zoe and make plans for her to bring Emily to the beach for some flight practice. Then you call Madison on your way out, just so she knows the plan. You mentally reaffirm your plans to become better friends with Madison, and try to figure out how you can help Aunt Zoe with caping. By the time you've gotten your battlegown on and arrived at the beach, you find the rest of the team is already there.

"Good morning everyone!" You twirl your parasol happily. "How are you all today?"

"We're quite well, thank you T--Gestalt." Matron shakes her head. "Sorry, I'll still have to get used to that."

"It helps if you think of the cape as a separate person then the one with powers," Metis advises. "I mean, I look completely different without my mask."

Matron gives her a flat look. "I'm sure," she says very dryly.

"Now today is going to be a very busy day for us," you interject quickly. "Firstly, we're going to be practicing some flight skills--"

"Oh noooooooooo," Drakeward groans.

"--which some of us desperately need," you acknowledge with a nod. "After that, well... we need to learn how to fight as a team. So we'll be running some combat drills."

"I believe I'll be opting out of those," Matron muses.

"I'm not sure that's the wisest idea," Metis points out. "You are kind of the weakest link here. Any villain that wants to take the team down would target you."

Matron sighs. "...Fine. I suppose I'll practice fighting with the rest of you, just in case."

"Once we're done with that, Panacea has requested we meet her at the hospital. She likes to become acquainted with the local heroes before they require her services, you see. And I understand one of us has something important to discuss with her."

"Very important," Metis confirms. "And private. Please don't ask."

"Are you having an issue?" Matron asks with some concern.

"No no, it's power-related weirdness, not 'I need Panacea' weirdness. I'm fine."

"Mmmm." Matron crosses her arms, but lets it slide.

"Once we've impressed our local lady of wonderous healing, I thought we'd finish up the day with a patrol through Merchant territory," you conclude. "To make certain there aren't any opportunistic individuals taking advantage of the capture on Sunday. Is everyone alright with that?"

The others all nod their agreement.

Flight practice begins, and you find your skills settling in pretty well. Then Drakeward braces herself, and--

"Alright," you mutter as you heave her out of the surf half an hour later, "I'm beginning to suspect I might have made some sort of error when creating your jetskirts."

"Maybe I'm just bad at this," she mumbles. "Maybe I shouldn't have this armor."

"No no, you should have it. It's armor, even if it's not suited to flying. We'll leave it at the workshop for me to look over, alright?"

Matron spends some time comforting her, and Metis keeps an eye on PHO, wincing every so often at what you assume to be mocking posts from the userbase.

After that, you try to work on combat drills. It... doesn't go horribly, but overall you get the impression that you all need to figure out your own independent fighting styles before you can figure out how to fight alongside each other. You're ahead of the curve in that, at least.

An hour or two of working out what everyone could reasonably do later, the four of you are flying to the hospital, with you carrying Matron and Metis carrying Drakeward.

"Did you have to make her armor so pointy?" Metis jokingly complains.

"I can assure you that every aspect of her outfit has a functional purpose."

"...Even the pelvic headlights?"

Your face flushes behind your helmet. "Y-yes, they're there for night-time visibility. Like taillights on a car."

Matron shifts in your grip, glancing at you for a moment before humming thoughtfully. You suddenly remember she has a thinker power that lets her read people easily, and that you're flying to meet your girlfriend.

....fuck.

Well, hopefully she'll be discrete about whatever she notices.

You land on the roof of the hospital, letting down Matron and curtseying to the girl waiting for you. "Good afternoon, Panacea! It is a distinct pleasure to see you again. Ah, but where are my manners--allow me to introduce you to Fable, my independent hero team."

"Hey. What's up?"

"Not much." Drakeward steps forward and takes her hand. "Drakeward. I melt things."

Amy looks over her armor while shaking her hand, then gives you a quirked eyebrow. You manage to contain your embarrassment to just a light shrug.

"Do you fly too?"

Drakeward visibly cringes. "I'm... working on that."

"You'll get it one day," Matron assures, stepping forward. "My name is Matron, miss Panacea. I would hope whatever collaboration we have in the future will be both fruitful and, more importantly, swift."

That gets a snort out of Amy as she shakes her hand. "Yeah, getting stuck in a hospital bed is just the worst. I should know, I hear about it all the time." She turns to Metis, holding out her hand. "And we've already met--oh!"

Metis blinks, looking down at her hand. "What? What is it?"

"You're a Changer, aren't you?"

"Oh, right. Kinda sorta." Metis shrugs. "My powers are jewelry-based. I don't know if that'll interfere with your powers, but if you absolutely need to heal me, take off anything with gemstones first--and please don't tell anyone what I look like without it."

"Noted. Is that all you needed to talk with me about?"

"No, actually, there's... something more important." She glances at the rest of you. "Do you have anywhere we can discuss this privately?"

Amy gives her a look. "We could go to opposite sides of the roof. You and me over there, and the rest of Fable over there."

"Right, right. That works."

The group splits apart, with the two in robes chatting in quiet tones while the rest of you give them some privacy. Drakeward glances over her shoulder. "So, uh... do you know what that's all about?"

You sigh. "Metis said Panacea's power is complicated. She's probably just getting some advice on what to do and what not to do."

"That makes sense, but... why do they need privacy for that?"

"Perhaps we shouldn't be asking that," Matron chastises gently. "We... all know what it's like to gain powers, after all."

Now that Drakeward mentions it, you are a little... unsure about Metis's intentions. You hope they're good, but... well, the part of you that was bullied by Madison feels wary. You seriously consider looking yourself, but in the end you decide to trust that Metis won't hurt Panacea.

Though you don't stop fidgeting until the two of them come back over to you.

"...I do hope that whatever this was--"

"Gestalt," Amy interupts, and then pauses. "...Do... do they know who you are? Beneath the mask?"

You note the tension in her face.

"...yes. We all know each other's identities."

"Okay." Amy takes a breath. "Okay. We'll talk at school, I promise, but I just--I need time to process what I've learned."

Metis fidgets a bit.

"...If you're sure," you manage. "Metis, can you take Drakeward down?"

"Yeah, I--I'll do that." Metis picks up Drakeward and flys toward the parking lot.

"Matron, do you mind--" You look around, and Matron's gone. "Right. I should have warned you, she has a Stranger power. Erases herself from the past ten minutes of everyone's memory whenever she activates her ghost form."

"Right." Amy nods. "They seem nice, your team--"

You pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her. After a moment, she wraps hers around you.

"...Do I need to beat Metis up?"

She huffs. "No, she didn't do anything. She just..." She trails off. "...told me something I needed to hear."

"...alright."

"...Hey Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you take off your helmet for a moment? I am not kissing metal."

"Uh, sure."

The moment your helmet is off, her lips lock with yours. She's clinging to you, and you're holding her, supporting her--you can feel the tension leaving her body even as you remain confused, and just... hope whatever's going on is something you can handle.

She breaks off the kiss, resting her head on your shoulder. "Taylor, I know we're both young and stupid. But, uh... how serious are we? As--well, okay, not a couple, but together?"

You think long and hard about how you'll reply.

"...Amy Dallon, you didn't just heal me and move on. When you came to Arcadia, you gave me--you let me share a safe, quiet space, while I was recovering emotionally. You were the first one I opened up to about my sexuality. I don't know if this'll last, we're both teenagers, but I can promise you this much: I will always respect you, care for you, and keep a place where you can run to. A safe, quiet space. I... really do think I love you, Amy. Spines and all."

"...You are such a fucking sap." Amy clings to you tighter for a moment. "But you're my fucking sap. And... I think I love you too. I mean, not sure," she quickly adds, "see young and stupid, but--fuck, I'm not good with this sort of talk."

"We can just hug."

"...No." Reluctantly, Amy breaks off the embrace. "No, you've got your team waiting for you, and I've got the hospital staff waiting for me. We have to at least pretend to be responsible."

You sigh, picking up your helmet. "I can still hug you at school, right?"

"When nobody else is looking. Paparazzi and all that."

"Fame's a bitch," you decide as you put your helmet on.

Amy laughs. "Ain't she just. Go on, go save some lives."

You nod, stepping off the roof and joining the others.

One short flight later, you're patrolling Merchant territory. You manage to break up a few drug deals, but overall it's pretty peaceful.

"This is honestly what it's like most of the time," you tell Matron and Drakeward. "Big blowups like Sunday's are rare."

"I suppose. And you two do seem to be pretty professional with the criminals," Matron allowed.

"I studied cape law. Like... a LOT of cape law."

"Life isn't just caping, Gestalt. You're good at it, but you need time to be you as well."

"She's got a point," Drakeward agrees. "I've been homeless for a while, but having a bed... it really changes things. Hey, why don't we all hang out tomorrow? You, me, and Metis, just chilling at Matron's place--you don't mind, do you?" she adds to Matron.

"It should be alright," she agrees. "You will be cleaning up afterwards."

"Yeah that's fair."

After you wrap up patrol--and after you pointedly take Drakeward's armor into your workshop, promising to fix whatever's wrong with it--you head home and decide to do some more studying before heading to bed. You're definitely pushing above your grade level now, and you start to believe it might be possible to get your G.E.D. before June, which is... Well, today's the twelfth of March, so it's two and two-thirds of a month away.

Hm.

After a moment, you shrug and go to bed.

Sunday, you wake up and do your now-normal morning routine, but before you head out you spot your Dad. Sullenly holding a bottle.

"Uh... hi... Dad..."

"Hello, Taylor." He glances at you. "Busy day yesterday?"

"Yeah, just getting used to the new team--"

"Oh, you have a team now?" He takes a swig of beer. "I didn't know."

You let out a low sigh. "Don't... don't do that," you beg. "Please. I'm--I like what I'm doing, Dad, I like helping people. Can't you see that?"

He puts down the bottle. "I get that, Taylor, I just... I just thought you'd be with the Wards now, or at least... at least letting me know what you're up to."

You glance at the door.

Then you sit down across from him. "Okay... what do you want to know?"

"...Tell me something truthfully, Taylor. These capes you're with--are they taking advantage of you?"

"...What?"

"I mean, I know you didn't have friends for a while, and isolation can lead to bad decisions--"

You groan. "No, Dad, they're not exploiting me. I was alone at Winslow, but I'm not alone at Arcadia. If my cape friends turn out to be bad people, and I'm pretty sure they aren't, I have other social groups willing to accept me."

"...and the capes themselves?"

"Oh, they're definitely good people. Absolutely making sure I'm comfortable working with them and vice versa. Although," you muse, "Drakeward isn't that good with flying..."

You chat a bit about your team, careful not to reveal any of their identities, although you do make sure to mention that Matron took in Drakeward and is making sure your group of otherwise teenage girls doesn't get into too much trouble. Hopefully planting that seed will help in the long run. Eventually, though, the time comes for your scheduled hangout, and you tell your dad you're going to hang out with friends. He's still a little wary, but you promise to call him when you get there and put the others on speakerphone. He doesn't have to know Metis can change her voice...

You shoot Madison a quick text to explain things just in case.

"Hello Taylor," Aunt Zoe says when you arrive. "Madison's already here, watching some TV show with Emily. You should probably head in before they eat all the snacks.

"Thanks, Aunt Zoe. Uh, I'm going to have to call Dad and put them on speakerphone, so..." You cringe a bit. "He's still a little, you know, so... could you, uh... not talk for a few minutes?"

She sighs, but nods. "I don't like it, but I understand. I understand all too well..."

You head toward the living room, making your call to Dad. Emily introduces herself immediately, and Madison quickly shifts into a new form to talk with him. After he's assured of the situation, you promise you won't do anything too crazy and hang up.

"Wow." Madison gives you a sympathetic look. "Cape life stressing your family life?"

"Yeah, Dad's... he's kind of upset that I'm not holding grudges against, you know..."

"Oh." Madison cringes. "Right."

Emily frowns. "Hold on, what are you talking about?"

You take a breath. "Long story short, my Dad--not unreasonably--considers Madison and Aunt Zoe to be partially responsible for my trigger event, and doesn't understand why I'm not holding it over their heads anymore."

"...shit. Really?"

"Yeah, well, the fallout from my trigger event actually caused them both to trigger separately, so..." You shrug. "They've been punished enough in my book. And they both apologized and made up for it, so..."

Emily lets out a low whistle. "Damn. I didn't expect there to be this much drama when I joined this team."

"It's... mostly in the past," Madison admits. "We're in the awkward post-drama stage now."

"...So!" you ask. "What are we watching?"

"An Aleph show where they test 'common knowledge' things scientifically," Emily replies. "They just started an episode on what you can do with duct tape."

"Huh." You sit down thoughtfully. "Well, this wouldn't fly at my workplace, but..."

The three of you watch a few episodes, commenting with your mixed knowledge on the various things that are shown. You actually find yourself enjoying the show, and resolve to look it up later. Emily admits she mostly watches it for the explosions, and Madison... Madison doesn't dislike it, it's just not her thing. Although she acknowledges that the hosts are pretty hot. Which, of course, leads to her and Emily talking about cute boys.

"What about you, Taylor?" Madison asks as Aunt Zoe comes in to check on you. "Are there any boys you have your eye on in Arcadia?"

You bite your lip.

"...Oh, sorry, I--I didn't mean to put you on the spot--"

"No, it's fine. I... don't have eyes on any cute boys, no."

"Oh."

"Buuuuuut...." You glance at Aunt Zoe, who nods reassuringly. "Weeeeeeell... I am dating a pretty cute girl."

"Oh. Oh!" Madison sits up straighter. "That-that's wonderful!"

"Good on you, girl," Emily declares, patting your shoulder. "You know what you want and you go after it."

"If you ever need any advice, well..." Aunt Zoe smiles a bit sardonically. "Your mother used to tell me a little too much about her college days, if you catch my drift."

You blush a bit. "Thanks, Aunt Zoe, I might just take--"

And then you blush even more as a strangled, happy sound forces itself out of your throat.

"...uh--"

"It's... it's a power thing," you reassure Emily. "You know how I get new powers over time?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I just got another slot. And when that happens, my body just... reacts. it feels nice, very nice, but... well, maybe it's a little too nice." You blush, running a finger through your hair. "Sorry if I made things awkward, I just--I wasn't expecting it."

"Hrm." Madison pulls an earring out of her purse. "Hey Taylor, mind if I examine you for a bit?"

"Sure, go ahead. I'm just going to look over my new cards."

The first card is black, and you get the image of a computer--only there's no exterior, just the circuit boards, and each board is the size of a city with the circuits being roads that you're running down. The second is like one of those desk toys with all the balls, only the balls are made of some strange rock. And the third card--it feels like a snowstorm, swirling around you eagerly. You consider them carefully while Madison stares at you, eyes narrowing. You decide you don't want the winter storm. It'd be too easy to accidentally give somebody frostbite. The open-air computer is tempting, you'll admit--the idea of surfing the electronic network in a literal sense is exciting--but you haven't taken any black cards before, and you certainly won't start now! In the end, you decide to go with the desk toy. Humble though it is, the idea of rocketing into somebody and sending them flying is highly entertaining.

Madison tilts her head as the card slides in. "You just picked a power, didn't you?"

"Yeah." You grin. "Contact-based momentum transfer. Sort of a human pinball thing."

"I see, I see." Madison folds her hands together carefully. "Taylor... there's something you should know."

"Yeah?"

"Your power is... stimulating your brain," she says, delicately. "More specifically, it seems that whenever you gain a power, your Gemma appears to extend and stimulate... I think your amygdala? I'm not a neuroscientist, but I did do some study after noticing--uh, something. Something odd about powers and the associated brain structures. And I'm pretty sure your Gemma's growth is hitting the, uh, sex drive part of your brain whenever it expands. Or something in the general area."

"Wait." Emily holds up a hand. "Hold up a second. You're saying... her power is literally mindfucking her."

"Well, uh..." Madison shrugs awkwardly. "Yyyyyyeeeeeeeessssss...?"

You groan, putting your head in your hands. "That's... that's wonderful. Just perfect."

"Wait, you didn't figure that out yourself?"

"I didn't have anything to compare it to, Emily!" you protest. "I mean, god, you're one of the first friends I've had in literal years! High school was hell!"

"Still kinda is," Madison agrees. "I try to keep a necklace on at all times. You know, in case of emergencies."

"The point," you continue, "is that I didn't realize I was a lesbian until after I triggered, and only started dating recently. I--I haven't had the chance to have those sorts of experiences."

"Hey, we get it," Madison assures you with a shrug. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm pansexual. Don't really care what you've got in your pants, just what I've got going on with you, ya know?"

"Really?" You blink a bit. "I... I didn't know that."

"Yeah, well, when you live in a city with literal nazis who commit murderous hate crimes on the regular, there are a few practical issues with admitting you like girls."

"I'll say," Emily grumbles. "I flirted with a girl once, and that night my house was firebombed. That's how I got my powers."

The room goes awkwardly quiet at that. Maybe, uh... maybe you should read a book or two on socializing, to avoid situations like this...

"...How about you, miss Glenn?" Madison finally manages, turning to Aunt Zoe. "Any appreciation for the fairer sex?"

"Sadly, no. I've always favored the gentlemen." Aunt Zoe smiles wryly. "Much to Annette's constant disappointment."

You let out a low groan. "Are we really bringing my dead mom's sex life into this...?"

"I don't know," Madison grins, "are we?"

You throw some popcorn at her. Righteously.

The rest of the afternoon passes with the lot of you sassing each other and getting more comfortable. Eventually you get up to leave, but you pause at the door.

"...Hey, there's a cape that has a sort of, uh, rentable holodeck in town. And, weeeeell... we do need a lot of training as a team. What do you all say to afternoon training sessions this whole week?"

Madison, Zoe, and Emily all look at each other. Then Madison shrugs. "You're the one that got five mil from the schoolboard. You'll be the one paying."

"Haha... yeeah." You rub the back of your head. "Man, I'm burning through that, with all my tinkering... I'll figure something out, but I think I can afford a week at least."

Chapter Text

Monday's filled with nervous anticipation. You called Spectra last night and, after some negotiating, got a good week-long deal for afternoons at her place. Still, there's school first, and your classes are as educational as ever. When lunch rolls around, however, you find Amy is down in the dumps--more than she usually is.

"Uh, hey! What's the haps, cutiepie?"

Amy gives you a dead look.

"...that... sounded better in my head," you admit awkwardly. "Seriously though, what's up?"

"It's just--" Amy begins, and then pauses. "...it's just," she says again, "today's been a bit rough."

"Yeah?"

"...my dad is clinically depressed. He has good days, and he has... he has bad days." She sighs. "Today was one of the bad days. And Vicky woke up late. And we're out of milk. And Carol's being... obstinate about it all, and school's its usual flavor of irritating and--"

You wrap her in a hug, gently planting a kiss on her head. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Come on, none of it's that important--"

"It's clearly important to you," you say. "And even if it's nothing... it's not nothing."

"That's a paradox."

"Get me a medical degree and we'd be a pair'a'docs."

Amy snorts. "Shut up, I'm trying to mope here."

"Mope away," you say magnanimously, cuddling her closer. "I'll be here when you're done."

That lunch is particularly quiet, and it sticks with you as you head toward your workshop. You've still got a bit of time before you need to head to Spectra's place, so you decide to sit down and tinker something special for Amy. Something... that'll really help her out. You're really motivated, and in the end, it comes out even better than you thought it would.

"Oh, she's going to love this." You pat the creation fondly. "Hmm. Gonna have to bring her over. Not tomorrow, I have work tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday... probably a good time to tell Vicky who I am, too." You hear Zoe's car driving in. "Speaking of which..."

You pack up your battlegown and Drakeward's armor--you still haven't tinkered with it yet--and head out to meet the rest of Fable. "We're going to stick to ground drills today," you tell them as you put the armor into the trunk. "Probably tomorrow too... Emily, can you come by tomorrow so I can take your measurements and actually get you in the air?"

"Sure," she says with a shrug. "Why haven't you done it already?"

"I, uh... got distracted." You clear your throat awkwardly. "Anyway..."

You drive to a parking lot close to, but not in site of, Spectra's facilities, and relatively abandoned. Then you armor up--or in Aunt Zoe's case, mask up--and walk the rest of the way.

Metis is already waiting, for you, bouncing on the balls of her feet with an eager grin. "How did you find this place, Gestalt? I didn't even know it existed!"

"I did quite a bit of research before going out as a cape," you remind her. "Best to be prepared, after all. And this certainly seems like an excellent facility."

"I know! I've only looked in the windows, and what I see is so FRIGGIN' COOL! We're really lucky you found this place!"

"Luckier then you think," interjects a new voice. "I'm closing up shop at the end of next week."

The four of you turn to see a woman with her cyan hair done up in a ragged ponytail leaning against the front door. "Ah." You curtsy as you look her over. "You must be Spectra. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Your gaze lingers a bit on the translucent diamond in the middle of her crop top leather jacket. You didn't even know they made crop top leather jackets, and certainly not ones that could hold and highlight such generous, ah, assets...

"Hey." A gloved hand flicks your helmet, before pointing toward a ridged cyan face mask with scarlet-lensed goggles. "My eyes are up here, kid."

"Ah, y-yes. My apologies." You studiously ignore Metis's giggling. "Who, ah... who might your tailor be, if I my ask?"

"It's a Parian original. Sweet girl. Shame she's here, and not some other city." Spectra shrugs. "Brockton Bay's a shithole. I've been saving up to move out for a while, and I've finally got enough to pack my bags. S'why I'm only open for two more weeks, I'm leaving at the end of the month."

"I see. Well then," you twirl your parasol, "I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors, and thank you for allowing us to use your facilities one last time."

"Might as well leave one good thing behind before I go," Spectra admits, walking in. "Let's see what you've got, kiddos."

Between your powers, group experience, and Spectra's illusory enemies, you start to get a feel for everyone's strengths and weaknesses in combat. You also discover that Aunt Zoe is a martial artist--"A little out of practice, and I never mastered it, but self-defense lessons make sense in Brockton Bay." That she's able to pull off some moves in her dress is impressive.

Eventually, your training/sparring session ends, and you all head home. While you do have a busy week ahead of you, you figure you can spare a little time for your studies before you go to bed. And you make the most of that little time, memorizing a few important bits of scientific theory. You go to sleep satisfied with the day.

"So," you say to Amy during lunch on Tuesday, "I have a gift for you."

"Oh?"

"The problem is, it's... kind of bulky. And Tinkery. And like, I could just show up at your door with it, but that would cause the paparazzi to take notice. Buuuuuut," you muse, "if a certain flying blonde brute took it home, that would be a lot more discrete."

Amy quirks a brow at you. "You want to take Vicky to your Tinker workshop?"

"I want to take both of you to my tinker workshop. Tomorrow. But... that means I need to tell her who I am, tomorrow."

"...I'll pass the message along," Amy says. "Hey, uh... are you free on Friday?"

"Well, I'm running my team through some combat drills at Spectra's, but I should be free after five...thirtyish?"

"Good. Good, can we... can we go to that bookshop? The one with the cafe."

You put a hand on hers and smile. "Sure, Amy. I'd love to."

That afternoon, after you get off work, you head straight for your workshop and glare at Drakeward's armor. "You and I are going to have a little chat," you mutter, pulling out your toolkit.

"Are you seriously talking to a suit of armor?" Emily asks, amused.

"Trust me, it's all part of the process."

Emily watches as you practically disassemble the thing, turn it inside out, and rewire everything while muttering curses under your breath. The end result looks like an ornate pointed green shield, about half as tall as she is, with a snarling dragon embossed into it.

"Okay, you just put that part on your head, make sure that part's between your legs, and pull down on these parts."

Emily considers your instructions. "So... I get in the dragon's mouth and make it bite down?"

"Yep."

"Metal." Emily does as you command, and the armor unfolds and recollapses around her.

"So as you can see, I reworked the flight systems entirely," you explain. "No more jetskirts, you're getting thrust from the wings and intake from the shoulder pads. You also have a directional jet tail--yep, yep, that's how you move it, and it'll be responsible for the direction you're flying in the air. And yes, the whole thing is fueled by your fire spit--you're going to have to drool into it constantly to keep it filled up, though you can flick down the mask if you want to spit at something. You got all that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do." Drakeward is looking at herself in the reflective metal. "Just one question..."

"...why am I so chonky?"

You clear your throat awkwardly. "W-well. It's, it's armor. You know. There's a lot in it. Protection and safety, yeah?"

"Taylor, I look like a green hourglass with wings."

"Hey, you make it work! I--I mean," you blush as she quirks an eyebrow, "Tinkering--it's not an exact science! And, uh, it's not like your armor didn't, didn't emphasize your hips before..."

Emily puts a hand on her very, very accentuated hips.

"...is it bad?" you ask meekly.

"...No, it's fine," Drakeward sighs. "And yeah, I look good in this. I'm just not looking forward to the PHO memes." She gives you an amused look. "Or lesbian teammates stumbling around pretty girls."

You clear your throat. "Well. Ahem. So, I reworked your armor. And your flight systems." You put on your battlegown. "You know what that means?"

Drakeward stiffens. "Yeah. I know."

Half an hour later, you're pulling her out of the surf again. "We weren't even anywhere near the beach," you mutter. "How did you crash through the exact same kelp field?!"

"I'm sorry! I panicked!"

"Fuck it, we're going to practice this at Spectra's," you grumble. "Her force fields should keep things reasonable."

You almost turn to go, but then you and Spitfire both stumble. It takes you a moment, but you remember Madison's trigger story--and you realize somebody had to trigger nearby. Still, you can't exactly see anybody in distress nearby, even after a quick search.

Maybe they've already left... or maybe whatever pain they went through was deeply personal. You'll keep an eye out.

Metis and Matron have been using Spectra's facilities themselves, and Matron in particular is quickly relearning her martial arts skills. When you arrive, you take the time to practice your own flight, with Spectra helpfully making an aerial obstacle course for you to fly through; your thinker senses give you ever-increasing confidence in your flight, and you finish your routine with a showy, twirling landing.

"Okay." Drakeward steels herself. "Okay. Okay, let's take it slow..."

She lifts into the air, carefully, and stumbles her way through the aerial obstacle course. You and Metis hover alongside her as, slowly, she starts to gain a better understanding of thrust and counterthrust. She manages to make it through once, twice, three times.

Then she lands, shaking. "Wow."

"I know, right?"

"Wow." Drakeward looks at Matron. "I flew. I actually flew."

"You did very well," Matron encourages. "Maybe we should try another flight drill Thursday?"

You nod. "That sounds like a splendid idea."

Before you know it, Wednesday's rolled around. You're tapping your leg semi-anxiously all throughout classes, waiting for the dreaded Lunch With Vicky. Not that Vicky's a bad person, she's just... overwhelming. It's so stressful, in fact, that as soon as the door shuts you just blurt out "I'm Gestalt" in Vicky's face.

Amy facepalms.

"Taylor," Vicky says, patting your shoulder reassuringly. "I know that Gestalt's the hot new thing, but you don't need to pretend to be a cape in order to impress me--"

"No, she really is Gestalt," Amy interjects. "She took off her helmet on the hospital roof."

Vicky pauses for a moment. "...Wait, those PHO rumors about you kissing her on the roof are true?"

"No--well, yes, but that's not the--"

"Taylor Hebert," Vicky barrels on in a mock-stern tone of voice, "did you interrupt your girlfriend's busy work schedule?"

You sigh, trying to regain control of the conversation. "She could use some interruptions sometimes. You know how stressed she gets."

"Fair enough," Vicky admits with a shrug. "So, you're Gestalt. And Amy knows."

"Yeah."

"Who else knows?" she asks. "Just so I don't go blabbing to the wrong people."

"Oh," you start counting off on your hands, "there's Amy, of course, and Dad, and all three of my teammates, and also your mom--she actually caught me right after my trigger event."

Vicky inhales sharply. "Riiiight. The, uh... the trial. Yeah, I remember that, I had to catch Sh--Sophie, her name was Sophie, right?"

"Sophia Hess." You roll your eyes. "Who I have since been reliably informed was Shadow Stalker."

Vicky glances at Amy, who raises her hands. "I didn't tell her."

"Yeah, uh... Metis triggered during that confrontation," you explain awkwardly. "Oh! And yesterday, somebody triggered at the beach. No idea who, but Drakeward and I both stumbled a bit."

Vicky nods. "I'll keep an eye out, then. If they triggered with you two in the area, they might have a power kind of like yours."

"Right... Metis did mention that."

"So now we've possibly got a new tinker with... what's Drakeward's power?"

"She spits a flammable substance. Melts through anything inorganic when it hits." You cough into your fist. "Also I'm not a Tinker, I'm a Trump."

"Wait, what?"

You spend the next few minutes explaining the nature of your powers in great detail--although you avoid mentioning what Madison told you on Sunday. That knowledge is probably best kept away from Vicky. You might tell Amy, though--not that she can affect your brain, but your girlfriend ought to know. That's not the subject of your conversation, though.

"So..." Vicky finally concludes, "you're a Tinker... but you're not just a Tinker."

"That--yeah. That's about right."

"Cool. Cool cool cool." Vicky nods. "So... anything special you've been working on?"

"Funny you should mention that..."

After school, you lead the sisters to your workshop. "So, one of my specialities is teleport drones," you explain. "Or, well, robotic teleport nodes. You hit the remote, and they automatically open a half-second wormhole that sucks you in and takes you to where they are."

"Is that what the robot fairies are?" Vicky asks. "What? I saw a video of the grocery trip on PHO."

You smile a bit. "Yes, that's what the S.P.R.I.T.E.s are. But I'm not limited to just making robot fairies. If it's a robot and a teleport node, I can make it. And, well..." You adjust your glasses awkwardly. "Amy did mention some things on Monday... things that got me to thinking. So!"

You teleport into your workshop, and then teleport back out. "Allow me to present the Personal Home Assistant and Extraction Destination Retrieval Automaton!"

"...It's pink," Amy notes through her astonishment. "Very, very pink." She paces around the robot, who tilts her head curiously as she watches.

Vicky leans down, poking the humanoid-looking robot on the head. P.H.A.E.D.R.A. looks up at her, pink eyelights flickering. "Wow. Uh, she's very... cute, Taylor."

"Thank You!" P.H.A.E.D.R.A. chirps brightly.

"Oh! Uh, you're welcome!" Vicky manages to hide her sudden jump as just totally casually hovering, like she does. "So... uh. P.H.A.E.D.R.A., how... how are you doing?"

"I Am Doing Quite Well," the robot replies brightly. "Thank You For Your Concern!"

"Not a problem." Vicky looks at you. "What."

"P.H.A.E.D.R.A. is programmed to assist you around the house, do chores and whatnot, and also accept," you glance at Amy, "medical instructions, like monitoring certain family members for abnormal behaviors and making sure they take their pills."

Amy sighs. "This is about Dad, isn't it. I mentioned he had depression, and you made me a robot nursemaid."

"A robot nursemaid you can teleport to!" You pull out a remote, a small thing with a single button, and press down, instantly appearing next to P.H.A.E.D.R.A. "Great for getting home from anywhere, any time--especially in the case of emergency."

"I Can Track Up To Six Remote Aperture Trigger Devices At A Time," P.H.A.E.D.R.A adds helpfully. "I Can Keep An Eye Out For The Whole Family!"

"Uh, Taylor, not that this isn't... a lot," Vicky manages, "but, uh, Tinkertech is... generally complicated. And needs maintenance that most people can't provide. I'm sure Amy would love to take P.H.A.E.D.R.A. home, but could we even... take care of her?"

"Do Not Worry, I Come Equipped With A Self-Diagnoses System To Alert Gestalt Or Another Capable Tinker If I Require Maintenance. As Well As Multiple Standard Chargers." P.H.A.E.D.R.A. nods happily. "I Am A Big Girl And I Can Take Care Of Myself!"

"...Ooooookaaaaaaay..."

"Why is she wearing a frilly miniskirt?" Amy asks.

P.H.A.E.D.R.A. clutches her hands together bashfully. "I Like The Ruffles."

Vicky swallows back a giggle. "Well, they do look good on you. Uh... Amy?"

"...Mom's going to blow a gasket," Amy mutters. "Still... thank you, Taylor. Uh... so, how do we get her home?"

"Well, the way I figured it, she's about as big as you are, and Vicky carries you around all the time, right?" You hold out the teleport remote. "So what I was thinking was that Vicky takes her to your house, then once she's there she calls you, you press the button, and you're home free."

"That'd mean leaving Amy behind with you," Vicky notes.

"I mean..." You shrug. "Yes?"

She ponders you for a moment. Then she turns to her sister. "Amy, if she takes you into her workshop to do nefarious things to you, you either call me right away or enjoy the hell out of it, understand?"

Amy blushes brightly. "We are SO not ready to do nefarious things to each other, Vicky."

"Good." Vicky smirks, sweeping up P.H.A.E.D.R.A.--who cheers a little--and gives you a nod. "Thanks for trusting me with this, Taylor. I promise I won't let you down." She flies off, robot in her arms.

"...Sooooo." You turn to Amy. "I agree that we're... nowhere near ready to do nefarious things to each other, but... do you want to see my workshop anyway?"

Amy rolls her eyes. "Sure. I'll get to see what that ballgown of yours looks like on the inside."

"Oh, the battlegown?"

"Wait. You call it a battlegown?"

"Well, yes," you say. "It's a gown, and it's made for battle. Hence: Battlegown."

Amy and you chatter while you work on tinkering another robot. When you're done, you step back and give your creation a considering nod.

"Huh." Amy looks at it. "That looks a lot like P.H.A.E.D.R.A. Only she's your size, instead of my size."

"Well, yeah, but this one is for Fable. A sort of shared fallback for the team. So she's programmed to be more professional and help with maintaining our equipment. Not all of it is tinkertech," you say to Amy's surprised expression. "Only... some of it."

With a grin, you activate the Team Robotic Assistant and Central Extraction Intelligence. Intelligent pink eyelights look back at you.

"Greetings, Lady Gestalt." T.R.A.C.E.I. turns to look at Amy. "There Is An Unregistered Individual In Your Workshop."

"Oh that's Amy. Amy Dallon, alias Panacea. I invited her in."

"Understood. How Do You Do, Miss Dallon?"

"I... am doing fine, thank you." Amy glances at you. "Lady Gestalt?"

"I swear, I didn't program that in. Intentionally. Tinkering isn't an exact science."

"I See No Reason To Disrespect The One Responsible For My Creation And Maintenance," T.R.A.C.E.I. quips dryly. "In Fact, I Believe It To Be Quite Fair To Respect My Elders."

"Even if they're being idiots?"

"Respect Can Only Extend So Far, Miss Dallon."

"Oh, wow." Amy shakes her head with a smile. "You're something else, Taylor." Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it. "Oh. Vicky's made it home, and she's... smoothed things over with Mom. I guess I should be headed out."

You hand her all of P.H.A.E.D.R.A.'s remotes. "Just a fair warning, there is a little jolt. Nothing major, but you might stumble a bit."

"Got it." Amy pauses, glancing at T.R.A.C.E.I., who tilts their head. Then she rolls her eyes, pulls you in for a quick peck on the lips, and steps back. A moment later, she's gone.

"Ah. That Explains Quite A Bit."

"Wha--" You look at your new robot and huff. "Yeah, well... it's my life, right?"

"I Was Only Making An Observation, Lady Gestalt."

A few minutes later, the rest of your team rolls up and you introduce them to T.R.A.C.E.I. Emily gives an impressed whistle. "And she has eight teleport remotes? Hot damn. You should really show this kind of crap to Armsmaster, he'd be impressed."

"...Yeah, I should, shouldn't I?" You nod. "Maybe some day."

"Question." Madison raises her hand. "Does she come in a doll-sized form? Cause, uh, I'd like to have one in my house, just in case, but I don't want it to be... too obvious, just in case my parents ask questions."

"...I'll try for something," you promise. "Let's head to Spectra's, shall we?"

You all suit up and head over, deciding to ask Spectra to give you a few crowd battles. She agrees, and you throw yourselves into the fray. It isn't long before you all notice synergies with each other, and weaknesses you can cover; you and Metis are powerhouses, of course, but Drakeward can control large areas, and Matron is able to provide a few surprise attacks here and there. Although that's something of a risk for her. You really need to tinker her up some armor.

"Your kids are alright," Spectra says offhandedly to Matron. "I mean, I'm not sticking around, but I'll be cheering them on from... well, I'm going to keep that to myself."

"I understand, dear, and I don't begrudge you your decisions. But, well," Matron nods to you three. "They were all born here. This is their city. And they're willing to fight for it."

"...Yeah, that's fair." Spectra glances at the clock. "Okay, time's up, you lot. Get outta here. I'll see you tomorrow."

You all head home, tired but pleased.

Thursday, Amy approaches you with an annoyed expression. "Good news, P.H.A.E.D.R.A. is really working out well," she says. "Bad news: Carol decided that since Vicky and I know who you are, the rest of New Wave should know who you are."

"...what," you say flatly.

"Yeah, she called up Aunt Sarah and told her your identity. And about P.H.A.E.D.R.A. I know it goes against the unwritten rules, but apparently she took the gift as implicit permission." Amy frowns. "She does that, sometimes. Just... does what she thinks is right, without consulting anyone. I don't think Aunt Sarah will tell Uncle Neil or her kids, though. She's... reasonable." She pauses. "Dad knows, though."

"Of... course he does." You put your head in your hands. "I mean... this isn't exactly a problem, I'd just... I would have liked to be consulted, you know?"

"Mmmmyep. I know the feeling well. I happen to live with her."

The undertone of annoyance makes you wrap your arm around her shoulders. "Well... I'm here for you, if you need me. We're still going out tomorrow, right?"

"...yeah." Amy seems oddly tense. "Yeah, we are."

That weight sticks with you throughout the day, all through your work at the mechanic's shop, and even as you work on tinkering some more generic drones.

With T.R.A.C.E.I.'s help, you manage to come up with something that takes the M.A.I.D.'s circuitry and puts it into a much smaller form: the Private Individual eXtraction Intelligence Engines.

You are just... loving making these robots. This little guy could fit inside a teddy bear. And you've made eight of them! Eight! You're... definitely taking at least one home to your dad, just so he has a way to teleport home in case of emergencies, and handing one off to each of the others, so that's four, and as for the other four... well, you have them on hand.

"My fucking god," Emily says when she sees hers. "Taylor Hebert, are you categorically impossible of making something that is not absolutely adorable?"

"I made your armor," you point out.

"Touché. And yet, my armor is not a robot."

"Oh aren't you just the cutest thing!" Madison coos. "I'm going to get some tiny dresses for you. Wait, would that get caught in your joints?" Her P.I.X.I.E. chirps and shakes their head encouragingly. "Oh good! I was worried!"

Aunt Zoe looks at hers for a moment, before sighing. "Thank you, Taylor. Truly."

"Just... doing what I can to support the team." You shrug awkwardly. "So... more flight practice?"

Emily sighs. "More flight practice."

At your request, Spectra creates an even more challenging aerial challenge, having you strike floating targets with your parasol while passing through rings and avoiding obstacles. You are a graceful bird in a deadly dress, performing an aerial ballet that makes your teammates stare in awe. And apparently your performance is inspiring, since Drakeward decides to try to take the basic aerial course without you and Metis spotting her. She actually does incredibly well, and earns applause from the rest of you when she finally lands.

"Who knew that all I needed to fly well was to wear something that made me look like a sparrow carrying a rabbit?" she quips.

"...rabbits are surprisingly svelte," you mutter.

Matron, on the other hand, starts sparring with some of Spectra's holographic goons. And... Okay, wow. You didn't know Aunt Zoe was this good. Where has she been hiding these skills?

Metis, of course, manages to show up everyone. Little miss 'I can totally have all the powers if I'm rich enough.' But hey, at least she's being heroic about it.

When you get home and show your dad the P.I.X.I.E., he comments it could really revolutionize things if you could get it patented. You consider that for a moment, then decide to look up the laws for patenting tinkertech. Of course, you already did so while studying cape law in general, so you do have a minor advantage in knowing where to look, aaaaaaand you find it's pretty much exactly what you remembered: the bots are too tinkery to patent, but you could use your thinker power to reverse engineer something with your other tinker powers that isn't tinkertech and thus is patentable. Especially your 'compressed armor' power, that's probably the easiest to reverse engineer.

Chapter Text

When Friday morning rolls around, you text the rest of your team (and Spectra) and ask if you can maybe finish team training early, on account of a date. They generally agree and wish you the best of luck with your girlfriend--Madison, in particular, seems supportive.

Madison: Give her a kiss for me! 😄

Madison: And for yourself. 😉

Madison: And for all the lesbians in Brockton Bay! 😁

Madison: And for her, especially. 😇

Madison: So, like, four kisses. 😙😙😙😙

Madison: They don't all have to be in the same place.

Taylor: How did I never notice how much of a dork you were before?

Madison: Trauma, probably.

 

You decide to show it to Amy at lunch, after copying it to the note app and replacing Madison's name with 'Metis'. She actually gigglesnorts a bit. "Okay, that--that's hilarious. You should probably put your phone away, the staff's really strict about that sort of thing."

"We're not likely to be found out," you point out, even though you put your phone away. "I mean, you managed to find a pretty quiet place here."

"Yeah, well, you never know." Amy takes a deep breath. "So... they know you're... poly?"

"They know I'm a lesbian," you clarify. "I, uh, haven't mentioned the poly thing. Yet."

"...You should probably let them know. Sometime... sometime soon." Amy takes a deep, shuddering breath. "It's only fair."

You give her a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm still figuring this out too, you know. I may... I might have figured it out, but that doesn't make it easier."

"Mmmm..." Amy sighs. "Yeah. That's how it goes, a lot of the time."

You teleport to your workshop after school, and find your team is already there. T.R.A.C.E.I. is already proving their worth and, after quickly checking with them on the status of the workshop, you lead the team to Spectra's.

"Huh. You're a little early."

"Gestalt's got a hot date," Drakeward 'helpfully' explains. "We want to wrap this one up early so she can put away her battlegown and spend the afternoon with her beau."

"Yeah, sounds about right," Spectra agrees as you glower at Drakeward. "How about I give you a rescue mission? Save the civvies from the zombies."

"Sounds good to me," Madison agrees.

So Spectra uses her power to generate a fake disaster scenario, and you quickly go through it like the moderately-oiled team you are. You're getting a better feel on how to synergize on the fly. And you know your team is getting a better feel on how to support each other. You have a quick post-combat discussion about what worked and what you can improve on, before Matron (with an amused tone) tells you to go off to your date already. You didn't think you came across as that desperate, but...

...well, anyway, you teleport to your workshop and leave your battlegown with T.R.A.C.E.I.--

"I Wish You The Best Of Luck In Your Romantic Endeavor."

"Why do you sound like you're smirking?"

"That Is A Ridiculous Assertion. I Do Not Have Lips."

--and rush out to catch a bus, heading to the bookstore.

Amy looks up as you enter, putting the paperback she was perusing aside.

"Hey." You hug her with a smile. "Were you waiting long?"

"About four minutes," she replies, smiling back. "You wanna... I don't know, wander the shelves?"

"Sure."

The two of you go around, poking at various books and making silly comments about their cover art. A couple of times, one or the other of you notices an old favorite, or something that you heard about, and you talk about it. And yet... for all you're enjoying yourself, Amy seems to be growing increasingly weary.

It's when she drifts into the mental health section that alarm bells really start to ring in your head. Especially when her eyes drift across some books about parahuman psychology.

"Amy?"

"...you ever hear about the capes... the ones whose power fucks with their head?"

"...Well, yeah. I'm one of them."

Amy blinks, looking at you with surprise.

"Yeah, uh, Metis figured it out," you admit. "I mean, I knew something was happening, but--you know how I get new slots, right? New powers? Well, apparently whenever that happens, my Gemma expands and rubs up against my... amygdala? The part of the brain that, uh, makes sex pleasurable. And that means I get a sudden wave of... well, it's an embarrassingly good feeling, physically speaking. I, uh, don't know how it stacks up to actual, you know, because I've never actually--"

"So your power is literally mindfucking you," Amy deadpans.

"You know, Drakeward said the exact same thing."

"...Lucky you."

You bite your lip for a moment, then you put a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable--"

"No, you should--you should know." Amy sighs. "I mean, Metis already knows. She's the one who figured it out, after all..."

She pulls back.

"I always thought--I always thought I could just be good, you know? Just do the right thing, and maybe it'd be hard, but if I tried hard enough... the worst that could happen would be that I'd fail. Or didn't get there soon enough. That I might fail at being a hero, but I'd still be a fucking hero. The girl who tried... I thought that I could at least, at least make that choice, no matter how fucking much the rest of reality shat on me." Amy looks at her hands. "Just do the right thing. Over and over and over. Just... try. I thought I could do that. That I was capable of doing that."

She clenches her fists tightly. "And then Metis looked at me. With her ability to... dissect powers at a glance. She looked at me, and she saw--she saw everything I was hiding, everything I could do. Everything I avoided. And that would have been bad enough, except she also saw something else--something I didn't even know about until she told me, but it made too much fucking sense!"

You quickly check the area, making sure nobody is near enough to hear, before stepping forward. "Amy--"

"My power has been--it's been fucking with my brain," she admits, angry tears running down her cheeks. "I didn't want to believe it, but it--it tweaks the connections, pumps in hormones, as reward and punishment for, for, for I don't even know what! Oh, but I suspect. I looked it up, looked up what Metis told me, and--the closest fit? Borderline Personality Disorder." She laughs in anguish. "Borderline! Like it doesn't even matter!"

You reach out, and she doesn't protest as you pull her into a hug.

"...I thought I could make the choice," she mumbles into your shoulder. "The choice to be a hero, or at least not a villain. But I--I can't even do that. I can't trust my brain, I can't even trust myself." She looks up at you, teary-eyed. "I could be hurtling toward a mental breakdown. Or a psychotic break. I could--I could become the greatest monster on the planet, and not even be able to stop myself. Isn't that just... so fucked up?"

...You take a deep breath, centering yourself. Amy's your girlfriend--your first girlfriend--and you need to help her in her hour of need.

"Amy, look at me." You look her in the eyes. "It's going to be okay. Let's work together to learn more about what's going on. Maybe we can find out what your power is trying to push you to," you suggest, "and if we can do that, we might find a solution. Even if we can't... I'll still be here for you no matter what, I promise."

"Sure you will," Amy mutters sullenly. "But this--this isn't going to go away, Taylor. I'm fucked up in the head, and--and that could make me a worse villain than Nilbog, if I ever lose control of myself. Maybe I'm unsalvagable, Taylor." She glances away. "Maybe I can't be saved."

Something within you crystalizes, hardens, makes your rising anger into a directed, precise tool. Nobody gets to hurt your Amy. Not even herself.

"And? Is that going to stop you from enjoying life, from loving your family, from being the fucking hero you are?" you demand. "You might not consider it but you are one of the most heroic people on the planet and it's not an exaggeration from someone who loves you. It's a fact. People should really find sacrificing years of your life to heal strangers without any benefits--that too as a moody teenager whose power fucks with her in some sorta Pavlov experiment--much more heroic and incredible than they do!"

You gently, but firmly, lift her chin so she can see your face. "Amy, you've had your powers for years at this point and you are still the same heroic individual that you were at the start of it-- just maybe a bit more cynical and sarcastic, I suppose. I have only had my powers for a bit more than a month and I already devote more than a quarter of my time awake tinkering shit or doing more power-related stuff. You have a lot more willpower than anyone else I know, and I count all the capes I met and heard of, in that list. Anyone else would have snapped under all that bullshit long ago but not you. Believe me when I say that you are one of the only people I know, that can get past this issue."

Amy tries to huff, but you can see she's trembling.

"And even if you can't on your own, what am I here for?" you continue." Do you think I am gonna stand here as your power pulls that shit with you? Gods no. Not to toot my own horn, but I have not even been a cape for a month and I have created things that tinkers with years of experience would balk at. Give me half a year and I'll find a solution to fuck your power over for doing this to my love. If you ever turn a villain, remember that I will always be there to pull you from the brink. Should I have to beat you or your shitty manipulative piece of shit power for that? I won't hesitate to do so."

You abruptly realize you're growling, and take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

"You let an insecure idiotic girl close enough to you that your natural charms made her fall in love in you," you remind her gently. "I don't know if anyone else is gonna help you or not, but I will be there come hell or high heaven."

"...You are such a fucking sap," Amy mumbles, trying to pretend she's not crying.

"Yeah, well, I'm your fucking sap," you reply. "Now, uh... let's get behind this sappiness and, and start on finding a solution for this. Okay?"

"Okay." Amy sniffles, rubbing her eyes. "Okay... okay."

"You are a good person, Amy," you remind her gently. "You're good because you choose to be, no matter what you're feeling. And even if these feelings are being... plugged into your head by some sick power mechanic, that doesn't mean they aren't real, that they aren't affecting you. Your feelings matter, okay? And now that you know your head's being messed with, you'll... we can learn how to handle it." You give her a soft kiss. "Together."

"Yeah." Amy sniffs once more. "God. Fuck, I'm a mess. You can't--we can't let anybody know about this, okay? I mean, if people found out--"

"I won't tell anybody," you promise. "Unless you say I can. Or, uh, you know, you get Mastered or it's an emergency or something."

"...I fucking hate that we live in a world where that's actually something we have to consider." Amy nods, rubbing the last tears out of her eyes. "I haven't even told anybody else, you know? Dad's too depressed to be helpful, Carol's... Carol thinks therapy is for the weak, and Vicky... ugh. Vicky would try to help, but--"

"But she's an impulsive teenager?" you offer with a small smile.

"Yeah. Heart of gold, dumb of ass. The only reason she's not a himbo is that she's got boobs," she grumbles.

"There's my snarky cactus," you say with an affectionate smile.

"You have terrible taste in women," she informs you, but she's grinning.

"Eh, agree to disagree. So, uh..." you glance around the mental health section you're both in. "Do you... want me to buy you some books?"

"...Fuck. Yes, but... can you use P.H.A.E.D.R.A. and T.R.A.C.E.I. to sneak them into my house?" Amy asks. "Or, like, just keep them at your workshop and--"

"I'll give you one of T.R.A.C.E.I.'s remotes," you offer. "I should probably do that anyway, just in case... you need somewhere to run to. And... you might want to let P.H.A.E.D.R.A. know about this," you suggest gently.

"...God damn it. Yeah, you're right." Amy groans. "That girl's already been such a big help around the house anyway..."

You spend the rest of your date shopping carefully for what you think will help Amy best, disguising your purchase with a few 'writing advice' books so that the cashier will assume you're just some weird author. Writers do that, right? Research mental health to properly write characters? Whatever, responsible ones should, and you're being responsible. Kind of. The cashier gives you an odd look, but doesn't say anything.

After you pay for the books, you spend the rest of the afternoon at the cafe, just chatting. When it's time for you to split up, you give a quick look around and--not seeing any paparazzi or Empire gangers--give her a warm kiss before you head home.

Saturday, you take a breath and think about your week. You got a new power, and you really should learn how to launch attacks with it--in fact, you should develop a ranged weapon for your fighting style. But that's going to cost money. Maybe you should get to work on something that you can actually patent, something that can be sold.

"Hello, Lady Gestalt," T.R.A.C.E.I. greets as you teleport into the workshop. "What Is The Itinerary For Today?"

"I think... I'm going to be making some armor," you decide. "An automatically healing set of armor that I can mass produce and sell to, like, the PRT and the police. You know, like Kevlar, but better."

"Like Kevlar, But Better."

"Yep."

T.R.A.C.E.I. nods thoughtfully. "You Are Capable Of Making And Successfully Reverse Engineering Rapid-Deployment Armor, Personal Flight Devices, And At Least Some Degree Of Elementally Enhanced Bladed Weaponry, And What You Choose To Market Is Something That Is 'Like Kevlar, But Better.'"

You lean on your workbench. "Look, T.R.A.C.E.I., I'm under a lot of emotional stress, alright? I mean, I've got to juggle being a Cape with being a leader of a Cape team and Dad's not happy I'm hanging around Aunt Zoe and then there's school and my girlfriend's going through a lot at the moment and let's not forget the fucking Empire looming over everything--"

"Oh No, I Understand Entirely, Lady Gestalt," T.R.A.C.E.I. assures you. "I Am Sure That Your Basic Armor Will Allow You To At Least Gain A Foothold In The Market."

"I should have installed a mute button on you," you mutter obstinately.

Despite their doubts, the two of you you get to work on making your first marketable model. You focus on two things: making sure the regenerative aspect of the armor remains intact, and making sure the whole thing can be put together and maintained without the intervention of a tinker. And with a few hours of focus and concentration... you do it. You make a non-tinkertech suit of armor that regenerates over time. You even have blueprints and an instruction manual. And gosh darn it...

...it looks damned good, even without any colors.

"So what do you think, T.R.A.C.E.I.?" you ask smugly, turning to your robot and gesturing at the prototype. "Am I good, or am I good?"

"I Never Doubted Your Capability, Lady Gestalt. Only Your Rationale."

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. This'll get the money flow started, I just know it!"

"Do You Have A Marketing Plan?"

"I'll... think of one," you mutter. "You know. Eventually." You shrug. "You know, I kinda liked working with you on this. I wonder what it would be like to work with a Tinker that works for the Protectorate? Like Armsmaster... or maybe Kid Win or Gallant?"

"I Would Assume There Are Some Restrictions Regarding Such Collaborations."

"Well, fortunately, I brought my laptop," you say. "I can just find out. I'm pretty sure I saw something while I was researching cape law..."

Your research leads you to a few examples of Protectorate Tinkers working together, and a few basic outlines of who owns the resulting work.Nothing about independents, but it's a good reference. You read up on it, and then shrug. "Something for the future, I guess."

"What's a good reference?" Madison asks.

"You know I have a clairvoyance power right?" you remind her. "I saw you teleport in five seconds before you got here."

"Dang it, I was hoping I could be sneaky."

"What are you doing here?"

Madison brushes a hair back behind her ear. "Well, uh... the thing is. With your teleport bots... you do realize you've basically made a little network, right? We can all just get to our homes or the workshop quickly, and use that to... hang out, or talk with each other..."

"There's this newfangled device known as a 'phone,' Madison."

"Mmmmyeeeah. But, uh." Madison shrugs. "I... was... bored?"

You drop your head in your hands.

"Come on, Taylor, you basically gave me the tinkertech keys to your base--"

"Fuck it, I'm calling Aunt Zoe and asking if we can hang out at her place."

"And I Shall Stay Here," T.R.A.C.E.I. assures you, "Perfectly Safe From Your Teenage Drama."

Madison giggles. "You make the best stuff, Taylor."

A few minutes and a small teleport dance later, you're hanging out with the rest of your team.

"...So, I was thinking," you begin, "tomorrow we should, uh, go looking for whoever it was that triggered at the beach. Not that they'd still be at the beach, but... you know, we might want to take responsibility if we accidentally created a pyromaniac."

Emily rolls her eyes. "Just because I spit fire doesn't mean I like seeing things burn, Taylor. Actually, I really don't like seeing things burn. You know, since my house burned down."

"Yeah, powers tend to be like that," Madison agrees. "Like... constant reminders of your trigger event. Or they fuck with your head. Or both. I've only ever seen one exception to the rule."

You wince. "Yeah, that's fair. I... guess I may have made a bad assumption. Sorry, Emily."

"It's good. Seriously, you got me a new home, and a wicked set of armor. But... sure, we can look for a new fire dude tomorrow."

"Great."

"So how'd the date go yesterday?" Madison asks.

"Oh, uh..." You let out a breath. "...it... well. I think it was cathartic for Amy, she... looked a lot better by the end of it."

"She--oh." Madison cringes. "She, uh... told you?"

You glance at her. "Yeah. She did. And we... talked. She's my girlfriend, you know? I'm going to be there for her, no matter what."

"...Good." Madison nods. "Good. It's good that you have each other."

"...do I want to know what you're talking about?" Emily asks.

"It's personal," you reply.

"Okay. Fair enough."

"...although," you admit, "we did talk about things besides that thing."

"Oh?" Madison leans in. "Like what?"

"You know, our favorite books, how our families are doing, whether I should tell you guys that I'm polyamorous, just stuff like that."

There's a moment of awkward silence.

"What's polyamorous?" Emily asks.

"It means I'm not monogamous. That I can... you know, love multiple girls at the same time."

"What, like a harem?"

"First of all," Madison lectures sternly, "the original meaning of the word 'harem' was simply an inviolate part of a Muslim household set aside for female members of the family, such as their wife or daughters, and it only gained its ridiculous 'concubine collection' reputation because the British empire projected all their own moral failings and ignorance on foreign nations. Secondly, even the modern interpretation of a harem isn't at all like actual polyamorous relationships--any more than the shirtless Spaniard with a rose in his mouth sambaing around a swooning seductress is an accurate portrayal of straight relationships."

"...Uh, yeah." You gesture at her. "What she said. How the heck do you know that anyway?"

"I'm not just a pretty face, Taylor. I mean... okay, I am mostly a pretty face," Madison admits, "but there's still that five percent that's more than that."

"...fifteen percent, more like."

"So, wait." Emily sits up. "Like, you're dating Amy, and... let's say you want to date another girl. She's just... okay with that?"

"She knew I was poly since before we started dating. And I'm not just going to cheat on her," you clarify, "it's like--if I want to date another girl, I'll say 'I'm thinking of dating this other girl' and Amy will say 'Okay go for it' or 'I'm not actually comfortable with that' and we'll talk it out before I actually, you know, ask the other girl out. And I'm going to be upfront, you know. About being poly."

"...Okay. That... yeah, I can see how that works. And you'll do the same for... all your girlfriends?"

"Yep. You know... when I get them."

"And will you let your girlfriends date Amy?" Madison asks curiously.

"Uh--" You shrug. "I think that would be between them? But, uh..." You awkwardly glance away. "She has... kinda sorta hinted... that she might be okay with me dating Metis...?"

"Hmmmm." Madison nods slowly. "I seeeeeee."

"Not--not that I'm asking you out. Not right now. Just. You know. She's mentioned it." You cough into your fist. "And she, uh, kinda approved of Drakeward's armor as well."

Emily rolls her eyes. "So what you're saying is that you being poly means Amy gets eye candy."

"That--I don't--"

"Emily, I think you're missing the bigger picture here," Madison interjects. "Amy Dallon is a cute brunette with freckles. I am a cute brunette, and you are a brunette with freckles." She smirks wickedly. "I think our ~Tay-lor~ has a ~ty-pe!~"

"It--it's not like that! That's just a coincidence!"

"Oh?" Madison leans toward you, with an exaggerated pout. "So you don't think I'm pretty?"

"....I am reclusing myself from answering that until I have had a talk with my girlfriend!" you reply, blushing furiously.

Madison cackles. "Fair enough!"

The next day, you all meet up in the early morning. "Right, Matron and Metis will take the Boardwalk and surrounding areas. Just look for crimes or confused parahumans. Drakeward and I will cover the Market. Remember, we're just looking to find our new parahuman, not arrest them or convince them to join up--all we want is to make sure they know the basics about being a cape, and how not to get into trouble."

"You know, we might not find them," Matron warns.

"Even if we don't, we might still stop a few crimes along the way. Everyone good with the plan?"

Everyone agrees, and soon enough you've split off and are flying to your destinations.

Drakeward is doing a lot better with her flight, and you give her an encouraging nod as you go. "You're doing wonderful, dear."

"Uh, thanks, Gestalt."

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no. Well... no," she mutters, "it's not like anything's the matter, it's just... You know what we talked about yesterday?"

You stiffen a bit. "About me being..."

"Yeah. I mean you do you, I'm not--I'm not saying you shouldn't, I'm just... I've never heard about that before, you know? I'm just processing it. Thinking over it from all angles. That sort of thing."

"Ah," you realize. "I guess it was rather... a lot to spring on you. I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable--"

"No, don't apologize for that. You haven't done anything, as far as I can tell. I'll work through this. Just..." Drakeward sighs. "It's the Gestalt personality, you know? All 'dear' this and 'darling' that, very high class and posh, and you're also... you know, very, very loving. I guess I'm just seeing things that aren't there sometimes."

"I can assure you, darling, that if I was flirting with you, you'd know exactly how terrible I am at it."

Drakeward chuckles at that. "Yeah, I guess you are a bit of a--"

Your phone buzzes, and you glance at it briefly.

Metis: Found a girl.

Metis: Or a girl found us.

Metis: She's not who we were looking for, but she definitely needs our help.

 

"Huh. Looks like Metis and Matron could use our assistance--"

A sudden explosion catches your attention. You and Drakeward share a look, before rocketing toward the sound of gunshots.

It isn't long before you come to a horrifying scene. You can see something like twelve civilians--all clearly not Caucasian--huddling behind various cars or in various buildings. They're being assailed by, what, twenty-eight Empire gang members, some with guns and some with melee weapons, and the gang members are being backed by capes. You spot Victor, watching from a sniper rifle on the roof. You can see Stormtiger, and Cricket, both readying themselves for a fight. And at the front is Hookwolf--fucking HOOKWOLF, again, but this time he's already bristling with blades.

Because standing between him and the potential victims is a man. A muscular, seven-foot-tall, shirtless dark-skinned man, with a flowing red drape around his waist and thick red gauntlets around his wrists. Sharp bronze faulds shift as he rolls his shoulders, faulds attached to a thick gorget with a large ruby set in the chest. His mask is a little abstract, but seems to invoke the image of a dragon, or a firebird, with a golden jaw and scarlet feathers.

"You shall leave," he declares, a ball of fire forming in his hand, "or you shall suffer. So speaks Balefire."

You turn to Drakeward. "I believe we have found our man."

Chapter Text

Victoria Dallon--Vicky to her friends--glanced up from her homework just in time to see her sister sullenly sag her way up the stairs. With a small sigh, she hovered up after her, leaning on Amy's doorframe. "What's up?"

"Carol had me meet a fangirl," Amy grumbled. "Some client of hers, just... apparently she thinks I'm the 'most heroic person in Brockton Bay' or something."

"Well, you are pretty heroic," Vicky acknowledged with a teasing grin.

"I just put people back together, I don't like... stop crime, or anything. Anybody can do what I can with a few years of study and training."

Vicky shrugged. "Sure. And anybody can take some martial arts classes and study criminal law to go after the thugs on the street. Doesn't mean it's easy." She floated in, putting a hand on Amy's shoulder. "You are a hero, Amy, and--and probably a better one then I am."

"...hrm." Amy leaned into the grip slightly. "...maybe, yeah..."

"...This wasn't one of those creepy fangirls, was it? The 'I ship you with Edilon' kind?"

"No, just overenthusiastic." Amy sighed. "She asked me for my fucking autograph."

Vicky snorted. "Truly, your life is suffering."

"Shut up," Amy muttered. "At least I'm probably not going to see her again any time soon."

"It might not be so bad," Vicky offered. "Maybe she could be your friend!"

"Hah, right." Amy's voice dropped, almost too quiet for her to hear. "Like anybody'd want to be friends with a bitch like me."

She was in another one of her moods, Vicky realized. One where she wouldn't listen to anything her sister said. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around Amy and settled in to wait.

It was the least she could do.

"...and of course the guy says it isn't his knife! I mean, he had just--" Vicky's phone buzzed, and she gave it a glance. "Hold on, I have to take this."

"It's probably her boyfriend," Amy drolly told Taylor.

"Oh, that's... nice?"

"You mind if I--?"

"No," Amy assured her, waving her off, "go on, us introverts need the time to recover anyway."

"Thanks, sis." Vicky walked off a short distance as she answered the call. "Hello, honeybunch. What's up?"

"A lot of paperwork," Dean grumbled. "The whole deal with Stalker is kicking up things over here, and that means everyone's on alert."

Vicky frowned, adjusting her phone. "That sounds serious."

"Serious enough that I might have to cancel our date on Saturday. I'm not sure if it'll be an all-hands-on-deck day or not, but I do know the Wards are being picked over especially thoroughly, so..."

"Damn. I was looking forward to it too."

"So was I." Dean sighed. "I hope you're having a better day than I am."

"Actually, kind of, yeah. I'm at the mall with Amy..." Vicky grinned. "And! Her new friend."

"Wait, she's made a friend?"

"I know! It's amazing, right?"

"Incredible. Good for her. You're not overwhelming them, are you?"

"Dean Stansfield, what kind of woman do you take me for? I have plenty of experience in handling introverts. And they really do seem to be... kind of bonding," Vicky admitted. "Like, I guess they aren't talking much, but they hang out a lot--"

"Gallant get your butt over here! I am not sorting through all these forms on my own!"

"Crap... sorry Vicky, I gotta go. Vista's giving me that look again."

Vicky smiled. "Say no more. Go be a hero, honeybunch. Love ya!" She hung up the phone, walking back to the table. "Yeah, sorry about that. Dean had some trouble at work that might cause him to reschedule our date on Saturday."

Huh. Was Taylor.... blushing? Maybe, it was very faint and it could have been her glasses playing a trick of the light.

"So what were you two talking about?"

"The benefits of a quiet lunch," Amy replied flatly.

Vicky clutched her heart dramatically. "Ack! No! My own sister, why would you attack me like this?"

"You're a superhero." Amy took a bite of her sandwich. "Deal with it."

"Hey there, Taylor," Vicky greeted. "How are things in the world of books and computers?"

"We're still going line by line," Taylor replied with a small smile. "How are things, uh, in the cape world?"

"They might just be about to get complicated," Vicky admitted, settling in next to her sister. "You heard about that new cape, right? Metis?"

"Yeah, I might have gotten wind of her," Taylor replied evasively. "Didn't she take on Hookwolf?"

Amy snorted. "Of course she did. Every brute takes on Hookwolf! It's like a fucking rite of passage or something--go for the murderblender!"

"Hookwolf's not an easy customer," Vicky agreed somberly. "It's great this new cape survived the experience and came out on top, but that's a hell of a risk to take--especially when you're just starting out."

"...at least the goons got knocked out," Taylor offered with a hesitant, nervous smile.

"Yeah, but head injuries are no joke," Vicky replied, remembering her own lectures on the topic. "I hope the new cape doesn't accidentally go too far. If it even was her..."

Taylor adjusted her glasses, giving her a confused look. "What... what do you mean by that?"

"The fuckers were hit by a saucepan," Amy explained in her post-analysis clinical tone of voice. "I've seen that kind of thing before. Thing is, the new cape didn't have a saucepan. My theory is a normal took the goons out, and the new cape's trying to protect them by taking the heat. Or maybe just taking the credit."

"Guess that makes sense..." Taylor mumbled.

"I think it's the first option," Vicky mused. "Not a lot of people think of taking on parahumans. The gangs probably wouldn't like it if the idea of ordinary men and women fighting capes took off. I mean, can you picture it? Some random mob going after Kaiser?"

"They'd die," Amy deadpanned. "Kaiser's a shaker."

"Well, okay yeah, but the point is that a lot of the Empire's capes aren't brutes. They'd have an active incentive to crush anybody who thought of breaking the unwritten rules." Her tone grew somber. "Like what they did with Aunt Jess."

Silence fell in the room for a moment, while Taylor fidgeted awkwardly.

"...Sorry, that--that's personal family drama, I shouldn't have--" Vicky cleared her throat. "So aaaaaanyway, uh, I hear there's... uh... that new book! That everyone's talking about. You know, the one with..."

"...with the teenage girl blatantly trying to change the subject?" Amy quipped.

"Yeah." Vicky huffed. "Yeah, that's the one."

"So how'd you and Gestalt meet anyway?" Vicky asked, casually catching a punch.

"Oh, we just ran into each other," Metis replied, shaking her arm. "Damn, you're strong."

"Brute powers. You're not half-bad yourself. But you should probably hold back a little more, that could have shattered an ordinary person's spine."

"Oof. You, uh, you ever do that?"

"No! No, I wasn't allowed to fight until I stopped breaking doors." Vicky shook her head, catching another punch. "I swear, half the reason Mom won't buy me a car is because of all the money I cost her."

"And the other half?"

"I can already fly, so why do I need a car?"

Metis conceded the point with a shrug, following up with a roundhouse kick--

"Nope, too much force! You've popped the perp and are covered in blood."

--and making a disgusted face when Vicky caught her by the ankle. "Well, that's certainly an evocative mental image."

"It helps to keep the consequences of your actions in mind," uncle Neil lectured. "That way, you try to avoid making any mistakes."

"Hah... yeah." Something like guilt passed over Metis's face, and she glanced at Gestalt momentarily. "...yeah. You're right on that one."

Vicky frowned, filing that away. There was a story there...

"...Hey, you want to practice throwing things?" Eric offered. "I can set up some targets for you."

"...Sure, why not." Metis shrugged. "At least Gestalt's getting on with her training pretty well."

Vicky clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Don't put yourself down. You're actually doing pretty well!"

"Really?"

"We might even start teaching you how to pick up cars soon," Uncle Neil assured her with a grin.

Vicky groaned. "Trust me, it's waaaaaaay more complicated than it looks..."

"You know, Amy's been doing a lot better recently."

"Oh?"

Vicky snuggled into Dean's chest as they watched the cliche chick flick. "Yeah, she's... happier. Still snarky as fuck, but given everything she deals with, that's entirely reasonable. And she's been hanging out with Taylor a lot."

"Taylor?"

"Her new friend. Taylor Hebert?"

Dean made a sound of understanding. "Right. The introvert girl."

"Yeah. I guess--I guess it's what she needed. Somebody not involved in all the... family drama." Vicky smiled. "She's finally taking steps toward being herself. I'm so proud of her."

"...You sound like a mom."

"Well, all older sisters are part-time moms, even with the best parents. Just part of being a family, you know?"

She didn't say anything about how her parents weren't the best. Dean already knew it. He was smart like that.

"I guess that makes sense," Dean offered. "Wouldn't know myself, but..."

"Really? Then what about--" Vicky glanced around, nobody seemed to be listening in. "What about Vista?"

"...What about her?"

Vicky huffed. "She's like your little sister, right?"

"We're just coworkers, Vicky. It's not like she comes to me with her personal problems."

"Well maybe she should," Vicky declared. "You'd be a great big brother."

Dean sighed. "It's not... it's not like that, for the Wards."

"Ugh. I know, I know, you're 'just coworkers'... honestly, I think that mindset might be a big part of the PRT's problem overall."

"Look, can we not argue politics?" Dean begged. "It's Valentine's day, I'm with my girlfriend, and I'm watching two moderately attractive actors pretending to make out on the big screen. Isn't that enough?"

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine, we'll have a fluffy afternoon." God, she loved the boy but sometimes he could be just... so fucking dense!

"Hey." Vicky put a hand on Amy's shoulder. "You doing alright?"

She glowered at her. "Really? You're asking that after everything that happened yesterday?"

"Yeah, okay, stupid question." Vicky shuddered at the memory of Canberra. "Still, if you need anything--"

"I'm fine," Amy growled, pulling a mug from the cabinet. "Just need to drown myself in coffee."

Vicky noticed her hand idly brushing against the locket around her neck.

"....so," she asked, oh so casually. "You have any plans for today?"

"Meeting up with a friend at the boardwalk later," Amy grunted. "Just to check in after that whole clusterfuck."

"A friiiiiiiiiiend, huh?"

Amy eyed her warily. "Yeah... why?"

"Weeeeeeeeell," Vicky drawled, "I was thinking of heading to the boardwalk myself--you know, for a nice, relaxing stroll. You want to go together?"

"...God damn it, Vicky, I just--fine. Whatever. Sure, you can come along."

"...I mean if you don't want me to--"

"No, it's fine. Just--try to behave yourself, alright?"

Vicky held up her fingers. "Scout's honor."

She was mildly disappointed to discover Amy's friend was just Taylor, but a friend was a friend. She'd figure out who Amy was dating later; right now the girl just needed to relax.

"I am such a fucking idiot, Dean."

"No you're not," Dean assured her.

"Yes I am! I mean, all those dates I dragged Amy on--all of them trying to set her up with guys--and she's been gay this whole time?" Vicky groaned. "I should have seen it. God damn it, they were dangling it in my face and I missed it!" She buried her head in her hands. "I'm supposed to be her sister, I'm supposed to be the one she trusts--and I couldn't even figure this out!"

"Maybe she... didn't want you to know? It can be hard to figure out yourself, especially when you're also busy being a cape--"

She cut him off with a glare.

"...at least Taylor's nice?" he offered in consolation.

"...Yeah. She's nice. A little quiet, but then so's Amy." Vicky sighed, rubbing her brow. "Well, they seem to be good for each other anyway. Maybe I'll have a talk with them later, about how to keep things discreet. You know, cause Amy's famous."

"That might be a good idea," Dean agreed. "Although, uh, maybe you should... not involve your mother."

"Oh, fuck no, Mom would terrify Taylor," Vicky agreed.

"...So. A mechanic, huh?"

"Yep. Who'da thunk it?" Vicky started counting off on her fingers. "Book geek, computer nerd, wrench wench... good with her mind and with her hands."

"Sounds like a catch," Dean agreed.

"Yeah. Now if only she'd have more confidence in her own appearance."

"I guess that's what Amy's there for," Dean mused.

The two of them paused to consider that.

"Well shit," Vicky deadpanned. "Guess Taylor's doomed."

"Okay." Vicky steadied herself as she approached her house. "Listen, it's been a rough week, okay? Amy's been out of it since Saturday, and Dad had a bad day Monday, and Mom's... kind of intense. So let me do the talking, alright P.H.A.E.D.R.A.?"

"If You Say So, Miss Victoria."

"Call me Vicky." She landed in the backyard, putting the robot down and pulling out her keys. "Actually, don't call me Vicky. Mom likes professionalism. You can call me Vicky when you've... integrated into the household.

"Of Course. I Understand."

"Glad one of us does," Vicky muttered. "Mom! I'm home! And I've brought... uh... okay, it's kind of complicated, you should come here and see for yourself!"

Her mother sighed as she entered the room. "How many times have I told you not to yell in... the house... Victoria. What is that."

"Oh, uh, this is P.H.A.E.D.R.A. The, uh, Personal Home Assistant and... frick, I forgot the rest."

"I Am The Personal Home Assistant And Extraction Destination Retrieval Automaton." P.H.A.E.D.R.A. curtsied politely to Vicky's mother. "It Is A Pleasure To Make Your Acquaintance, Miss Dallon."

"Yeah. That." Vicky smiled, hiding her nervousness. "Gestalt made her for us! Isn't she neat?"

Carol crossed her arms. "Gestalt made her."

"Yeeeeeeup!"

"And... what exactly does she do?" she asked pointedly.

"Well, she's basically a robot nursemaid," Vicky explained. "She can do chores, make sure Dad takes his pills, you know, stuff like that. Oh, and she's got a built-in teleport beacon, you press one of her remotes and you wind up right next to her!"

"I see." Carol's voice dripped with suspicion. "How... convenient."

"I mean, uh... well, Amy was kinda down on Monday because of, you know, everything, and Taylor noticed so she decided to do something about--"

"Taylor noticed?"

Vicky winced. "Yeah. Taylor Hebert."

"I see. So you know that she is..."

"Yeah, she unmasked to me and Amy."

"Hmm." Carol Dallon stepped forward, examining the robot carefully. "...P.H.A.E.D.R.A."

"Yes, Miss Dallon?"

"Will you be reporting anything you see here back to your creator?"

P.H.A.E.D.R.A. looked almost affronted at the suggestion. "I Quite Sincerely Doubt I Will! I Am Programmed To Monitor And Maintain The Mental Health Of The Dallon Household, And While Lady Gestalt Is A Talented Individual, She Has Neither The Skill Nor Training To Act As An Emergency Psychiatrist!"

"...Hmn." Carol narrowed her eyes for a moment, before shaking her head with a sigh. "I suppose we can try this for a few weeks. Gestalt will be performing maintenance, I assume?"

"Yeah, she--I'll tell her if P.H.A.E.D.R.A. needs a tune-up," Vicky assured her. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to let Mom know about P.H.A.E.D.R.A.'s ability to contact other tinkers for repairs.

"I just know this is going to generate more paperwork," Carol muttered. "Come along, P.H.A.E.D.R.A., we should introduce you to the family."

"Uh, I'll just text Amy and tell her she can come home," Vicky said quickly. "She has one of P.H.A.E.D.R.A.'s remotes..."

Carol quirked a brow. "I suppose you might as well."

"Aheheh..." Vicky pulled out her phone, not noticing the way P.H.A.E.D.R.A. was eying her.

Vicky groaned, putting her laptop aside. "Shit... this could be bad." She leaned out of her bedroom, knocking on her sister's door. The moment it opened, she grabbed Amy and pulled her in.

"Argh--! Vicky, what the hell--?"

"Tabloid got ahold of a picture of you and Taylor kissing," Vicky explained quickly, gesturing at the laptop.

"What?!" Amy jumped at the laptop. "Shit! Can't those fuckers let me have one thing in peace?!"

Vicky shut the door behind her. "Yeah, I'm mad too. And I totally want to let you bitchfit, but we need to make plans on how to handle this."

"If anybody in the Empire catches wind of this--Fuck, we have to warn Taylor!"

"Actually, I gave it a quick skim, and the article very specifically refers to 'Panacea's mysterious boyfriend.'"

Amy paused, reading through the article carefully. "...seriously?"

"She's flat, tall, and wears baggy clothes." Vicky shrugged. "We lucked out there, I guess."

"...fucking heteronormativity," Amy grumbled. "This is still a problem. Taylor was at the center of that whole trial at the beginning of the year. If anybody thinks to compare this to that--"

"Shit, right. That's a good point, I was more worried about how we were going to tell Mom." Vicky glanced out the hall. "She's already kinda tetchy about P.H.A.E.D.R.A.--"

Amy groaned, burying her head in her hands.

"Hey." Vicky gripped her shoulder. "We'll figure this out, alright? You know I've got your back."

"Yeah. Fuck. Alright." Amy took a deep breath. "Okay, okay. What if we told Mom about Taylor at the same time we told her about the article? She'd obviously focus on the article and wouldn't have time to--"

Their phones, simultaneously, began to buzz. Once, twice, a third time...

Vicky pulled hers out first. "Cybertron's hitting another corp building. And it looks like the Empire's hitting some small businesses, with Hookwolf at the lead... and apparently, Oni Lee's fighting Purity in ABB territory. What the fuck, everything's happening all at once--"

"I need to get to the hospital," Amy decided, standing up.

"Wait--shit!" Vicky exclaimed as her phone buzzed again. "Gestalt's in the Empire fight!"

Amy stiffened. "She--she's got that armored battlegown, right?" she rationalized, clutching at her locket. "And teleports--"

"I'll go help her," Vicky promised, standing up. "After I drop you off at the hospital."

"Y-yeah." Amy swallowed. "Thanks."

"Any time sis." Vicky swept her up. "Now let's go be the heroes the city needs."

And if Taylor got herself hurt, Vicky swore to herself, she and her would be having words.

Chapter Text

"Shit." Drakeward glances at you. "What do we do?"

"You're going to call Matron and tell her to send Metis to us and teleport the girl to the workshop. Then you're going to corral the gang members away from the civilians with your fire." You pull out your phone, rapidly dialing the PRT's emergency number. "Gestalt of Fable, reporting massed Empire attack with four capes against civilians and one new independent. Drakeward and I are about to engage, with Metis coming in ASAP. I'll keep the line open and updated."

"Understood, Gestalt. Can you identify the capes?"

"Hookwolf, Stormtiger, and Cricket in melee, Victor on overwatch." You release your S.P.R.I.T.E.s as you're talking, directing them to fly low through the crowd of nazis so none of the capes spot them. "Roughly 28 unpowered, armed with guns and other weapons, and twelve unarmed civilians. The new independent calls himself Balefire, seems to be a Brute with fire powers."

"Metis is on the way," Drakeward reports. "And the girl is safe."

"Very good, Drakeward, now box in the rabble. And do try to keep most of the damage to the road itself," you add, "these cars don't look insured."

Drakeward nods, darting down and spewing a line of fire between the gang members and the civilians. Balefire glances at her as she lands next to him and twirls her lance. Then his arms light on fire.

Satisfied with her performance, you look toward Victor, setting your trump field to resist his power before teleporting right behind him. He does hear the sound of the teleportation and whips around with a pistol that you easily knock out of his hands before engaging in a quick parasol/sniper rifle sword duel. Between your training, clairvoyance, and Victor's own surprise at not being able to drain your skill, you manage to best him in a little over thirty seconds, quickly tasering him unconscious and restraining him with... more than the usual number of zipties.

Huh. Maybe you should practice with your clairvoyance more often...

"Victor neutralized," you report over the phone, glancing down at the rest of the battle. Drakeward seems to be holding her own against the thugs, driving them aside with her lance as she flies through the crowd; you can already see five are down for the count. Balefire is contending with Stormtiger, and holding his own surprisingly well--the aerokinetic doesn't seem to be doing much against him. But Hookwolf is already looking his way, and Cricket's running toward her--"Moving in on Cricket."

You teleport between the two capes just as Cricket releases a hypersonic shriek that bounces off your open parasol. Trying to disorent your teammates? You give her a contemptuous look as your parasol snaps shut with a crackle of electricity. She's going to pay for that.

Your battle with Cricket is much more intense than your duel with Victor. For all that he stole his skills, the fact remains that they're skills, trained things, where Cricket is both skilled and supernaturally powered. It's a close battle, her hooked kama getting past your parasol once or twice and forcing you to deflect with your gauntlet while she takes some surprise teleport-strikes to the back. Eventually, with a few more scratches on your battlegown, you manage to undercut her legs and slam her into the ground, knocking her out.

Drakeward, meanwhile, kept the other gangsters from interfering with your duel, having downed another four gangsters while you were busy. Balefire, on the other hand, is struggling against Stormtiger and Hookwolf, with huge gashes across his chest. And all of you were so distracted by your opponents that you failed to notice three of the gangsters getting around the edges of Drakeward's firewall, already pulling out their guns--

--but at the last possible second, an array of force fields cuts the bullets off.

"Good morrow, citizens!" Metis greets cheerfully as she smacks back the gangsters with her staff. "I would highly suggest getting to shelter. Don't worry," she adds to one with a phone out, "I'll release the bodycam footage online later."

"...really?" Drakeward mutters.

"Some people will do anything for the hits," you point out as you finish restraining Cricket. "Cricket down. Metis! On Hookwolf!"

"Verily, Lady Gestalt!"

You step up to Drakeward, guarding her back for a moment as you swing your own parasol. "I'm going to go save Balefire from Stormtiger," you tell her, taking down six goons. "You good here?"

"Armor's doing its job," she assures you, smashing down another three. "And he looks like he needs help."

Metis's flying fist into Hookwolf's face is... so basic and telegraphed that he just rolls with it and gives her a contemptuous look when she spins around. Still, it's a brief moment where his attention is off Balefire and Stormtiger, which you exploit to teleport right between them. Stormtiger's instinctive air blade dissipates harmlessly against your trump field, but your parasol into his bare chest leaves him shocked and out.

"Stormtiger down," you report over the phone. "I am rather unimpressed."

Hookwolf snarls. Oh, right, he's standing right next to you.

You snap open your parasol, holding off a huge metal claw as you quickly switch your trump field. "Help Drakeward mop up the rest!" you command Balefire. "Metis and I have this handled!"

Balefire nods, though there does seem to be a mild degree of annoyance at his dismissal as he rushes off. Oh well, the battlefield is no place for an ego.

You step back from the claw and snap your parasol shut, taking a ready stance--but even with your training, clairvoyance, and trump field, you barely manage to hold your own against the bear-sized metal wolf. Sure, you're not getting hurt, but your armor is getting more and more scratched up, straining to heal under the assault. You're briefly relieved when Metis joins in, but she's even less of an issue for him than you are. Clearly he's stepped up his game since last you fought.

Then suddenly, you get a flash of foresight and twirl your parasol into his chin, knocking his head back just in time for Vicky's fist to ram into it.

"Ladies," she greets, cape fluttering in the breeze. "This guy giving you trouble?"

"Not for much longer," you reply, nodding to her. "One moment, please?"

You rocket into the air, rising up, and up, and up, as a S.P.R.I.T.E weaves under the cars and through the carnage. At the apex of your flight, you cut off your jetskirts.

See, the funny thing about your teleport drones? They're not like those Star Trek teleporters that take things apart and put them together. Instead, they automatically generate wormholes--warp space itself, for a fraction of a second. Which means, quite logically, that any momentum an object, or person, has upon entering is conserved on the exit, even if it changes direction. And wouldn't you know it, you just recently got a power all about transferring momentum on touch.

Hookwolf barely has time to spot the tiny fairy robot staring up at him before you rise from thin air and turn your terminal velocity into his flight path.

Metis and Glory Girl immediately catch on, flying up after him and keeping him in the air. You nod in satisfaction, turning to check on Drakeward and Balefire. Drakeward seems to be lagging, and one of the goons almost gets his gun on her--but then Balefire reaches over, tears the gun out of his hands, and crushes it in a flaming fist, letting the slag drip onto the street. The gangster looks around and, realizing he's the last man standing, slowly raises his hands.

"The gang members have been neutralized, and we're currently gathering them up," you report over the phone. "Glory Girl and Metis are keeping Hookwolf... occupied. I'd like to request some PRT and police vans to gather the perpetrators."

"Say again, Hookwolf is occupied? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean two teenage flying brutes are playing a game of Volley-Nazi, keeping him out of reach while we handle the rest of the situation," you explain as you and Drakeward start organizing and restraining the groaning goons. "Speaking of which, I'm going to do a quick sweep and see if anybody needs some first aid treatment."

"Understood. We're sending some vans to your position."

"Excellent. Thank you for your assistance."

You move into the shops and check on the civilians. Thankfully, you arrived quickly enough that most of them are uninjured, though there are a few twisted ankles and abrasions that you handle with a professional demeanor and some quick hospital recommendations. By the time you're done, Metis and Vicky have managed to smash enough metal off of Hookwolf that he's been forced into his human form, though you wouldn't be able to tell that from the way he snarls. "You think you're real hot stuff, don't you?"

"No, that would be Balefire," you deadpan. "Speaking of which... Glory Girl? Will you be alright keeping an eye on this cur while Metis and I have a little discussion?"

"Sure thing, Gestalt." Glory Girl pulls at the restrained villain's shoulder. "Come on, bucko, let's have you sit somewhere you can't cause trouble."

"You know, you really should respect your elders," Hookwolf growls.

"Awwww, is dah poor widdle nazi woof feewin his aaaaaage? Awwwww--yeah I don't give a fuck. Shut up and sit down."

"Quite the character," Metis notes as you head over to Balefire. "So, what's with the new guy? Is he... you know--"

"We're quite certain he's the beach trigger, yes," you agree. "I'd like you to confirm that with, ah, your unique skills." You tap the side of your helmet meaningfully.

"Right." Metis fingers her earring as you approach. "...yep. Looks like he's mostly a Changer--hm... conscious choice in the change--with a little bit of some empowering force field, but he's got one of your machines. I think the one that lets you understand your cards, so... I'm guessing he understands his powers better than he would without it? Or something like that. And yeah, he's got one of Drakeward's machines too, the one that produces her liquid--but not the one that automatically converts the saliva glands. Or any of the safeties. Shit, he's making that fire juice manually."

"So... he's a Changer/Brute/Striker/Blaster?"

"Probably, yeah. Little bit of Thinker in there too--you see how he's already healing his chest wounds? He's actively directing that regeneration. Without your machine he'd probably have to figure out how to do that via trial and error."

"I see." You hum thoughtfully. "I suppose we should feel lucky he seems heroically inclined..."

Drakeward waves as the two of you arrive. "Hi! I was just, uh, giving Balefire the rundown on trigger events and... you know, why people don't talk about them."

"It does explain quite a bit," Balefire admits. "Although I wasn't aware of the potential... side effects of triggering near other capes."

"To be fair, most people aren't. It's mostly theoretical at this point." Metis clears her throat. "So, uh, big guy... what exactly are you intending to do with your powers?"

"At the moment, I am mostly exploring what I am capable of. I may consider joining a hero team later on, however."

"You might want to read up on the laws surrounding independent capes," you suggest. "It certainly helped me. And, ah, if you want to avoid being... interrogated by the PRT, now would be the time to suddenly remember a previous engagement."

"I see. Thank you for the advice. I have suddenly remembered a previous engagement."

"Should we trade contact information?" Metis asks quickly. "Just in case."

"...That is reasonable," Balefire replies. He exchanges numbers with Metis, and then leaves.

"...So he's kind of a terse one," Drakeward admits. "Very to-the-point. But he does have a good head on his shoulders." She pauses for a moment. "Also... something about the way he carries himself... I think he's wards-age."

"Yeah, I got that too," Metis agrees. "He's confident in what he can do, but not so much in who he is. Typical teenager thing."

"You're one to talk," you mutter.

"Yeah..." Metis sighs. "Yeah I am."

You move to say something, but then the PRT vans come in. And alongside them are two Wards and a hero: Kid Win, Gallant, and Dauntless.

"Alright, let's do this," you say, mustering yourself up. "Time to make a good impression."

"Good afternoon, sirs," you greet the heroes with a curtsy. "It is of course a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I wish the circumstances were less... grievous. Still, I am quite sure you'll agree that every bigot brought to justice is a gain for society, and as you can plainly see we have a multitudinous amount. Would you perhaps be willing to assist us in gathering up these miscreants?"

Kid Win is visibly impressed, and even Dauntless and Gallant appear to take approving stances, though you can't see their expressions through their helmets. "Of course," Dauntless interjects. "Gestalt, right? Do you mind if we take your statement?"

"Oh, not at all. Drakeward, Metis? Would you help these two youngsters with the rabble?"

"I'm pretty sure Gallant's older than you," Metis quips, but she's already flying off toward Victor. Drakeward rolls her eyes, waving Kid Win over to get his help in rounding up the gangsters, while Gallant helps Vicky with Hookwolf and the other capes.

You turn back to Dauntless and explain the sequence of events. Yes, you did order Drakeward to set the road--and only the road--on fire to corral the gangsters. No, Metis was not here from the beginning, nor was Glory Girl. Yes, Metis does have footage of the new independent hero, and you're certain she'd be willing to share it. No, there were no significant injuries--well, not to the civilians, anyway, you haven't had time to analyze the gangsters. Clarifications and explanations take roughly a few minutes, by which point all the criminals have been packed away.

"I do hope you keep a close eye on those ones," you note, nodding toward the vans holding the Empire capes. "Hookwolf may be more obviously threatening, but Victor, I feel, is the greater danger. No doubt the Empire will attempt to spring them from their cells."

"Don't worry," Dauntless assures you, "we'll be keeping a close eye on them. Hopefully with their heavy hitters and one of their primary strategists locked up, the Empire won't be able to press as hard."

"Of course. Oh, excuse me a moment!" you say to the Wards as they get closer. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind some tinkering talk."

"Ah--" Gallant glances at Dauntless, who shrugs, then at Vicky for some reason, who just smugly grins. "--well, you see, my personal tinkertech is... highly esoteric," he explains.

"It'd have to be," Metis mutters, examining him closely. "Actually... did you even make your own armor? Cause it looks like a combination of Kid Win's and Armsmaster's work..."

You blink a bit, looking at Gallant's armor carefully. Now that you think about it, his armor really does seem generic. There's a few tinkertech systems in it, but they mostly seem to be built toward enhancing his effective strength enough that the thick metal isn't too heavy for him. In fact, you can't spot anything that looks like an energy projection system in his gauntlets...

"Well, I--"

"You're not a Tinker at all, are you?" Metis continues thoughtfully. "Mmm. No, definitely not a Tinker."

You see Kid Win and Dauntless tensing a bit, and decide to diffuse the situation. "There's no shame in being supported by your team, Metis," you interject smoothly. "Why, Drakeward's armor is my own creation, you know that."

Metis glances at you for a moment, before leaning back. "Of course not. I just find power interactions fascinating, that's all."

"Oh, you're a cape geek?" Glory Girl asks.

"And a geeky cape," Metis agrees. "I mean, I did dress up as a wizard."

"...how exactly did you figure that out?" Gallant asks warily.

You and Metis share a look. She glances at Vicky for a moment, and then lets out a bit of a sigh. "One of my powers is, well, the ability to analyze the construction of powers. Not exactly what they do, but how they do what they do--the nature of the machines that put together the end result. Those two," she gestures at you and Kid Win, "have a machine that I'm pretty sure 'accesses a library', and I have good reason to believe that it's activated whenever they tinker. You don't have that machine, therefore you're not capable of ordinary tinkering."

"You can analyze powers?" Dauntless inquires.

"I can analyze the processes by which the methods that powers operate are made," Metis corrects. "It's... like visiting a factory floor. I couldn't tell you how a machine makes a car engine, but I can see engines coming out of it and say 'that machine makes the engine, that machine makes the car doors, that machine makes the airbags, that one puts them all together.' Learning to understand what I'm seeing is... a process."

"That's still really impressive," Vicky remarks. "Seriously, powers are mysterious things."

Metis chuckles a bit bashfully. "Ah, well, uh..."

"Could you--" Kid Win pauses, gathers his nerve, and starts again. "Could you maybe analyze my power? I mean, I don't--I don't actually know what my tinkering specialty is--"

"Ah, perhaps we could arrange a collaboration?" you interject. "I would very much like to work with you and Armsmaster at some point, and I certainly wouldn't mind Metis coming along."

"It'd be easier to get a read on your power while you're using it anyway," Metis agrees.

"We'll contact you about a possible collaboration later," Dauntless says, cutting off Kid Win before he can reply. "There are certain... laws to observe, you understand."

"Of course." You nod. "I looked over quite a bit of cape law before I started out."

"That's good. Also..." Dauntless glances around. "I'll have to ask you keep Gallant's non-Tinkerness to yourself."

"Ah yes, the perils of public relations." You nod in understanding. "We can keep a secret, don't worry."

Dauntless nods as the last of the prisoner vans drive off. "Well, we're going to head out. Between this fiasco, Oni Lee fighting Purity, and Cybertron hitting another building, today's shaping up to be a busy day."

"I dropped Amy off at the hospital earlier," Vicky tells him. "I'll catch up with you, just need to have a quick chat with Gestalt first. Independent hero stuff," she explains at Gallant's look, "don't worry about it."

"...alright."

The three heroes load up in a PRT van, and Vicky gestures with her head toward the air. You follow her up, a little curious.

"You know that date you had with Amy on Friday?" she says without preamble. "A tabloid got ahold of a picture of you two kissing."

That sends a jolt through your spine, and you start wringing your hands. "Fuck. I knew the paparazzi'd be an issue, but I didn't expect--"

"Luckily it's a small-time rag. Couldn't even be bothered to check its sources, called you 'Panacea's mysterious boyfriend.'"

"...boyfriend?"

Vicky smiles, though it's a little wry. "Baggy clothes for the win, I guess. But the picture's out there now, even if it's only in a cut-rate tabloid. And I doubt whoever caught it would send it off to just a cut-rate tabloid. Anybody compares the pic to the news stories about the trial, and, well..." She sighs, glancing down at the road. "You might want to watch your back."

The implications are obvious. You sigh and nod. "Thanks for the heads up. I'll keep an eye out."

"Good. Now, do you want to go see if we can catch Cybertron?"

"I'm gonna have to pass. Something actually came up right before the whole fight with Hookwolf, and I get the feeling it's time-sensitive."

"Alright. You take care of yourself, Taylor." Vicky flies off, presumably toward Cybertron's destination.

"So what was all that about?" Metis asks when you land.

"Tabloid got ahold of a pic of me kissing my girlfriend."

Drakeward winces. "Oof. We should take out the Empire ASAP."

"Not as simple as that, but I'll think about it. In the meantime..." You turn to Metis. "The girl we have back at base. What can you tell me about her?"

"Preteen, definitely has powers, nobody believed her until she found me." Metis shrugs. "Apparently there was a 98.793 percent chance I'd believe her. And..." She cringes. "A 63.587 chance we'd be able to save her family."

Thinker. Probably a precog. Shit.

"We're going to the workshop now," you declare, recalling your S.P.R.I.T.E.s and reaching for your remote.

A moment later, T.R.A.C.E.I. is crossing their arms and... well, you can't quite call it a glare, their face doesn't move that way, but you can definitely tell that they're a little annoyed. "I Would Like To Be Informed Of Any Guests I Might Have Before They Arrive, Lady Gestalt."

"It was a spur of the moment thing," you explain as Metis and Drakeward arrive behind you. "The girl's safe, right?"

"I Am Sure She Could Be Dangerous In The Right Circumstances."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yes, Lady Gestalt, The Girl Is In No Danger From Anything But Her Own Paranoia."

"I'm right here," the girl says from behind T.R.A.C.E.I. "And I can hear you, you know. It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

"I had to skip home to get some snacks," Matron explains, gesturing to the plate of cookies and glass of juice the girl is sitting next to. "Maybe we should bring the minifridge back here?"

You nod. "Thank you, Matron. I hope you're doing well, miss...?"

"Alcott. Dinah Alcott." The girl eats another cookie. "My uncle's running for mayor, you know."

"I... didn't know that," you say diplomatically. "Might I ask what led you to running into my teammates?"

Dinah swallows. "I... I can see the future," she explains. "Not really good, it's like--it's a jumble of a lot of things, but I can tell how likely something is to happen. And... there's a man. A man with a snake on his costume. He finds out about me, a lot of the time--he might already know about me--and he sends men to capture me. And... if my mom and dad are there when it happens, they... don't usually make it." She wipes a bit of wetness away from her eyes. "I, I tried to ask for ways to keep me safe, to keep them safe. That's how my power works, I ask questions and I get percentages. The thing is, they're bad. Try to avoid being found? 12.643 percent chance of my parents surviving. Join the Wards for protection? 87.977 chance of getting kidnapped anyway. I even considered joining one of the gangs, and--and you don't want to know those percentages."

Then Dinah looks up at you. "But when Fable was formed, I asked--I asked how likely it would be for you to keep me safe from the snake man. 73.475 percent chance... and it just went up the more I helped you. And the same was true of keeping my family safe. So... I want to join your group. If, uh, if that's okay."

"I see. Would you mind terribly if we discussed this among ourselves for a moment?"

"Go ahead."

Your team steps aside, glancing among each other.

"Thoughts?" You turn to Matron. "Aunt Zoe?"

"The girl's desperate, and she needs our help. I don't like the idea of a child fighting, but... well, she'd be a prize for anybody who knew about her," Matron admits. "It's probably best to let her on the team, just so we can make sure she's properly equipped. Although I'm quite against sending her out patrolling unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Alright." You turn to Metis. "Madison?"

"In my experience, the more complicated machinery produces the most powerful powers," Metis says. "And that girl has some of the most complicated machinery I've seen. Even aside from the moral responsibility of keeping her and her family safe, we need to make sure she learns how her power works so she doesn't accidentally kickstart the apocalypse or something. Plus," she smiles a bit, "I've always kind of wanted to be a big sister."

"Duly noted," you say dryly. "Emily?"

Drakeward sighs. "I'm not saying no," she begins, "but we absolutely, positively, need to make sure her family's brought in on this. Let them know who we are, and why we're making such a big deal about this. I mean, her uncle's running for mayor! That means her family's probably rich enough to cause us issues if we don't... you know, make sure they understand."

You nod. "That's a good point. Matron, do you think you can discuss things with the Alcotts?"

"I believe so. Although... some incentive toward agreeing wouldn't go amiss."

"Fair enough... and I believe I have just the idea."

You break from your brief meeting, turning to Dinah. "Miss Alcott, I would like to formally welcome you to Fable--"

She grins, sighing with relief.

"--pending your parents' approval." You hold up a hand to forestall her objections. "Even should they decide against it, however, I am willing to ensure you are capable of escaping any... unfortunate situation you find yourself in. Firstly..."

You hold a hand out to T.R.A.C.E.I., who very dryly gives you one of their remote triggers.

"...this button," you say, handing it to her, "will teleport you and anybody you are holding to T.R.A.C.E.I. here. And as they don't leave my workshop, you'll be as safe as anybody who comes here is, should you press it."

"Alright..."

"Secondly, I would like to gift you one of my P.I.X.I.E.s." You pick up one of the small robots, who chirps and waves at the girl. "They also have a remote, but are much more discreet than T.R.A.C.E.I. is. You keep that little one at your house, and you'll be able to jump home at the push of a button. I'm sure your parents can come up with an emergency plan that incorporates that little fact."

"Especially if you disguise it as a teddy bear," Metis adds with a grin. "Or a doll or something. Just give it a little outfit, and nobody who doesn't know about it already will know it's there."

"...Thank you." Dinah's tone is filled with sincere gratitude. "You'll... you can stop the snake man, right?"

You kneel down, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We will bring the cur threatening you to justice. You have my most solemn oath."

Dinah takes you at your word, hugging her P.I.X.I.E. tightly.

"Now then, I believe it would be best for Matron to escort you home," you say, rising up. "She'll be talking with your parents about all this, after all."

"Okay." Dinah stands, pauses, and gives you a quick hug before Matron heads out with her.

Chapter Text

Monday rolls around, and you bite your lip as you head into school. Nobody seems to be looking your way, or staring at you, or anything. Still, you're on edge until you get to lunch.

"...Hey, uh..." You sit down next to Amy. "Vicky told me about the tabloid."

Amy sighs. "I--Taylor, I can understand if you want to avoid me until this dies down--"

"I don't want that," you say quickly. "In fact, I--I, you know..."

You scramble for an idea.

"Iiiiii was wondering if you want to meet, uh, the rest of my team? I mean, I know you've already met them, but that was, that was a cape meeting, I just thought you might like to meet them in, you know, a less formal environment. Unmasked. Um. If that's okay."

Amy chews her lip. "Like... this afternoon?"

"All week. If you want." You take her hand. "I've got a few cape-related things to handle, but... I think this week should be about you."

"...Okay," she murmurs, squeezing back. "If they'll have me, I--I'd be honored to meet your team."

And so, after school, you make a quick phone call to Aunt Zoe and Madison. Aunt Zoe agrees to host you, and Madison is eager to meet "your cute girlfriend." You decide to take Amy to Aunt Zoe's on the bus, even though you can teleport there, just to reduce suspicion--and to make sure she knows the way in case she ever needs it.

"Hello Taylor," Aunt Zoe greets as you come in. "And who's this?"

"Aunt Zoe, this is my girlfriend, Amy Dallon. Amy, this is Zoe B--Glenn. Zoe Glenn, my aunt."

Amy shakes Zoe's hand and pretends not to notice your slip-up. "Nice to meet you, miss Glenn." She smirks a bit. "Or should I say Matron?"

"I'm only in the cape business to make sure these ones don't do anything foolish," Aunt Zoe replies, ruffling your hair. "Go on in, dear, the others are waiting for you."

Madison looks up as you enter, grinning. "There's our master of arms! And lo, doth she bring a sage or a barbarian into our midst?"

"Depends on the day," Amy replies wryly, though there is a hint of a grin to her face. "So... one of you is Metis, and the other is Drakeward, right?"

"Yep." Madison smirks. "And I bet you can't guess who is who--"

"You're Metis and she's Drakeward." Amy smirks right back. "It's the hips."

"Glad to know I'm memorable," Emily deadpans. "Emily Rogers, former teenage hobo."

"Madison Clements, former high school bully."

"Amy Dallon, former ultrabitch." Amy elbows you lightly. "Thanks to this lunatic, I'm now only a megabitch."

"We welcome bitches of all stripes," Madison replied magnanimously. "Come on, have a seat. Emily's hooked us on an Aleph show about myths and explosions."

"Sounds ridiculous, I'm in."

You and Amy sit down on the couch, watching as a melodramatic form of SCIENCE! takes place on screen. There's some commentary and ribbing about the various near-criminal stunts on display.

"...So." Madison glances at Amy. "About... what I mentioned, on the roof."

Amy sags a bit. "What about it?"

Madison, to her credit, picks up the discomfort immediately and switches tracks before you even glare at her. "I'm nearly done with my 'healing bracer.' Just need a few more gems to latch in the last few bits. But, uh, having healing power and being experienced with it are two different things. I was wondering if you could maybe train me sometime?"

"Hrm." Amy bites her lip. "Well... there are certain legalities regarding parahuman healing that you'll need to know, even before you attempt it. But I might be able to expedite them, and... I guess showing another healer the ropes could be interesting. Can you, uh... can you give me your number so we can organize it?"

"Sure. You can call me anytime, for anything."

"Uh... thanks."

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeah Taylor told us she was poly."

You blink a bit, and then blush. "Madison--"

"Okay," Amy says carefully, "that's good. So you know that, uh--"

"That I have your hypothetical okay to begin wooing your girlfriend? Or vice versa? Yeah, I got that." Madison grins. "What I want to know is if I can try to woo you as well."

"Uh--wh...I, um." Amy bites her lip. "I, uh, haven't thought about that. Um." She glances at you, and you shrug. "I... huh. Could I...? I mean... I always knew Taylor was poly, she told me before we started dating. And I didn't mind, especially since, uh..."

"Since you got to look at all the pretty girls she could net?" Madison says knowingly.

"Ahem. Yes. Well." Amy runs her hand through her hair. "You know I'm... you know." She taps her head meaningfully.

"Yep. I know. And you know what? I'm willing to risk it."

"Sorry, did I miss something?" Emily interjects.

The three of you awkwardly pause for a moment.

"I--uh... a side effect of my power means I'm not... exactly... mentally healthy," Amy admits reluctantly. "I didn't know about it until Metis told me, and... I might have had a little bit of a freakout, and--"

You take her hand and squeeze gently. "We're... working through it. Together."

Madison nods somberly. "Look, all flirting aside--people need support networks. Ordinary people, traumatized people--and we all know every parahuman is traumatized--and those with mental disorders especially so." She fiddles with her hair, glancing aside. "A bad support network can lead you to bad places. That's... that's what cults are, when you get right down to it, but they're not the only bad network out there. I fell into one and only got out because of... because it got hammered in how bad I was getting. So... I'm going to do my best to be a good friend from now on. Somebody Taylor--somebody you can count on. And, like, sure, maybe I want to make out with two or three girls on the same night, but... that's a benefit. It's not the point, you know? I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm here for you, whether or not we start dating."

"...God damn it, Taylor, do you just attract sappiness?" Amy complains, but she's already relaxing.

"Hey now, I'm seventy percent sauce!" Madison declares smugly.

"And I'm eighty percent snark," Amy shoots back, speculatively rubbing her locket.

"...so where does the polycue stand on me?" Emily asks you. "I mean, I can see how they're shaping up, but, uh--"

"I wasn't sure you'd be interested," you say. "I don't think we had much conversation about it beyond 'girl hot, she girl.'"

"Much girl," Madison offers.

"Much hot," Amy agrees.

"Which isn't really a lot to build a relationship on," you point out, shooting them a look of amused annoyance. "And there's the power imbalance, too, I mean... is it ethical to just start dating the girl you took in off the streets?"

"I don't think that's a problem anymore," Madison mused. "I mean, it might have been while she was living in your workshop, but now she's living with Miss Glenn, so the power's more even."

"So, you're waiting for me to make the first move... because you respect my own decisions," Emily muses. "Uh. Hm. Well... Thanks, I guess."

The rest of the afternoon passes pretty casually. Aunt Zoe checks in on you once or twice, Madison playfully flirts with both Amy and you--"Alright, alright, fine! You're pretty! There, I said it."--and overall Amy comes out of it a lot more confident in her ability to keep track of her mental state going forward. Eventually you bid Amy a good evening with a kiss (which Madison promptly declares 'the most adorable thing I've ever seen', earning middle fingers from both of you that she claims somehow makes it more adorable), and she calls up P.H.A.E.D.R.A. to make sure she can teleport home without getting subsequently interrogated. Madison says her goodbyes and teleports home herself, and you give Aunt Zoe an exasperated look.

"I made the P.I.X.I.E.s for emergencies, not convenience."

"Technology adapts to the user," she replies with a shrug. "Or are you not going to teleport straight home?"

"Well, yes, but the difference is I have a multi-purpose robot, not just a walking emergency beacon!"

Aunt Zoe and Emily both give you amused looks.

You huff, conceding the point with grumpy silence as you pull out your M.A.I.D. remote and go home. After patting the M.A.I.D.'s head and telling her she's a good girl (which gets a cheery beep in reply), you decide to do some research. First of all, since you're possibly getting an underage member of Fable, you decide to look up the resources that the PRT has for independent heroes. From what you can tell, though, all they have is the registry itself and a few possible consultants for registering. With an exasperated sigh, you decide to just spend the rest of your night studying.

You somehow wind up feeling even dumber.

Tuesday's lunch has Amy awkwardly fiddling with her locket. "Hey, uh, Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"I..." Amy swallows. "I'm... not just a healer."

You wrap your arm around her comfortingly. You can tell this is... important to her.

"I mean, I know Metis probably told you--"

"She hasn't. All she's said is your power is complicated."

"Complicated. Ha. Well, that's... one way to put it, yeah. I..." She swallows again. "I'm... a touch-based biokinetic. I can... mould flesh. Change muscles, and... bones and other things. I use it to heal, because... healing's good. Healing's safe. But... in theory, I could... use it for other things."

You can feel her cringe, so you pull her in tighter and kiss her forehead. "Okay."

"Okay? It's not--I mean, there's Nilbog, and Bonesaw, a-a-and Blasto and they're all villains of the worst kind and I don't even need tools to do it I could just reach out and--"

"And you choose to heal. Your powers are a part of you, but you choose what you do with them."

Amy sighs. "That's the problem, though. The... the thing in my head. I think it wants me to... do more than just heal. I think... I think I need to actually..." She flinches preemptively. "I think I need to actually change some things. Biologically. And I know that's not--I mean, if the PRT found out, they'd--"

"Then we just... have to make sure they don't find out," you say. "Actually... do you want to come to my workshop later? I mean, I have to go to work this afternoon, but after that I can get some plants and--"

"I--...okay." Amy sighs. "Okay. I should drop by the hospital anyway, but after that... sure."

And so, after school (and work) you drop by a gardening store and pick up a few potted plants, making sure you have a decentish variety before you sneak into an alleyway and teleport to your workshop. "Amy's going to be working with these," you tell T.R.A.C.E.I. "I don't know when she'll get here, but when she does, be nice, understand?"

"Of Course, Lady Gestalt. I Would Not Wish To Offend Your Paramour Unnecessarily."

You give them a suspicious look, but eventually turn to your own project. Aunt Zoe, for all her help, is still dangerously unprotected as a cape. Sure, her breaker form makes her safe--at least, you assume it does--but she has to choose to enter it. She doesn't even have a brute power like Metis. Well, you're going to fix that. And maybe even get her in the air on her own...

You spend a few hours carefully crafting components and folding them together, alongside T.R.A.C.E.I.'s help--pausing only to greet Amy when she arrives, and direct her toward the plants. When at last you're finished, you step back and observe your latest masterpiece with a satisfied nod. It'll keep Aunt Zoe safe, comfortable, and it won't even be too obtrusive until it's deployed.

"Well, that's done." You turn to Amy. "How are you doing?"

Amy winces, glancing at the plants. You can't see anything different at first... but then you notice that some of the leaves have taken on a heart shape.

"I, uh... thought I'd start with something basic," Amy mumbles. "Just... you know, not changing anything functional, just... aesthetic. They'll still need to be watered regularly, and, uh, they... there's not a lot of sunlight here--"

You wrap her in a hug. "I'll buy a sunlamp."

"...you can't just tinker one up?" she snarks.

"Not easily, no." You let out a breath. "Do you... feel better?"

"...A little," Amy admits. "I... it's cliche, but the fog is... cleared a bit. Not a lot, but I feel... kind of lighter, now." She chuckles sadly. "Isn't that just fucked up. I feel better, and all I had to do was make mother nature my bitch."

"She's kind of a bitch anyway," you point out. "All those diseases and mushrooms and stuff."

"Ugh, yeah. And cancer--fucking cancer, do you know how stupidly common it is--?"

You let Amy rant on about the idiocies of biology and smile to yourself.

Wednesday, unfortunately, opens with a distressing text from Madison.

Madison: Don't know if you saw the news yet.

Madison: Empire broke out the capes Fable locked up yesterday.

Madison: It's a huge scandal.

Fuck. And Victor knows you can resist powers, to a degree. At least you knocked him out before Metis arrived... although the Empire might be able to put things together from what Hookwolf and the others saw. FUCK.

You're tense up till lunch, where Amy notices and hugs you tightly--much to Vicky's entertainment. "If the tabloids weren't a thing, I'd totally be taking a picture and putting it on my social media accounts," she informs you two.

Amy huffs. "We heard about the breakout," she tells you. "Are you doing okay?"

"I'm a little worried," you admit. "I mean... you know my Trump forcefield? The one that neutralizes cape attacks? I had tuned to Victor for a bit, and I'm sure he noticed." You sigh. "And I chose to fight each of the capes one-on-one, which means if they're able to put two and two together--"

"Ordinarily I'd say you don't need to worry about nazis being smart," Vicky quips, "but unfortunately there are some people who manage to retain basic reasoning while being completely delusional. So, yeah, that could be a problem."

"Not to mention what they could do if they figured Metis out," Amy mutters.

"Metis?" Vicky tilts her head. "Right, she can scan powers, somehow. Wait, can she replicate them too?"

"...you are way too smart for your own good," you sigh. "Yeah, Metis is a tinker/trump. She can reconstruct powers using her jewelry, if she talks to the parahuman with powers."

"I see..." Vicky frowned. "So hypothetically, if the Empire managed to get the jewelry off her--"

"They'd be facing a pissed-off Fable," you declare, holding Amy closer.

"And a pissed-off New Wave," Vicky promises. "Let's just hope none of them connect the dots there."

After school, you invite Amy to hang out with your team again--"They'll be fine with it, I promise!"--and quickly shoot over to your workshop to pick up the new armor you tinkered, before heading over to Aunt Zoe's.

"I, uh... I made something for you," you say as you enter the apartment. "A little adjustment to your cape costume."

Aunt Zoe smiles indulgently. "Alright, let's see it."

"Actually, to get the full effect, you need to put it on." You hold out the box that you put the armor in. "Here... I don't think it's too complicated."

"You should just do it," Emily advises. "See that look in her eye? She's not going to rest until she shows off her work."

"Alright, alright!" Aunt Zoe laughs, taking the box and heading into her bedroom. A few minutes later, she comes out with a somewhat confused expression. "Taylor, I--don't get me wrong, this really is a gorgeous outfit, and I do appreciate it, but... it's just a dress with gloves and a breastplate."

"Oh?" You grin. "Are you sure about that?"

Zoe sighs. "Alright, what trick did you incorporate into this?"

"You see that little cross in the center of the breastplate? Try tapping on it."

Zoe gives it a look and, very cautiously, taps it. Instantly her dress reacts, expanding and unfolding and morphing in the space of seconds. The thick shoulder ruffles contract into pauldrons, while guantlets slip out from under the sleeves. Plates of metal ratchet out across the skirt, and the breastplate reshapes itself to better support the jetskirts unfolding behind her. By the time Zoe has reflexively stepped back in shock, she's gained an elegant set of green armor atop her already elegant dress.

"I--Taylor, this is--" She looks at you. "This is... astonishing. How did you fit all this into that dress?"

"Very expertly, thank you." You smile a bit. "So, that's a regenerative set of contracting armor, complete with jetskirts. Very much like my own battlegown, but more in line with your own aesthetic. You can retract it by tapping that button on the chest."

She glances down, taps the button, and everything folds back into place. "Well. Ahem. Thank you, Taylor. I... suppose I'll have to practice flying in this, won't I?"

"Trust me," Emily deadpans, "it isn't easy. At least she'll modify it if things aren't working."

You blush a bit. "Yeah, that's... that's true."

Shortly thereafter, Madison and Amy arrive. You gather around the television for another session of those crazy guys doing crazy things for science.

"...Hey, uh, Madison?" You glance at her. "Have you... told your parents what you do on the weekends?"

Madison cringes a bit. "Ssssssssort of? I tell them I'm... volunteering."

You trail your hand down your face.

"Look, they wouldn't understand, alright? I'm already in enough hot water as it is. If they knew I was Metis, they'd... Well, they'd probably freak out. A lot. They might even... take away my jewelry box."

"...And what if Aunt Zoe was there?" you offer. "To, you know, explain things--"

"Yeeeeeah, they're... very leery of the Barnes family now. You know, with the trial and all. And, like, sure, she divorced the guy, but..." Madison sighs. "That could backfire hard."

You awkwardly rub your arm. "You... you're going to have to tell them. You know. Eventually."

"I'll, uh, wait till my community service hours are done. Should be some time next month..."

You decide not to push it right now.

"Sooooo. Amy," Emily asks, trying to cut through the awkwardness. "Do anything interesting lately?"

"I cannot answer that question due to doctor-patient confidentiality."

Madison snorts. "Come on, girl, your life can't just be medicine all the time. I mean, you find time to hang out with Taylor, right?"

"Well..." Amy pauses for a moment, then considers her thoughtfully. "I... did head over to her workshop yesterday."

"Ooooooh?"

"Yeah, we hung out while she was working on... was it armor for Matron?"

"Yes, it was armor for Matron," you confirm. "Actually--Aunt Zoe!" you call out. "I don't think Madison has seen your new armor!"

Aunt Zoe huffs, stepping into the room with a tray of snacks. "Here it is."

"Seems understated," Madison notes.

Aunt Zoe puts down the tray and, absolutely deadpan, triggers the unfolding mechanism.

"...yeah, that makes more sense. Looking hot, miss Glenn!"

"That's not exactly the purpose of the outfit," Aunt Zoe points out.

"Actually, there's a whole argument to be had that looking good is an important part of a Cape's costume," Amy corrects. "I know for a fact that most of New Wave exercises regularly so they don't look too ridiculous in the white spandex."

"Most of New Wave?" Madison asks.

Amy bites her lip. "I'm... not exactly a frontline fighter. As long as I do my job, Carol doesn't care how I look."

Aunt Zoe frowns, retracting her armor. "That doesn't seem very fair. Especially since, by any reasonable metric, you're currently the most important member of New Wave."

"...is this another 'I'm the most heroic hero to ever have heroed' thing? Cause I get that a lot from Taylor."

"Well, that much might well be true," Zoe replies. "But more realistically, you're the member of New Wave that draws the most... attention. The older generation sticks to PR events, for the most part, and the younger ones aren't really known yet--aside from your sister, who is actively trying to get her name out there. You, though, work day in and day out, performing countless miracles--where the rest of New Wave chose evocative and simple names, you decided to name youreself after a goddess of health."

"...it wasn't really my choice," Amy mumbles. "Carol was the one who--"

"The same Carol that 'doesn't care how you look?'" Aunt Zoe shakes her head. "I might need to have words with that woman."

"Get in line," you grumble. "She apparently decided to just... tell New Wave I was Gestalt, because I was being too nice."

Emily blinks. "Wait, what the fuck? She seriously--why?! That's, like, a major breach of lawyer confidentiality, right?"

"You know T.R.A.C.E.I.? Well, I made another gynoid for the Dallon house, P.H.A.E.D.R.A., to help out with chores and... other concerns." You glance at Amy. "And apparently, missus Dallon took that as permission to let all of New Wave know who I was."

"You should talk to Lady Photon about that," Madison says. "Since she's in charge, hypothetically."

"...You're right. I should." You stand up, pulling out your phone. "Excuse me a moment..."

"Hey, uh--" Amy grabs your hand. "...please don't be mad at Aunt Sarah. It was Carol who did it, nobody else."

"I'm not mad at her. I'm just... going to clarify some things."

"...okay." Amy nods, letting you go.

You head into one of the bedrooms, dialing up the number for New Wave. It's not long before it's picked up. "Hello, this is Lady Photon."

"Miss Photon!" you great cordially. "Or perhaps I should say missus Pelham. I understand you know who I am behind the mask now, after all."

Lady Photon sighs. "Vicky told you, didn't she."

"Amy, actually. I hope you understand why I'm a little upset about missus Dallon's decision."

"Yes, I do. New Wave may espouse responsibility for parahumans, but we know better than anyone the dangers that come with being exposed. And frankly, it was a gross breach of your privacy. I can understand if you don't want to have any further dealings with us--"

"Oh, I'm fine with most of you," you interject. "And I do look forward to future collaboration. It's just... I respected her, you know? I thought I could trust her. But... Well, now I'm not so certain how to handle the issue of Carol Dallon. I was hoping you might have some advice regarding this whole situation. How to hold her accountable without bringing down all of New Wave."

"...that's a question I've been asking myself for a while now," Lady Photon grumbles. "It might not be possible, honestly. Most of the methods I can think of are rather... public. I suppose you could just refuse to work with her, specifically."

"I'd rather she apologize," you reply. "Admit that she did something wrong."

"She... doesn't usually do that," Lady Photon explains warily. "She has... issues with self-analysis."

Alarm bells go off in your head. "Then perhaps she should seek out therapy."

"I don't think that's necessary, Gestalt."

"Miss Pelham, you have just told me your sister cannot properly analyze her own actions. She is not only a lawyer, but also responsible for two children and a husband with depression. In such a situation, an inability to recognize one's own mistakes can and will lead to significant problems for her clients and her family."

"I can assure you that we're doing fine."

"And from my experience dating Amy, I can assure you that you are quite wrong in that regard."

There's a moment of silence.

"...you're dating Amy?"

"Ah." You clear your throat. "Yes. I... probably shouldn't have brought that up, she's only told Vicky so far--"

"No no no, that's... She's... been happier, recently. Less stressed. I... suppose I should thank you for that." Lady Photon sighs. "So this isn't just personal. You're... concerned for her."

"For the entire Dallon household. But, yes, I do have some bias toward one member in particular." You clear your throat. "Given what started this conversation, I think it appropriate to ask you not reveal that little fact to the rest of your family until Amy feels comfortable telling you herself."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose... yes. I won't do that to her, you have my word."

You relax a bit. "...I still feel that having Carol Dallon seek out therapy should be a priority, but... in regards to my own situation with her, I think I would be willing to accept a public apology for 'unintentionally violating the privacy of a fellow parahuman.' So long as it is public."

"...I can agree to that," Lady Photon agrees. "Whether Carol's willing to go through with it is... something I'll have to wrangle out of her."

"If she makes the apology before... let's say June 19th, I think that will work."

"I think I can make that happen. And... thank you for being willing to talk with us about this."

"Of course. Despite the friction this has caused, us independent teams must be willing to work together. Especially in this city."

"You're not wrong there. Have a good afternoon, Gestalt."

"You as well... miss Photon."

You hang up and head back to the rest of the group, where you find Emily and Madison trying to keep Amy calm. You have to smile a bit when she catches sight of you and visibly relaxes. "So... you didn't burn any bridges, did you?"

"Nope. Lady Photon's agreed to wrangle a public apology out of Carol."

"...That's good. I mean, if it happens."

"I, ah... I did let slip that we're dating," you admit hesitantly. "In the heat of the moment."

Amy tenses for a moment, before relaxing. "I suppose Aunt Sarah would have been the first I told anyway. Besides Vicky."

"She agreed to keep it secret until you were ready to tell the rest of your family," you assure her.

"She always was the most... reasonable of us all," Amy admits.

"Sounds about right." Madison clears her throat. "So, uh... before all that drama started, you said you were hanging out with Taylor at the workshop?"

"Oh, yeah, I..." Amy hesitates, before sighing. "I may or may not have done some slight aesthetic tweaking to some plants."

"Oooooooo! Sounds fun!"

"I was mostly trying to figure out if it'd help me with, you know." Amy taps the side of her head. "And... I think it did? I'm not sure..."

"You know, there's a quick way we can test that," Madison points out, pulling out her earring. "Miss Glenn? Do you have any flowers around here?"

"A few, yes." Aunt Zoe pops her head in. "Why?"

"We're going to do some SCIENCE!" Madison declares.

A few minutes later, Amy's staring at a flower. You don't know it's name, but it has white petals.

"Okay," Madison says gently, "whenever you're ready, just... turn the petals blue, or something. I'll keep watch and tell you how your power's reacting, alright?"

"...You know, you might be able to do some great work in the parahuman asylums," Amy notes.

"I'll think about it. Probably won't be going anytime soon, since I'm a teenager and all." Madison points at the flower. "Now come on, just a little recolor."

With a deep sigh, Amy touches the flower and concentrates. As you watch, the petals transition from pure white to radiant blue. Your eyes shift to Amy's expression, which is... concentrating, but relaxed.

When the flower's done, she leans back. "That... that really did feel nice," she murmurs quietly.

"Yeah, that makes sense. Not only did your power turn off the 'you suck' machines, it turned on some machines that..." Madison hums thoughtfully. "I think pumped happy chemicals into your brain? I'm going to need to do more research before I can know for certain."

"Lovely," Amy mutters. "I'm being rewarded for being evil and punished for being good."

"Don't think of it like that," Emily says. "Powers are strange things. Maybe you're being punished for being boring, and being rewarded for being... interesting?"

"Hm." Amy nods. "Maybe. That... does seem to make sense..." When she finally heads home, there's a small smile on her face.

"Sure looks like your girlfriend's doing better, huh?" Madison asks.

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You glance at her. "Hey, uh... thanks for keeping her calm while I was on the phone."

"Anything for a... friend?"

You consider her hesitant tone, questioning expression.

"Yeah. I mean, for now," you muse, "I might, uh... take you out on a date later. If I work up the nerve. But yeah, we're friends."

Madison smiles with relief. "Oh thank god. The last few weeks would be so much more awkward if we weren't."

Chapter Text

Thursday, after school--and work, and buying a sunlamp--you meet up with your girlfriend in your workshop and watch her fiddle with the plants. "I'm trying to make them more durable," she explains. "Better able to survive in this, uh, workshop. Nothing that'll pass on to the next generation, but..."

"It's fine. I like watching you work."

Amy blushes. "Not... it's not like you can see anything," she mumbles. "I mean, really. I guess I could do something dramatic, like..."

The heart-shaped leaves slowly turn red.

"...like that. But, you know. It's--it's a little cheesy. So, uh, subtle improvements it is."

You notice that, despite her claims, she chooses to leave the leaves red. After a few minutes, she steps back with a satisfied smile. "This is really working. Like, I'm still terrified as fuck that the PRT's going to come down on me like a bag of bricks, but... it's not as intense. It's just ordinary fear for my life, not... not a pressure, you know?"

You don't say anything, you just hug her close.

"...I just need to find a way to balance this, is all. And... with some help," she hugs you tightly, "I think... I think I can do it." She sighs a bit. "Except, you know, P.H.A.E.D.R.A. says I should probably get a therapist..."

You hum thoughtfully. "Your dad has depression, Carol has trust issues, you have a small mental disorder... I wonder if therapists offer package deals. Oh wait," you add as she starts to giggle, "Vicky might disqualify you--unless she's secretly, I don't know, hiding serious amounts of insecurity and clinginess--"

"Fine, fine!" Amy shoves you away with a laugh. "Hahaha, fine. I'll look for a therapist--a discreet one. God, I'm supposed to be the one that cracks dark jokes..."

She looks at the plants with a small smile, before turning back to you. "So... you got any tinkering you want to do?"

"...Not really," you admit. "But..." You glance at your battlegown. "If you want to spot me while I practice flying..."

"I can do that."

A few minutes later, you're weaving and threading through the old machines of the cannery with insane grace. Everything just... clicks, as you do it. You can see how you can incorporate swordfighting into your aerial ballet. And it is a ballet, you muse as you twist under a catwalk, a wonderous dance of technology and balance that you end with a twirl as you land in front of Amy.

She rolls her eyes but applauds genuinely. "Well done, Mary Poppins. You'll delight all the children and terrify the villains, I'm sure."

"Well," you say with a twirl of your parasol, "that is the idea after all--MMMMmmmnph--!"

"Taylor?" Amy steps forward as you tense. "Are you--?"

"Just--just got another slot, is all."

"...Right, that." She sighs. "Well, if you're sure you're okay..."

"I am. But... thanks for your concern."

You take a moment to consider the cards you just got. The first, a dual-colored card, almost feels like one of those old rubber-hose cartoons from the way it's moving around. The second is... oh, the lake of bouncing gelatin, again. But the third is the strangest--you get the impression of silence from it. Just silence...

It's an interesting array, all told. You quickly dismiss the lake of bouncing gelatin, again. Jello isn't useful in superhero fights. The rubber hose cartoon... well, it looks like it would be fun to be able to move that way, but you want to be respected, not fun. So, with a shrug, you take the silent card.

And silence is certainly the right word. You feel it settle over you, like a coat. The quiet clanking of your petticoats--gone. The subtle sound of your breath--vanished. Experimentally, you activate your jetskirts, and their usual whine is utterly absent.

"...What exactly is your new power?" Amy asks, eyeing you speculatively.

You hold a finger to your faceplate.

"...Silence? That's... actually you're wearing a lot of metal, and your flight's not exactly quiet. So that could be a hell of a game changer," she admits. "Has anybody told you how bullshit you are? Because between you and Metis, I can't tell who's more stupidly powerful."

You land and let the silence fade with a shrug. "I guess that one would go to the judges," you reply.

"Do you mind if I look you over? Just to see if there's any side effects."

You take off your helmet. "Sure, go ahead."

Amy pauses for a second, then reaches out and cups your cheek. "...Hrm. Well, I can definitely see why you like getting powers," she mutters. "Although... how regularly does that happen?"

"It's... been getting longer between new slots," you admit.

"Yeah, that could be a problem long term. This feels like a possible addiction in the making." Amy takes her hand off. "Just... let me keep an eye on you, okay? If something goes wrong, I'll... I dunno, reccomend a treatment."

You wince. "Yeah. That's probably a good idea..." You put your helmet back on, before quickly retracting your battlegown back into its chair form.

"That seems... kind of redundant," Amy notes. "Putting a helmet on to take the armor off, I mean."

You shrug. "Tinkertech, what can you do. I mean, I've reverse-engineered some of it so it can be mundanely maintained... hey, maybe I should make you a compact suit of power armor."

"You already made P.H.A.E.D.R.A., you don't need to keep building me things--"

"But what if I want to?" you ask with a small grin.

"...Fine," Amy huffs. "Maybe, MAYBE, it'd be cool to fly around on my own..."

Friday morning, before you head to school, you grab your dad's attention. "Hey, uh... I know I've been doing a lot, lately, I just... I thought we could spend the afternoon together. You know. As a family."

"...I..." Danny sighs. "...suppose we can do that."

Your smile is a little pained, but genuine nonetheless.

He picks you up after school, and you... kind of don't do much. You eat out at a resturant, take a walk in the park... you even manage to persuade him to visit Mom's grave with you, though he doesn't really say anything.

It's... not exactly a bad afternoon. It is uncomfortable, but... you feel some of the weight lifting. Dad's... getting better. A little bit.

You'll take what you can get.

Saturday, you head to your workshop, pulling out the contact number for... did that other cape have a name? The one that was with Drakeward, back when you first found her? She never actually did tell you... Is it rude to call somebody when you don't know their name?

You stare at the number for a moment longer, before sighing. "Probably in the most danger right now," you mutter to yourself, dialing it up. "With the Empire riled up as it is..."

It rings once.

Twice.

"...H'mmlo?"

"Good morning!" you greet her cheerfully. "This is Gestalt. We met during that little fiasco with Skidmark?"

"Oh, right, you're the tinker lady." The woman's voice seems a bit annoyed. "Yeah, hey, what's up?"

"I just thought I'd check in and see how things were in your neck of the woods. You taking care of yourself?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. How about you? I heard you caught Hookwolf."

"Among others, yes, and not alone. Sadly, they were forcefully released by their companions in the Empire."

"See, shit like that is why I don't trust the pigs. Corrupt, incompetent, or just too fucking weak to do their job..."

"Mmm." You bite your lip. "You... are somewhere safe, yes? It's just the Empire appears to be taking advantage of Skidmark and Squealer's incarceration and, not to put too fine a point on it, you do appear to be the sort of person they would rather sweep aside than deal with."

"Do you mean because I'm latino, because I'm homeless, or because I'm an uncontrolled cape?"

"All three, I suppose. Throw queer on top of that and they'd have your guts for garters."

"Fuckers. No, I'm fine," she assures you. "Joined up with Faultline's crew. You heard about them?"

"The mercenaries, yes. As an independent hero I am contractually obligated to berate you about joining a villainous crew, but frankly I can't be bothered to waste breath on something neither of us truly believe."

"Ha! Yeah, fair enough. Faultline's actually got a job lined up for use, we'll be out of town next week. Hopefully this Empire shit cools down before then."

"We'll try to keep the city together, I promise. And I wish you the best of luck, ah...?"

"...right, never did tell you my cape name, did I? Didn't have one back then. Call me Spinner."

"...Spinner."

"Faultline's not the best with names. But a job's a job." Spinner seems amused. "Hey, if you could wreck the Empire while we're out, we'd all appreciate it."

"...I'll see what I can do," you reply dryly. "Have a good day, Spinner."

"You too, Gestalt."

You hang up and lean back in your chair. So... that happened. You wonder if somebody's going to pick up Balefire... maybe the Undersiders. Or Uber and Leet. It might behoove you to check in on him. Maybe convince him to join your team...

...although, given your rather improvised strategy with the Empire, it might be best if you had a discussion with the others, come up with some basic tactics so everyone knows what they should do from the getgo. Well... at least Dinah wants to join, even if it is just for her own protection. You really should find out who the villain threatening her is. And try to arrest them...

Actually, maybe you should ask Dinah how to introduce yourself to her parents. Er... assuming you can even get in contact with her...

You dial another number. "Aunt Zoe? Did Dinah give you her phone number?"

"I have her parents' numbers. Why?"

"I was... thinking of asking her how to introduce myself to her parents. Get her opinion before meeting them, you know?"

"Ah. Yes, I see why you'd want to do that. I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks. And, uh..." You tap your workbench nervously. "You know Spectra's closing her place after today. Do you want to, I don't know... test your new battlefrock with the team?"

"Battlefrock?"

"Well, it's clearly not a full battlegown, so--"

Aunt Zoe chuckles a bit. "Alright, alright. I suppose we'll meet you at the facility. You'll be calling Madison, right?"

You suddenly remember how Madison and Amy acted around each other.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that. See you soon, Aunt Zoe."

You hang up quickly, before quickly dialing your girlfriend's number.

"Hey Tay, what's up?"

"Heeeeeeeeeey, so... we've established that you're okay with me dating Madison, right?"

"Yes, Taylor," Amy sighs fondly, "I think I can accept you bringing her into the relationship. Are you finally going to actually do it?"

"I was thinking about asking her out for a date tomorrow. If that's okay with you, I mean."

"Sure, fine. Actually... do you mind if I ask her out on Saturday? Like a week from today."

You blink a bit. "I... guess not? Are we just going to be tag-team dating her from now on?"

"Heck if I know, this is new for me too. Seriously, though, go have fun tomorrow. But not too much fun, I don't want to see you in the hospital--that'd just be awkward."

"Yeah, that's true. Well, uh, thanks. Love you!"

"Wow. Uh. Love you too...? I've got to get used to saying that, it's just so--"

"A little sappy for a cactus?"

"You'd better fucking believe it," Amy replies warmly. "Talk to you later!"

You smile to yourself as she hangs up. She's doing... a lot better, and that just brings a warmth to your chest.

Then, finally, you dial Madison.

"You've reached the number of the cutest little deviant in Brockton Bay. If you'd like to confess your feelings, press one. If you'd like to talk shop, press two. If you'd like to peruse the catalog, press three. Para continuar en español, oprima cuatro."

You have to bite back a laugh. "Really, Madison? Really?"

"What can I say, I have my moments. So," Madison asks, "what's up?"

"Well, two things. First, I thought we could do a little more team training at Spectra's place. Seeing as it's closing tomorrow and all."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. What's the other thing?"

"...Iiiii was wondering if... you'd like to go out tomorrow? Like... with me. On... you know... on a date."

For a moment, there's dead silence.

"You know, I was wondering when you'd ask," Madison finally says. "I'd love to."

"Oh. Uh. Great. I guess... we'll meet up at the workshop and, uh, go from there...?"

"Sure, I can give you a full day to plan this out. See ya later, hot stuff!"

Madison hangs up, leaving you staring at the phone. Hot stuff? You're not hot. Okay, maybe you're more fit now that you've been exercising every morning, but... hot?

"God, she's such a flirt," you mumble with a blush.

You're understandably a little distracted when you get to Spectra's place, but despite all that you manage to remain pretty in synch with your team as you all run through a few simulated combat scenarios. Matron takes to flight exceptionally well--it's apparently very similar to how she moves in her breaker form--and Drakeward quickly grasps the area control aspects of her power. Metis, of course is as impressive as ever.

Partway through the training, you see Dinah entering the front doors--with two people you assume to be her parents. A quick shared glance with Matron confirms this with a nod, though she continues her own actions; you decide to follow her lead, going through the scenario as though you weren't aware of Dinah's presence. Okay, so you show off a little, pirouetting through an array of aerial rings and dispatching the holographic birds Spectra sends to attack you before you land next to Matron and deflect some laser beams with your parasol which you then casually twirl on your shoulder as your team lands in a sufficiently epic pose, but that's neither here nor there.

"Yeah," Spectra says as an aside to Dinah's parents, "these kids have really learned to apply themselves."

You clear your throat. "Spectra? Would it be terribly rude of me to request a moment alone with our guests?"

"Nah, that's fine. You can use the back room, if you need it."

"Thank you very much." You nod to her as Matron leads the Alcotts into the room, quickly following the rest of your team and shutting the door behind you.

You take a deep breath. Time to make a good impression.

"Mister and missus Alcott, I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, and under other circumstances it would very much be so. However, as there is currently a pressing threat against your daughter, I feel we should dispense with the pleasantries. Team Fable has already sworn to ensure Dinah's safety, as much as we are able, and to track down the man who would exploit her and see him brought to justice. We have already granted her a few of our teleport remotes so that she can escape should the man launch an assault, and fully intend to investigate this threat. That said, we would be able to protect her much more effectively--and track down the man much more quickly--if we were to induct her into Fable proper."

The two of them share a look. Dinah's father clears his throat. "You understand that... that we don't want her fighting, right? I mean, you've done impressive stuff, don't get me wrong, but to put a child in the middle of a combat situation--"

"--would be unconscionable, I quite agree. And if I had a choice, I would do my level best to make sure that never became necessary. However, there are two matters to consider. The first is the so-called unwritten rules, the... gentleman's agreement, in cape culture, that prevents mutually assured destruction. There's an understanding of separation to the identities, that the man in the mask is not the same as the man without. If Dinah were to debut as a cape, with a different name of course, most capes would not press her in her civilian life. Certainly they'd try to recruit her cape identity, but as you can see," you gesture toward Drakeward and Matron, "Fable can provide its members with both protection and mobility in the physical sense, and I would endeavor to keep her away from confrontations regardless. Might I ask if you would be willing to come out for public relations events?" you ask Dinah.

"...45.623 percent chance the snake man tries to have me kidnapped at one," she murmurs reluctantly.

"And there is the second issue," you continue. "The unwritten rules are not laws. They are cultural norms, nothing more. Norms that this snake man is clearly willing to trample all over to get at his prize--namely, Dinah's precognitive abilities. I don't think it exaggeration to say that she has one of the most clearly defined and flexible precognitive abilities I have ever heard of."

"It's true," Metis cuts in. "Most precogs are limited to a few minutes, or get vague hunches or color ratings. WEDGDG works on by gathering precog and thinker-based information and comparing it all to glean greater patterns, and even with some of the top-rated thinkers I've never heard anything this accurate come out of them."

You give Metis a wry look. "Ironically enough, a proper application of Dinah's power could, quite possibly, advance our investigations by a significant degree. Having her on board not only allows Fable to provide her with further protection, but allows us to quickly advance to a state where such protection is no longer necessary."

"Do you just want to use her to accomplish your goals?" her mother asks.

"Of course not. Even were we to see her as 'merely' a powerful precog, we would also seek to ensure her protection and good health. But we don't see her as that. We see her, as we see ourselves." You press a hand to your chest. "Young women, gifted and cursed with great powers that could easily build up or destroy society, thrust into a world of danger and drama after one terrible day with naught but our recently gained abilities to hold our own. I will not deny that we may well use her abilities to our advantage, but we will also seek to train her mastery of them, to let her use them as she wishes herself. I can guarantee you that had I not had an older cape advise me on exactly what I might be capable of, how I might be viewed, I would be preyed upon exactly as Dinah is now. And I, for one, will not stand by and let it happen to another, let alone one who has so much of their life ahead of them. Fable supports its members, for they are us, in a very real sense."

The two of them share a look. Then they look down at their daughter.

"Dinah..." Her mother puts a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"...Yeah. I'm... 89.297 percent sure."

Emily hides a laugh. "Well, uh, we'll try not to--we'll try not to hit that last ten percent."

"Alright." Her father sighs. "Alright... we'll sign the paperwork, but you have to make her one of those... armor sets first."

You bow your head. "That is eminently reasonable."

When Sunday rolls around, you wake up and--

OH SHIT, TODAY'S THE DATE WITH MADISON--!!!!

--proceed to subjugate your nerves by going through your exercises, watering your cactus, and eating breakfast. Then you teleport to the workshop aaaaand Madison's not there yet. Great. Great. You've got time. You've got time, you can do... something. Yeah.

Your eyes fall on the regenerative armor you've made for mass production. It's a possible source of income... but you don't know how to go about marketing it. It's not like you're Dragon...

...hmm.

Dragon does have an account on PHO, now that you think about it. Sure, she probably gets plenty of spam, but...

"T.R.A.C.E.I.," you say as you quickly don your battlegown, "I need you to man the camera on my laptop. We're going to do some advertising."

"Very Good, Lady Gestalt. The First Step Toward Creating Your Financial Empire."

A few minutes, some printed paperwork, and one improvised curtain later, and you're ready to set the stage.

"Tinkertech," you say to the camera, "is both impressive and impractical. Impressive, for how some rare individuals can create new and exciting manners of technology. Impractical, in that it relies on said rare individuals and cannot be replicated." You stride across the invisible stage, spinning your parasol on your shoulder. "Tinkertech has seen impressive, world-changing applications, and yet it has yet to become widespread simply because of the singular reliance on its creators. Tinkertech is for the masses to view, never to have. So many scientists, so many engineers, have seen the wonders that capes produce and chased after them as dreams, only to find themselves drained and giving up on the matter in short order. Tinkertech is both impressive and impractical, and it is a fool's errand to attempt to spread it."

You pause for effect.

"This," you say with a gesture, "is not Tinkertech."

On cue, the P.I.X.I.E. just beneath the camera's view teleports the armor in front of the curtain.

"This," you continue, "is a set of auto-regenerating armor, utilizing principles known to mundane science. It can be created in an ordinary factory, and maintained by an ordinary person. Its design can be adjusted to fit a large number of aesthetics. And when it suffers damage--which, in the course of a battle, might happen often--the cracks and abrasions that might otherwise make it less effective will be repaired by the very substances built into the design."

You hold up a small booklet for the camera to see. "What I have here is an instruction manual and a series of blueprints for this armor. And what I have here," you flip the booklet over to show a single sheet, "is a patent application for the same, filled out and only awaiting the confirmation of the armor's non-tinkertech nature. A company that could produce this armor could easily sell it to any organization expected to head into danger. Firefighters, the police, the PRT, the military... and this is only one set of armor."

You nod to the camera. "I look forward to a mutually profitable, long-term collaboration." Then you glance at T.R.A.C.E.I., who stops the recording.

A few minutes later, you've sent the video off to Dragon. Hopefully, she'll respond to it positively.

Chapter Text

"Whacha doin'?" Madison asks over your shoulder.

"Still clairvoyant, Madison," you remind her. "I was just... doing some hero work while I thought about where we would go on our date."

"Always tinkering, I see how it is." Madison swoons dramatically. "To think, your work is as enticing as your love life... how could I possibly compare?"

You shake your head with a small grin. "Come on, Madison, or we're going to be late."

"Late?"

"Yep. The movie starts in an hour, and," you continue as you hold up a hand to forestall her, "we can't just use our powers to get there, because we're trying to date in our civilian identities."

Madison shrugs. "Yeah alright, that's fair."

The busride to the movie theatre is actually surprisingly nice, and you and Madison chat about various things that have been happening in Arcadia and Winslow. You're both... not quite outcasts, in your respective school, but definitely isolated, and certainly not movers and shakers. It's an interesting thing to bond over, the common experiences... how things are better for you, and slightly worse for her. "It's not as bad as it used to be," she assures you. "Right after... the trial..."

She trails off.

You take her hand. "That chapter of our life is over. When you hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up." There's a small smile on your face. "And for us, that was pretty literal, right?"

"Pffff--yeah," Madison agrees with a grin. "Yeah."

Eventually you get to the theatre and purchase your tickets. It's a modern take on an old science fiction novel, one that you used to read with your mom back in the day. There's been some changes, of course--many social equality movements have happened since the original pulps were written, and a lot of the context is just plain gone--but you have fun pointing out the references to Madison, and she has fun commenting on the costumes the actors are wearing. By the time the movie's over, you agree that the movie is horrible in the best possible way.

The day's still young, though, so you head to the mall. You remember the shop that Madison glanced at the last time you were here, and you decide to take her there--she's a little shocked, and tries to play off how touched she is by calling you a sap, but your experience with Amy makes you well aware of how grateful she's feeling. You look around the admittedly lovely dresses, pulling on that time Vicky dragged you clothes shopping for reference, and have a little fashion show for Madison--which she follows up with a fashion show of her own. Neither of you wind up buying much, only one outfit apiece, but it's still nice to have a chance to show off.

Then you drag her to a nearby bookstore, finding the old science fiction books the movie was based on and assuring her they're really a lot better than the movie was, really! She gives you an indulgent smile and picks the first one, then she leads you to a recent fantasy series that she swears up and down will be an instant classic. You're unsure if that's because of the writing or because of the scantily clad woman swordfighting a gryphon on the cover, but you decide to buy it for a read anyway. You also suggest you go to the actual bookstore/cafe in the future, since the mall bookstore is so far from the food court it's not even funny.

It's while you're eating burgers at the court that Madison's smile suddenly falters.

"...Taylor... what are we doing?"

"...bonding?" you offer, confused.

"I mean, yes, but--Taylor. I... what is this?" She glances around, making sure nobody's listening it. "What is this, really?" she repeats. "Why... how are you okay with me?"

"You're not that person anymore," you tell her, gently taking her hand. "And even when you were, you weren't... nearly as bad as Emma, or Sophia--"

"But that's just it! I'm not--" Madison pulls her hand back, looking away. "I'm a social chameleon," she whispers, as though it were a curse. "I always... adapt to the friend group I'm in. I always become whoever's the best person for me to be. I--you say I'm not that person anymore, but that's not because I became a better person. I just changed colors to blend in with the heroes. And... fuck, Taylor, how can you date somebody--how can you love somebody... when they have no idea who they really are?"

Ah.

This is projection. And it's probably something that's been getting worse with how her powers make her change whenever she uses them.

"...you know," you muse, "people thing chameleons change color to hide themselves. But... I remember reading somewhere that that's not really the case. Chameleons don't change color to hide, they change colors as a response to their emotional state. To express themselves. It's a way for them to communicate how they're feeling, good or bad."

Gently, you reach out and grab her hand again. This time your grip is firm, so she can't just pull away.

"Madison Clements," you tell her, "is something of a silly girl. She's a performer, always trying to impress her friends with the best character act she can put on. When she fell in with a bad crowd, she became the essential high school bully, complete with spitballs--spitballs! Who even uses spitballs anymore? When she decided to be a hero, and to dress up as a wizard, she went all out, using words like 'miscreant' and calling her new partner 'lady Gestalt' like she was high-fantasy nobility. And when she hung out with other teenage girls, she would talk about stereotypical things like boys--until she realized the girls were all gay and felt comfortable enough to out herself as pansexual. Madison Clements is the ultimate supporter, the greatest spear-carrier, the constant second-in-command. And that's okay, because what it means... is that Madison Clements is utterly devoted to those she truly, deeply cares about."

"....God fucking damn it, Taylor, are you some sort of secret master lesbian?" Madison asks in a watery tone. "I just--if this is the kind of thing you pull with Amy, I can see how she fell for you so fast."

"Honestly, I was just rambling and going where my thoughts took me--"

Madison shakes her head and laughs a teary laugh. "You are... SO damned amazing, you know that?"

"...I'm not that special--"

"No, shut up and listen," she insists. "You endured two years of frankly the worst psychological abuse imaginable and I am ashamed to have contributed to it, but I can factually tell you straight up that us three? We had to actively, constantly, force you to believe you were worthless. Because you're not. You're determined. You're brave. You... you fucking care so much--too much, sometimes--and we'd let up for just one week you could have, quite frankly, become queen bee of Winslow. Just one week, Taylor! And now you're finally free and blossoming and, and, and I am NEVER letting you think you're such a loser again, because it's a fucking lie and we both know it."

"Madison--"

"Say it," Madison demands. "Say you're special."

You sigh a bit. "...I'm special."

She stares at you for a moment. Then she sniffs. "...we'll work on it."

"Uh... sure." You shrug awkwardly. "Whatever you say."

"Heh. Hey, uh... Taylor?" Madison smiles shyly. "This... this was fun. I really liked it."

You smile back. "I liked it too."

The smile lasts well into the evening, when you finally open up your laptop and find Dragon's replied. She's interested in the armor and she'll be coming to Brockton Bay on April 2nd--oh, this Saturday!--in order to talk about the details. You can feel the future growing ever closer and decide to spend the few minutes before you go to bed studying. As you memorize a few important scientific facts, you come to the conclusion that it has, in fact, been a very good weekend.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Dad? Can I get your advice on something?"

Your dad puts down his keys. "...What's up?"

"So, uh." You rub the back of your neck. "I've created a non-tinkertech suit of regenerative armor. You know, the kind that can be mass produced. And I kinda sorta got in contact with Dragon about patenting and producing it, and she's kinda sorta coming on Saturday to talk about it, and... I know how cape stuff works, but this is getting into corporate contracts and, uh, I don't actually have experience with that...?"

You fidget when he turns to stare at you.

"...Taylor," he says slowly, "I'd appreciate it if you informed me about any important business decisions you make before you make them."

"I only sent off the video yesterday?"

"Video?"

"Um..."

And so it is that, a few minutes later, Dad's watching your proposal video and reading Dragon's response. He rubs his beard thoughtfully.

"...you don't seem to have done anything wrong yet," he finally mutters. "And Dragon seems to be above board, which isn't that surprising given her reputation." He sighs, adjusting his glasses. "I'll meet you at your workshop after work, and we can hash out a plan then. I need to look into some things."

"Uh... sure thing. Thanks, Dad!"

School passes by rather quickly in your mind, although you do ask Amy to come over to your workshop tomorrow. Not today, there's a lot to deal with, but tomorrow should be fine. As you leave school, you snap your fingers--you should probably check in on Balefire, just to make sure he hasn't been picked up by one of the gangs. You send a text over to Madison to ask her to do that for you--delegation is key for success, after all!--before you teleport to your workshop and call Dinah's number.

"Hello?"

"Missus Alcott, good afternoon! I was just about to start on the armor for your daughter, and I was hoping to discuss what I should be aiming for with, well, both you and her. Quite obviously it should include a helmet, of course, but I was wondering--is she the sort of girl that would prefer red, blue, pink? How, ah, flexible should it be? Those sort of things. Do you mind terribly if I discuss it with her?"

"...I suppose not," Missus Alcott says. "Hold on." There's some noise on the other end of the phone, and then...

"Hello miss Gestalt! Mom says you have questions?"

"About your costume preferences, yes."

"...oh." Dinah's voice drops. "I thought it'd be about the snake man..."

You bite your lip. "Hmmm... how about a compromise? I can ask you a few questions about the snake man, and then we can talk about your armor."

"I... yeah. Okay. But, uh, I can't answer questions about things that already happened, or are happening. They have to be about what will happen. And I can only answer in percentages."

"Hmm." You tap your chin thoughtfully. "Alright..."

"And if I ask too many questions I get a headache. A bad one."

"Ah, of course. Let's see if we can at least localize the ne'er'do'well." You mentally review the criminal list in your mind. "What are the chances that one of the individuals currently in charge of a gang in Brockton Bay will attempt to arrange for your kidnapping at some point in the future?"

"98.573 percent. But... that's not very useful--"

"On the contrary, there are a limited number of gangs in Brockton Bay, and a limited number of individuals in charge of them. We've just cut the list down from a few thousand to less than ten. And, I believe, we can cut them down even further with a proper process of elimination. Let me think... ah, yes. What are the chances that one of the individuals currently in charge of a gang espousing ethnic unity or superiority will attempt to arrange for your kidnapping at some point in the future?"

"11.378 percent. So... it's not the Empire?" Dinah asked.

"Or the ABB," you confirm. "Which doesn't necessarily mean you're safe from them, mind, it only means that Lung and Kaiser don't have eyes on you yet. You should still keep a lookout for them as you ordinarily would have." You quickly open the local cape wiki, scanning over the factions. "Hmm. Coil, Faultline, or whoever leads the Undersiders... and I suppose the Merchants are still suspect, even if their leadership has changed. What are the chances," you ask, "that an individual would use trained mercenaries currently under their employment to kidnap you at some point in the future?"

"97.907 percent. What is a mercenary?"

"A sort of soldier for hire," you explain, "somebody who will do dangerous things for money."

"So like an adventurer?"

"...Somewhat," you allow carefully. "But in much the same way real life espionage is nothing like the old Bond flicks, real life mercenaries are not at all like the fantasy characters."

"Ooooooh. It's the pirate problem," Dinah realizes. "There wasn't a lot of fancy outfits and swashbuckling, but there was a lot of murder."

"Yes. Quite. So, that's two probable gangs. I believe I'm going to go out on a limb here... What is the likelihood that Coil will attempt to arrange your kidnapping at some point in the future?"

"98.943 percent." Dinah breathes a relieved, terrified sigh. "It's him. He's the snake man, I know it!"

"Unfortunately, Coil has gone rather unnoticed by the major players on the board," you admit. "His existence is known, but his intent, assets, and capabilities are well hidden. Which, I believe, is rather deliberate on his part... Nevertheless, now that we know he is the major threat, we can look into him further."

"I think I can still answer one or two questions today," Dinah tells you.

"No, you've done quite well for today. Tomorrow, certainly, I intend to gather Fable and brainstorm what sorts of questions would lead to Coil's arrest, but for now, we should move on to other matters. Namely, your armor. Do you have any preferences?"

"...Um." Dinah hums. "I... like blue?"

"I can certainly accommodate that."

"And... uh... I kinda like rollerskating," Dinah admits. "I haven't done it a lot after I got my powers, but... can my armor have skates?"

You hum thoughtfully. "Actually... I might be capable of creating a set of airskates, that would quite literally let you skate on air."

"REALLY?! That would be so cool!"

"Yes, well, you understand that a helmet would be required in any case."

"Oh, yeah, I get that. And, uh..." Dinah hesitates. "...can I have a spear too?"

"For self defense, I assume?"

"...mmmyes."

"Alright," you agree with a small smile. "I do have to attach an element to it. Fire, water, earth, air, that sort of thing."

"What about... ice? Can you do an ice spear, so I can freeze whoever I stab with it?"

"I most certainly can."

"Good. Then... I guess... just make sure I look good in it," she decides.

"Of course." You smile to yourself. "It was certainly good talking with you, Dinah. We'll chat again tomorrow."

"I'll be ready," Dinah promises.

You spend some time considering Dinah's request and, with T.R.A.C.E.I.'s help, get started on her armor. Unfortunately, despite your skills, you aren't quite able to do much beyond the basics. Still, you're getting a solid idea of how to work with Dinah's request. You look on your work with a satisfied nod...

...and then Madison calls you.

"Hey Mads. So..."

"Yeah, Balefire had a really shitty week."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh don't worry, he's still alive. He just picked another fight with the Empire. Thought he could get away with it because there were fewer goons and no Hookwolf this time," she explains. "But there were six Empire capes there--the other three that he'd fought before, plus Rune, Crusader, and Othala."

You wince. "Ouch. And he took them on solo?"

"Well, Shalem was there as well. Pulled his ass out of the fire in the end, got him back home. Flat out told him to join the Wards once he was done healing up."

"The Wards?"

"Yep. Turns out mister 'I can look like a bodybuilder on demand' is actually our fucking age! Anyway, he's spending the next week healing himself up, and his parents have already preemptively signed him up. Weird thing is, he's... well, he's upset, but it's sort of a resigned upset, you know? Not like you'd expect from a guy our age."

"I mean, he did take on multiple Empire capes alone. Twice." You shake your head. "Either he's stupid or stubborn. Maybe both."

"Yeah... anyway, so the guy's down right now. But hey, at least he hasn't been forcibly recruited into any gangs!"

"No, just the Wards."

"Eh, at least he's not as bad as Shadow 'I totally crucified a guy' Stalker. She was a real monster, Balefire's just macho dumb."

You sigh. "...fair enough." The sound of a familiar car arriving catches your attention. "Oh, my dad's here. Gotta go. Team meeting tomorrow at the workshop, tell Emily and Aunt Zoe!"

"Sure thing!"

You hang up just as Dad enters the building, quickly sending one of the S.P.R.I.T.E.s over to him with one of T.R.A.C.E.I.'s remotes. It takes him a moment to press it, but then he's in your workshop--

"Hello, Grandfather. It Is A Pleasure To Finally Meet You."

--and he's staring at T.R.A.C.E.I. while you facepalm. "Sorry about them, they're kind of sassy."

"Taylor, what--"

"That's T.R.A.C.E.I., they're my workshop assistant slash teleport beacon. You know, like the M.A.I.D. but... for this place."

"And Rather More Skilled At My Job. Though That Is A Necessity."

"One of these days I'm going to pop out your voicebox," you mutter. "Anyway, Dad? The thing with Dragon?"

"...right." Dad forcefully turns his gaze away from T.R.A.C.E.I. "So, first off, do you intend this armor of yours to be a one-off thing, or do you intend to make more 'mass-producable tinkertech'?"

"Well... I can do some quick-deploy armor systems," you muse. "Oh, and jetpacks. Possibly taser knives? All mundane...ish."

"Then you want a long-term agreement, not a one-off. And you probably want to be paid per product you offer." Dad pauses. "Do you... want to join the Guild?"

"...Maybe?" you allow. "I mean, not right now. I've still got a lot of stuff in Brockton Bay to work on, but... maybe at some point in the future. When I'm, you know, twenty or something."

"Hm." Dad considers that for a moment. "You know... you made some bold claims in that video. That anyone with the blueprints could build that armor, for instance. Do you know that for certain?"

"I mean, it's not blackboxed--"

"Are you sure? Have you had anybody else build it?"

You sigh. "No...."

"Well, you probably should test that. And, if I may be so bold, you'll want to expand the potential market from just 'people who go into dangerous situations' to 'people who might be in danger.' Wealthy individuals, for instance, who could be taken hostage for a number of reasons. Or politicians. Or even just ordinary people on the streets of Brockton."

"Those would probably... I mean... it'd take a while to create armor models with those clientele in mind," you mutter.

"But, if the underlying principles are sound, if people can understand them... people can innovate on them, right?"

"I... guess?" You're a little confused. "Dad, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that there will be a lot of questions about whether this," he gestures toward the black and white armor, "is worth the investment. But I'm also saying I might have a way to answer those questions. All you have to do is hire the DWA to make some test armor for you."

"...What?"

"If Gestalt comes into the offices with a copy of the blueprints and a challenge to prove that it's not Tinkertech--and admittedly, a decently large check--it would go a long way toward establishing her claims as legitimate. I mean, if ordinary dockworkers can make this wonder-armor, then... who knows?"

"...Dad, is this some sort of scheme to revitalize the city?" you ask dryly.

"It's a way for me to support you... while, yes, also trying to revitalize the city," he admits. "You live here too, Taylor, anything that helps Brockton Bay helps you."

"Mmmmngh. Fine, whatever, let's write up a contract..."

Tuesday, you settle in next to Amy for lunch with a little groan. "This is going to be a busy week for me," you warn. "Not that I don't want to hang out with you, but a couple of big things got dropped in my lap."

"Yeah?"

"New teammate, pending me making her armor. And before you joke," you cut her off, "she's a preteen, so... No."

"Yeah, no, that'd be a no from me too. Seriously, though, another one?" Amy asks. "How do you keep finding these people?"

"This one found me," you explain with a shrug. "Power shenanigans. Anyway, my point is we're probably going to have to accept this afternoon as the closest thing we're going to get to a date this week."

"Am I going to get showered with more tinkertech gifts?" Amy snarks.

"...well... yes, actually," you admit. "Although I'm thinking we could collaborate on something..."

That afternoon, Amy comes to your workshop and... pauses, when she sees what's on your table. "...Taylor..."

"I can make elementally charged swords--that's how I made my parasol--and in some cultures, wood is an element. Or nature, I suppose--"

"Taylor, I--..." Amy bites her lip. "I... I don't know. I mean, I know it'll help with my, uh, issues, but--"

"Hey! Hey, listen." You hold up your hands. "I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. If you don't want to do it, you don't have to. And even if you do, we can just leave it here, if you want."

Amy looks at the young tree for a moment. Then she sighs. "Alright, fine, let's do this."

You work together for a good half hour, gently asking her for help whenever you need to bend something without killing the tree. It's a little difficult, but you persevere, and in the end you are rewarded with... something beautifully unexpected.

"I... was actually aiming for another parasol," you admit hesitantly. "You know, a bladed one, like I have. But this is great too!" you assure her. "Seriously, this is amazing."

"It's still alive," Amy murmurs, lifting it and looking it over. The blade bristles for a moment, growing thorns... then soft petals. "I could... use this. To bind people in vines. Or to bring new life to dead lands..."

She pauses for a moment.

"...Fuck. Am I a fucking druid?"

"I don't... think so?" You tilt your head, confused. "What do ancient celtic priests have to do with anything?"

She gives you a flat look. "Dungeons and Dragons. The TTRPG?" she adds, when she sees you don't understand. "Taylor, it's so widespread that even nongeeks know what a paladin is."

"The legendary knights of Charlamegne's court?"

"...Okay, wow. You are either too educated or not educated enough, and I honestly couldn't tell you which it is." Amy frowns for a moment. "...I... hrm. Maybe I should ask Madison if she knows any good game masters."

"...what, like Uber and Leet?" you ask, now seriously confused.

"No! Well, yes, but no," Amy admits, "they're more video game experts than tabletop rpg experts, but--you know what, never mind, I'll ask Vicky to explain tomorrow. I'm... pretty sure she's got a rulebook or two." She shakes her head, then looks back at the greensword. "I... well, I guess this is nice. It's... I can make sure it stays alive, under the sunlamp. Do you mind if I--?"

"Oh, sure, go ahead. I've, uh... I've got another project to work on anyway," you tell her, carefully not mentioning what the project is.

You get to work, idly glancing over your shoulder every once in a while as T.R.A.C.E.I. assists you in something rather spur of the moment. Amy watches you work with interest, quirking a brow when you pull out the red and white paint. Eventually, everything folds up into a sort of thick, golden gorget. You smile warmly, pick it up, and turn around. "So, you know how I said your locket isn't Tinkertech? It still isn't. But if you put this on and slide it into this slot here..."

"...I'll be able to fly in this, right?" Amy says, quickly putting it on and inserting her locket. "Because--"

"Well, you'll have the ability," you admit as the armor unfolds down her body, "but skill takes time."

"Oh har-de-har-har, I know I'm going to need to practice but--HOLY SHIT." Amy catches sight of her reflection in the metal, and actually has to doubletake. "Ho-o-oly shit. I mean, I know you make your armor look sexy, but--I thought I was too frumpy to pull this off. This is still armor, right? Still protects me and stuff?"

"Yep. Regenerative and everything. And the gauntlets have open palms so you can use your powers. And of course there are the jetskirts--"

Amy lifts off and half-tumbles around in the air, but manages to stumble a landing on her feet.

"--which do take some getting used to," you allow. "You've also got some stabilizers on your back and in your boots. You should probably use those while you're flying."

"Those," she gasps, "were some very powerful jets in my skirts."

"I mean..." You shrug. "I've got bigger ones?"

"...so you feel that every time you fly, but more intensely?" Amy examines you for a moment. "How are you even still standing when you land--?"

"Oh, I have a changer power. It only works when nobody can see me--hence the full body encapsulating battlegown--but I get a degree of superstrength when it happens."

"No, that--" Amy pauses, thinking for a moment. "...Actually, yeah. That would explain it, if... never mind, I'll just... we can practice with this later, right?" she asks. "Like Thursday?"

"Sure. Oh, uh, also, there's a team meeting today--"

As if on cue, the rest of your team teleports in.

"--so... don't be surprised when that happens," you finish, lamely.

"Sup Amy," Madison greets. "We still good for Saturday, or will you be doing flying practice?"

"Flight practice is Thursday, so we're good."

You clear your throat. "We're going to be talking to our potential new member, who is quite reasonably paranoid about their identity, so I am--very reluctantly, mind you--going to have to ask you to leave, Amy."

"Yeah, I understand. Uh..." She glances down at herself. "Should I tell Carol about this, or leave it here, or...?"

"I'll leave that to your discretion," you reply.

With great reluctance, Amy doffs the armor and leaves it, folded up, next to the sword. She gives you a quick kiss before teleporting back home.

Madison grins. "Did you two have fuuuuuuuun?"

"We did, yes," you reply in a mock-prim sort of voice. "Quite a bit of it, actually."

"Oooooo!"

"Seriously though, enough teasing, let's talk snakes." You cross your arms. "More specifically, Coil. Some careful use of Dinah's precog have let us confirm he's the individual planning to take forceful control of her life, which unfortunately doesn't leave us with a lot of information to work with."

"I'll say," Emily muses. "I've never even heard of Coil. Who is he?"

"He's the leader of a small 'gang' here in Brockton Bay," you explain. "Except it's nothing like the other gangs. They commit crime, patrol territory, gather up the desperate to fill their ranks. They want to make it clear they're in control. Coil, on the other hand, plays it quiet--he barely controls any territory and doesn't make any demands of those living in it, and he sends armed mercenaries--nonparahuman, but militarily trained--to enact his plans. Heck, the PRT can't even decide if he's a parahuman. I myself assumed he was mostly a nonissue until yesterday."

"So lowkey, but dangerous to individuals, and smart," Madison murmurs. "If he's got mercs, he's got money, and if he's got money we have to assume he can get ahold of some dangerous things. Especially if he's unethical enough to try to kidnap children. With Dinah under his thumb, he could do a lot of damage."

"Quite," you agree. "Which is why we need to stop him, quite aside from the ethical concerns. And for that, we need to know what his abilities and resources are. Hence: this meeting." You fold your hands together. "Dinah can only ask five or so questions a day before she gets a debilitating headache, and she's technically a precog, not a pericog--she can see the future, not the present," you clarify when Emily gives you a confused look. "So we need to work together to figure out what questions would be the most efficient to ask."

"And how to keep Dinah safe," Aunt Zoe adds pointedly. "I did focus on her when I talked with her parents, so I can see her in my dark world, if that helps."

"It... actually does, quite a bit," you admit. "You'd be able to find her even should we fail at protecting her, and might even be able to take her armor to her. And a P.I.X.I.E., now that I think about it," you muse.

"...you're not seriously thinking of letting her get kidnapped just so we can take Coil out from the inside, are you?"

"No!" you protest, shaking your head at her assertion. "No, no, I promise I don't intend that, I was just considering contingencies."

"It's not a bad fallback plan," Madison admits. "Emphasis on fallback!" she adds quickly when Zoe gives her a look. "Seriously, though, we need to ask the right questions. Is Coil a parahuman? If so, what is he? Does he have parahumans under his control? Where is his base of operations, what can he level against us? Stuff like that."

"And we have to ask them in the form of 'what is the likelihood he will' questions," Emily adds with a grimace. "That, or figure out how to find answers without Dinah."

"We should probably do that anyway," you admit. "Just in case there are things we can't think to ask. But, for the moment..."

Chapter Text

You spend about an hour discussing what to ask Dinah, refining the questions in various ways, before you come up with a shortlist:

-What is the likelihood that Coil will expend more than twenty thousand dollars gathering material resources for his initial attempt to kidnap Dinah? (A quick internet search gives you the cost of some dangerous weapons, and multiplication of that accounting for the speculated number of mercs (rounded up) gives you a number beyond which you're not sure you can handle the situation and will need the PRT to get involved.)

-What is the likelihood that Coil will use his own parahuman powers before or during the attempt to kidnap Dinah? (Emily points out that they can't just assume he'll use any hypothetical power during the attempt, since some might be more useful if he uses it before, and the question right now is 'does he even have a power anyway?' and what it is can be narrowed down in the coming weeks.)

-What is the likelihood that Coil will have other parahumans under his employee use their powers to make the attempt to kidnap Dinah more likely to succeed? (Zoe points out he could have capes of his own that nobody knows about. Madison agrees, but debates whether they'd be used before or during the kidnapping attempt, and even if they were it could just be to create a distraction. The question you finally hammer out seems to cover most of the potential bases, at least.)

-What is the likelihood that the outer walls of Coil's base can be found by a digging animal, such as a mole or earthworm? (You give Aunt Zoe a weird look at this one, but she shrugs and says "It could be an underground base. That happened in some of the Bond films." Madison giggles and refines the basic question a bit so you can get a more definite hit.)

With all that resolved, you call Dinah again and, after a brief chat with her mother and assurances that you are, in fact, working on her armor, she hands you over to her daughter.

"Alright," you tell her, "we think we've got a few questions that'll tell us what Coil is working with, at least."

"Okay, I'm ready."

"What is the likelihood that Coil will expend more than twenty thousand dollars gathering material resources for his initial attempt to kidnap you?"

"27.894 percent." Dinah sighs. "That's in the 'he'll do it if necessary, but he doesn't think it is and really wouldn't like it' range."

You wince, quickly typing the number and her observations out onto the laptop document. "Well, at least we know he doesn't expect to need heavy ordinance. Now then: What is the likelihood that Coil will use his own parahuman powers before or during the attempt to kidnap you?"

"99.643 percent. Wow," she says, "he must really like his powers, whatever they are."

You type in the number, and Madison frowns as she looks over your shoulder. "Powers want and need to be used," you tell her somberly. "At least we know he's a parahuman now. On a related note, what is the likelihood that Coil will have other parahumans under his employee use their powers to make the attempt to kidnap you more likely to succeed?"

"77.422 percent. So... pretty likely, but he wouldn't mind an alternative?" she guesses. "Something like that."

"And now we know he know he has parahumans working for him," you agree, typing in the observation. "That's going to be vital going forward. One last question: what is the likelihood that the outer walls of Coil's base can be found by a digging animal, such as a mole or earthworm?"

"89.345 percent. Uh, that's--wow, that's actually pretty likely," Dinah realizes.

"You know, I wasn't expecting him to actually have an underground base," you muse as you type in the number. "We simply couldn't think of a good way to ask where he was in a precise enough manner for your power."

"Oh, hold on," Madison interjects, pushing you away from the laptop, "I have an idea here." She opens up a search engine, going through a few pages, before grinning. "Aha! Got it! There's an Endbringer shelter that was never officially finished on the edge of the residential and downtown districts."

You lower your phone, looking over her shoulder. "...holy shit, that's only a few blocks away from Arcadia. Do you think you can get blueprints of that place--?"

"This could be a false lead, girls," Matron warns.

"Yeah. Hold on." You lift the phone again. "Dinah? What is the likelihood that Coil will be overseeing his operations from the supposedly defunct Endbringer shelter located a few blocks from Arcadia, near the center of the city?"

"97.430 percent." Dinah moans quietly. "Sorry, I--I can't answer any more questions today, my head hurts too much."

"That's quite alright, Dinah," you assure her, typing the number in. "You've been an excellent help already."

"We found him?"

"We most certainly did," you assure her. "Now... we can start on a plan."

"So Amy tells me you don't know about Dungeons and Dragons," Vicky says on Wednesday, pulling out a thick book that looks like it's pretending to be a medieval tome. "This is not only a cultural travesty, but also one that could have serious tactical ramifications. I mean, don't you know you never split the party?"

"I... I don't go to parties," you point out.

"Party, as in Adventuring party."

"Adventuring... like adventurers?" you ask.

Amy frowns. "Wait, you know 'adventurer' but you don't know 'druid'?"

"Of course! Bilbo Baggins was an adventurer!" you point out. "Haven't you read the Lord of the Rings?"

"...oof," Vicky mumbles. "Okay. OKAY. Let's--hmm. Okay, you know Issac Asimov? His robot books, right?"

You nod carefully. "Yes, I've read some of them."

"They're all real deep sci-fi on what robots are and the societal implications and exploring the concept, right?"

"Well, the ones about robots, yes."

"Okay, and you've seen Star Wars?" Vicky adds. "There are robots there, and aliens and spaceships, but they're not... it's not deep. Those are just part of the setting. They're there, as part of the world. Right?"

"....ssssssssuuuuuuuuuure?" You give Amy a confused look, and she just rolls her eyes with a smile.

"Okay. So: Dungeons and Dragons is to Lord of the Rings what Star Wars is to Issac Asimov," Vicky explains. "Kind of. Thematically, anyway. There are elves and wizards and adventures but it's not this deeply woven epic, it's more... this is a world with magic, so you can be a wizard--that's a guy who studies magic--or a sorcerer--that's somebody born with magic--or just, you know, really good with swords, and there's no epic destiny. Unless there is. Depends on the gamemaster--I should probably just let you read the introduction," she mumbles, handing the book over.

You take the book and curiously read the introduction. It's... an instruction manual? For a game of make-believe with rules, you guess. And... okay, you can understand why 'fighter' is different from 'rogue' but why are 'paladin' and 'barbarian' their own thing? And... most of these classes seem either aggressive or magical, but Bards? Clerics? The HECK?! Flipping through the book, you see a few pictures of races, classes, magic spells (that seem very bluntly named), and... combat is a whole chapter, for some reason.

"...So this seems... complicated," you finally say.

"Yeah," Vicky nods, "but it's the granddaddy of Tabletop Roleplaying Games. I was actually pretty into it before I hit puberty--I'd always play a paladin, though sometimes I'd multiclass."

"She kept trying to get me to play a rogue," Amy adds. "Something about me being the snarky one."

You stare at the book in your hands. "...and this is tactically important?" you ask doubtfully.

"Listen: D&D has saturated geek culture, to the point where it leaks out into ordinary culture. The combat system is built around a bunch of people with magic powers coordinating to fight a bunch of other people with magic powers. So you're going to hear some capes say something like 'don't split the party' or 'he's got half-cover' and assuming you at least know enough about the idea of Dungeons and Dragons to get what they're saying."

"It's not that bad," Amy assures you. "But, like... Druid has a very specific meaning nowadays. One pretty divorced from ancient mystery cults."

You spend the rest of lunch being tag-lectured by the sisters on common geek terms. By the end of it, you're... still very confused, but you think you kind of get what they're trying to say?

Yeah, no, you're still confused.

But today's the day you're going to meet with the dockworkers--well, Gestalt is going to meet with them... and you're very sure at least some of them will recognize you if you speak with your natural voice. So you head to the workshop and, awkwardly, rub the back of your head. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, T.R.A.C.E.I...."

"I Am Not Going To Like This, Am I."

"Yeah, listen. I need to make a voice modulater, for myself, and... I kinda need a reference point. So... yeah, I'm going to--only temporarily!--be taking out your own voicebox and... you know..."

T.R.A.C.E.I. crosses their arms, giving you a long look. Then they somehow manage an electric sort of sigh and lie down on the tinkering table. "If I Die, I Will Be Haunting You And Speaking Up At The Most Awkward Times."

You roll your eyes and get to work, carefully taking off their faceplate and extracting the relevant equipment. It's a little difficult to reverse engineer, but you finally manage to add something to your armor's faceplate that will deepen your voice about half an octave. Afterward, when you put T.R.A.C.E.I. back together, they seen a bit annoyed, so you decide against just jumping to Dinah's armor. Instead, you teleport home for a few minutes, looking for some book that can help you be better at social situations. You do find an old lecture on public speaking, and... it boils down to 'be confident.' Well, that wasn't useful at all...

You teleport back to the workshop, hoping T.R.A.C.E.I. has calmed down. They seem to be a bit less... annoyed, and have already organized Dinah's armor for you. You start to work on it, and after an hour of concentrated effort you manage to come up with something that you think Dinah will really like--and that you're sure her parents will accept.

"Think I'll make the ice spear Friday," you decide, picking up a P.I.X.I.E. and putting its remote on the mass production armor. "T.R.A.C.E.I., can you send the armor to us when I call you and tell you to?"

"Of Course, Lady Gestalt."

You put on your battlegown, making sure you've got all the appropriate paperwork, and fly off to the DWA offices. There's some commotion when you arrive, but you quickly defuse the situation by pulling out your contract and explaining you're here with an offer of legal and nonviolent employment, namedropping both your dad and the actual head of the DWA. That's enough to get most of the dockworkers off your back, especially after some of them point out you beat up Hookwolf.

Once there, you spend a decent amount of time negotiating the contract and what the Dockworkers are supposed to do in this case. The head of the association points out that while it certainly seems possible for an ordinary person to make these suits of armor, it's actually somewhat expensive. You agree to cover the cost of materials in addition to the original pay, so long as the people making the suits record themselves working on it to prove that they aren't Tinkers. (Dad winces a little, making you wonder how much of your five mill is left...) You also say that you're going to argue for a factory in Brockton Bay itself, in the hopes that it'll open more jobs, but you aren't necessarily business-savvy enough to garuntee that. Surprisingly, the head of the Dockworker's Association is accepting of that, saying that it's hard to get a business started in Brockton Bay these days.

He does ask you to leave the armor behind, just so the union members who get hired have a reference. You agree, but warn you're going to pick it up (and the other armor sets) come friday.

Thursday you decide to do some power testing, inviting Amy to your workshop after school/work to see how good you can get with your clairvoyance. "So I can only see five seconds into the future," you explain, "and only right around me. And I can't exactly hear people or... read expressions. I can see what they're doing, but that's enough to dodge bullets, not--you know, actually change things."

"Dodging bullets changes things," Amy points out.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, but I kind of want to do more, you know? See if I can pass messages to myself, some actual sort of... spying. If that makes sense."

"So... you want me to tell you a number and see if you can say it at exactly the same time?" Amy offers.

"That works."

After around half an hour of practice, you're reliably saying the same number as Amy when she says it, something she says is a little disturbing--especially when you're holding up the same number of fingers at the same time. You can't really go beyond ten, though, for obvious reasons, but sending hand signals to yourself seems to work... kind of.

Next, you don your battlegown. "Now, I--"

"What happened to your voice?!"

"...Modulater," you explain. "It's a voice modulator."

"Why would you need a voice modulator?"

"Well, you know, secret identity, and... I didn't want my dad's coworkers recognizing me in costume when I visited..."

Amy gives you a look, but reluctantly nods. "...I guess that makes sense."

"...Anyway," you say, "I'm going to do some practic teleporting, okay? I just want to see if I can get my S.P.R.I.T.E.s into blindspots so I can teleport there."

"So you're going to try to sneak up on me," Amy quips. "How utterly heroic."

"I mean, it doesn't--it doesn't have to be you--"

"It's fine. A little unusual, but I live with capes. And I know a little bit about how vision and blind spots work..."

With Amy as your anti-spotter, you practice guiding your S.P.R.I.T.E.s around, and manage to figure out a few ways to sneak them past an ordinary person's vision. She admits that, if you really pushed it, you could probably become very scary. Then you take around twenty minutes to help Amy get used to flying, something she manages to master with only a little snark about her jetskirts.

"And the others'll be here right about... now," you say as the rest of your team teleports in. "Hello, everyone--"

"Girl, what happened to your voice?!" Madison asks.

"Voice modulator," Amy explains. "Surprised me too, when she put the battlegown on."

"Okay, but... why though?"

"Had to talk with my Dad's boss," you explain, taking off your helmet. "Is it really that bad?"

"It's not bad, it's just... I mean... you've already talked with people," Madison points out. "Gestalt already has a recognizable voice. Just suddenly changing it is going to freak people out."

"Also makes you hard to recognize over the phone," Emily adds. "You know, since--"

She cuts herself off, glancing first at the blue set of armor, then at Amy.

"Team business, I get it." Amy gives you a peck on the lips. "See you tomorrow." She teleports out.

"...As I was saying, Dinah wouldn't recognize your new voice over the phone."

"...right." You shrug. "I dunno, it... seemed like a good idea at the time?"

Aunt Zoe drags a hand down her face.

"...anyway. Let's brainstorm some questions for Dinah, shall we?"

You spend some time thinking about it, but you're not sure what to focus on. Eventually, you come up with a few basic questions:

-What is the likelihood of Coil arranging Dinah's kidnapping next month? ("It's good to have a deadline," Emily mutters.)

-What is the likelihood of Coil arranging Dinah's kidnapping within two weeks? ("Let's half it and half again," Madison suggests.)

-What is the likelihood of Coil arranging Dinah's kidnapping next week? ("This is going to stress her out," Zoe warns.)

Then you call up Dinah--with your helmet pointedly off--to ask the questions.

"97.632 percent," is the first answer. "97.532 percent," Dinah says to the second, and you can tell she's terrified. "...22.789 percent," and there's a sense of tense relief in her voice, one clearly echoed by the rest of the team.

"A week," Zoe mutters. "A week--Dinah, sweetie, I'm going to use my powers to check on you every day, okay? Every morning when I wake up, at 9 A.M, and every three hours after that."

"Thanks Matron..."

"I have your armor ready," you add quickly. "I'll still have to work on your spear though... You can come over tomorrow and pick it up, how does that sound?"

"That's great! Thank you, Gestalt. I guess I need a cape name, huh?"

"You should probably get a thesaurus," you suggest. "Think about how you want to present yourself and pick a name based off that."

"I'll do that. Thank you. And..." She bites her lip. "Thanks for the heads up. I'll... I'll let Mom and Dad know."

She hangs up.

"Fuck." Madison sits down heavily. "The closest thing to a teleporter I've talked with is Matron, and--and I don't even know where to begin to tweak your power so I can get at Coil."

"He's a slippery one," you agree grimly. "Let's keep an eye out for unusual... happenings. Anything that could be considered preparation."

"...maybe he's taking advantage of something," Emily points out. "I mean, with the Merchants weakened, the Empire's getting more aggressive. And between us and Balefire, there's been... a lot of chaos."

"Chaos that the PRT would have to focus on," you agree glumly. "Shit." You need to prepare--not just for Coil, but for whatever else might happen. Maybe learn some sort of ranged skill, like... using throwing knives or something. That'll give you options, at least...

"...Well, at least he's not trying anything next week," Emily mutters. "Fucking Empire..."

"Fucking Empire, fucking Coil... ABB's been weirdly quiet," you note. "But fuck them too."

The mood is kind of shot, and you spend the time working on something, anything, to keep your mind off things. Maybe a teleportation system for Endbringer attacks? You could bring it up with Dragon, maybe... You outline a few ideas that look good, nod to yourself, and shoot off a message to her about the idea. It's an interesting distraction, at least...

Friday, after school, you quickly drop by the Dockworker's association to pick up the armor suits (and the visual records of them being built), as well as make absolutely sure they got paid. You don't want to go back on your word, even by accident. And... well, they've come up with a few alternative models for you. One is very stripped down, to the point where it's more a bodysuit than it is armor, and the regeneration is more of a casual talking point. Apparently, it's designed to go under business suits and be marketed to the wealthy.

The other set of armor takes the exact opposite approach, bulking up and adding some redundant systems. There's even some attached... devices? Supposedly derived from jackhammers, but probably easily replaced with other tools, stuck to the forearms. You're told it's designed for high-risk situations, such as fighting capes with high threat ratings, but... you get the impression the dockworkers just really wanted to show off.

You thank them for their assistance and teleport all three suits of armor back to your lab. Then you turn your attention toward making Dinah's ice spear, and... it turns out really good. Granted, it looks wonky as heck, but you're sure she'll love it. And it does exactly what she wanted--a quick coating of ice from a stab.

Speak of the devil, here are her parents driving up. Their car looks a little suspicious, but--well, you're pretty sure nobody's in the area that can identify them. You check your battlegown, before teleporting out to meet them.

"Good afternoon to you all!"

"Did your voice change?"

You sigh, reaching up and turning off your voice modulater. "No, Missus Alcott, I just built a modulater into my helmet. Tinkers must tinker, after all. Speaking of which, come in! I have everything just about ready for you, Dina, if you care to take a gander."

You quickly teleport the family into your workshop, where T.R.A.C.E.I. is busily tending to the black and white suits of armor--"Another project entirely," you explain simply, turning their attention to a curved blue micromonolith. "Now Dinah, what you do is put your arms in those slots, grab the little handbars you feel, and then pull apart like this, alright?"

"...okay..." Dinah says, hesitantly obeying your orders.

The armor ratchets out and envelops her limbs, knotting together in the back as the hoverskates snap shut around her calves. The helmet lifts up from the chest and unfolds around her face, before the two arms holding it pull back to form the spaulders. Dinah takes a moment to look at her arms in wonder.

"And this," you say, "is the ice spear you requested which!" You forestall any statements, by holding it out... to her father. "I will be giving to your parents for the moment, with the understanding that you will get it back once you've had a few self-defense classes."

Dinah folds the helmet visor up, a little miffed.

"Are you sure I can't keep it on me? There's a--...2.343 percent chance it helps stop Coil from kidnapping me," she mutters. "Fiiiiiiiiine."

You hide a small smile. "Now then, a few things about your armor. There is an audio-interference function--you just tap the big button on your helmet's hinges, and it'll cause enough static that nobody will be able to ask you questions."

"Oh, that'll be good."

"And of course, there's the airskates I promised," you add, pointing down at her feet. "You should be able to turn them on and off with the toe-based control systems, which--"

Dinah immediately kicks into high gear, startling her parents as she literally starts skating on thin air. Very thin air, you admit to yourself, although she is actually very good at it. She stops to look down at you all with a grin--

--and you immediately catch her when she falls. "Which," you continue sternly, "causes a micro-forcefield to solidify the air passing through it. That means you have to keep moving, because the moment you stop you won't be balancing on anything."

"...oh," she says quietly.

"Yes. Oh. This is not a game," you berate her, "something you very well know."

"Right." She glances down. "Sorry."

"...Although, if I am honest, you should not have had to grow up so fast," you allow. "I suppose a little bit of lenience is permissible. So as long as you behave yourself, I believe I can let you join the rest of Fable when we head to the PRT tomorrow."

"The PRT?" her father asks. "What are you going to be doing?"

"I have a business meeting," you say, gesturing toward the armor. "With Dragon."

Dinah gasps. "Dragon?! Really?!"

"Mmmhmm." You nod. "I'll admit, I am rather excited at the prospect myself! Ah, I do beg your pardon," you add to her parents. "Would you... allow her to come with me? An informal debut, if nothing else, will cement her as being part of Fable--"

"--and keep her safe from those who at least pretend to follow the unwritten rules," her mother grumbles. "Yes, yes, we know. I... suppose it's a good idea."

"Terribly sorry to spring this on you at the last minute. It's been a busy week for us. Oh! But that reminds me." You reach out and carefully fold Dinah's helmet down. "How would you like to be introduced?"

"...I think... Portent." Dinah nods. "Portent sounds like a good name."

"Very well, Portent. Now, to get out of your armor..."

A few minutes later, you're escorting the Alcotts to their car. Dinah gives you a quick hug before she gets in, and they drive off.

...huh.

You've done most of what you wanted to this week, and you've still got the rest of Friday to yourself. Let's see, you went on a date with Madison on sunday, helped Amy out on tuesday and thursday... Maybe you should hang out with Emily!

You head over to Aunt Zoe's place, giving her a grin when you enter, and knock on Emily's door. "Hey, you want to do something?"

"...Sure." Emily sticks her head out. "What?"

"...I dunno." You shrug. "I kind of just through some major tinkering projects and... I'm brained out. I was hoping you had an idea."

"We could... uh... I guess go to the mall or something?"

And so, like the teenage girls you supposedly are, you find yourself at the mall. Emily wanders in and out of a few stores, not really buying much, but you get to learn a few things. Her mom was a mechanic. Her dad was a lawyer. Her little sister liked spiders, she had like five plush ones.

"...do you want to visit them?" you offer hesitantly. "I mean... I assume they were--"

"There wasn't enough left for a funeral. And... as far as the cops knew, there wasn't anybody who'd attend."

You bite your lip, awkwardly.

"...Do you..." You swallow. "Do you want to meet my mom?"

"...I guess, yeah."

So you take her to Mom's gravestone. You tell her stories, of how your mom would read you books. How she'd argue with some pushy idiots at the grocery store. How she was always nice to the cashiers, how she'd take the time to... to look into her students' lives sometimes.

"...She sounds like a heck of a woman," Emily offers.

"Yeah. She was."

"...gods, our world's fucked up," she mutters. "I mean, every parahuman's got trauma, families can get firebombed to death, and... do you really think we can unfuck it?"

"I think we can make it better," you say quietly. "I think we have to try."

Eventually, the chill of the evening closes in. You give Emily a nod and the two of you teleport back to your respective homes. Emily doesn't open up about her past, often. You feel like you really got close to her this afternoon.

You decide to take a few hours to study, for what little good it does, before heading to bed.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning, you and the rest of Fable gather in the workshop. There's some compliments of Portent's new armor, and some observations of the mass-producible armor. Metis offers to help carry it to the Rig with her force fields, and you all take off as one.

It's a marvelous wonder of engineering, you admit, although the clearly Tinkertech field gives you pause. Fortunately, you know the codes to request a landing. All of Fable descends to the landing pad, with the three suits carefully arrayed in a standing position.

Waiting for you are two figures. The first, Armsmaster, steps forward and gives you a nod. "Gestalt. Fable. Welcome to the Rig."

"It is an honor and a pleasure, Armsmaster. And might I say, your own work has been quite the inspiration for me. Ah, but where are my manners." You gesture toward Dinah. "This is Portent, our newest member. I hope you don't mind her sitting in today, I felt it would be educational for her to witness the more... bureaucratic aspects of cape work."

Armsmaster glances at her. He doesn't say anything for a moment, then he nods. "So long as she behaves herself."

"I will!" Portent chirps.

"You move quite fast," interjects a new voice. "I'd assumed I'd be checking over one suit of armor, not three--and a possible teleport network for Endbringer attacks on top of that?"

"The network is still purely in the planning phase," you admit, turning to the other figure. "But, in fact, I only made one of these suits of armor. The other two were built by our friends at the Dockworker's Association, if you can believe it. Dragon, I presume?"

"Indeed I am," says the woman in the green...

...it looks like power armor. You have to admit, it's a very well-crafted facsimile, complete with little motors that let it shift and twitch as though somebody was actually wearing it. But you have a power that lets you see how machines are put together, and you know there's not enough space for a human to fit into that. In fact, with your gaze, you can tell that everything is controlled from a central processing unit carefully tucked away just beneath the neck.

This isn't a woman in green power armor. This is a green machine with a feminine figure.

And she's not being remotely controlled.

You're conflicted.

This is Dragon! The greatest tinker on the planet! Practically the most heroic hero to ever have heroed, and that's counting the guy who actually called himself Hero! Aaaaaaaand she's a robot, or maybe an A.I. or whatever she wants to call herself.

And, well, you understand what it means to hide an important part of your identity. You're a poly lesbian living in Brockton Bay, and a cape besides, so yeah, you really get it. You really get why she'd be nervous, thinking of all the robots in popular culture that get a bad rep. Skynet, HAL 9000, and... uh... you're sure there are others. You're not exactly a connoisseur of pop culture, after all. You were always more into the classics--Issac Asimov, Frankenstein... and those have very different lessons to teach regarding creating independent intelligences.

But at the same time...

...it's got to be a lonely existence, right? Assuming there aren't a lot of secretly intelligent robots around...

"Is something the matter?" she asks.

Shit were you staring? You were staring!

"Ah--w-w-well. Ahem." You gather yourself. "Just, ah, a little, a little starstruck, I suppose. Uh. So!" You gesture to the rest of your team. "I know Armsmaster, at least, has likely read the profiles of Fable, but allow me to introduce my companions formally. This, of course, is Metis, a mage of some renown."

"It is an honor to meet you, Dragon," Metis says, shaking Dragon's hand. "And I must say how pleased I am that the first dragon I encountered was of the wise and heroic type, rather than the dastardly sort that already plague our street."

"Of course," Dragon replies with a knowing tilt of her head. "Armsmaster has informed me of Lung."

"And this is Drakeward," you continue, "the knight who follows the footsteps of dragons."

"A fan, I take it?" Dragon asks as she shakes Drakeward's hand.

"Who isn't? Uh..." Drakeward rubs the back of her head. "Honestly the truth is I spit fire and, you know, asked Gestalt to make sure my armor fit the theme."

Dragon's shoulders shake with some amusement. "Well, it is a very good theme."

"Of course, we also have Matron, our long-suffering patron and mentor."

"By which Gestalt means I'm the only adult on the team, and I'm playing den mother to a bunch of teenagers," Matron clarifies as she shakes Dragon's hand. "Honestly, I'm only in the cape business to keep them out of trouble."

Dragon tilts her chin in amusement. "A job you're doing quite well, from what I've heard."

"And of course, our newest member Portent." You gesture toward the young girl. "Unlikely to actually join us in the field, until she's trained up, but I felt it prudent to make people aware she was a member of Fable."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Portent," Dragon says as she shakes the girl's hand.

There's a moment of awkward quiet, and then Portent jumps. "Oh! Sorry, my power can react to some forms of speech, so Gestalt made sure I had static sound generators in my helmet to block them out. Let me just," she taps the button, "okay, sorry, I can hear you now."

"Oh, I just said it was a pleasure to meet you," Dragon repeated. "Although... if your power is causing you problems--"

"Fable's working on it," Portent tells her, turning the static generators back on. "We're... we've actually figured out some important things."

"A thinker?" Armsmaster asks you, sotto voice.

"To a degree," you demur, deciding against revealing the totality of Portent's powers to him. "But that is not the primary reason I am here."

"Ah yes. The request to confirm your suits are not tinkertech and can be legally patented." He crosses his arms--rather mechanically, even more mechanically than the actual robot. "You really think that's possible?"

You gather yourself, turning back to the three suits. "As I said, two of these were created by members of the Dockworker's Association, derived from the first and the blueprints I left behind. Aside from that, and the monetary support to buy the materials, I wasn't a factor in the process at all."

"A bold claim," Armsmaster notes.

"And one I have video proof of," you reply. "In addition to the manual for the original suit."

"Assuming they are not Tinkertech, what exactly are they?" Armsmaster asks. "You wouldn't be trying to patent something that's already widespread, after all."

"These, my dear Armsmaster, are suits of regenerative armor," you explain with a flourish. "Oh, they'll take the usual abrasions and cracks from gunfire and the like, but not only will they protect their wearer, they'll mend themselves in the field. That gives it staying power beyond anything currently on the market."

"If your claims are true, yes."

You concede the point. "Then perhaps you would like to test them? Have Miss Militia line these suits up in your firing range while you review the recordings of the dockworker's efforts, then you and Dragon can look over the manuals while we watch them regenerate."

"I think that's acceptable," Dragon interjects. "And I'd certainly like to talk with you about your Endbringer Teleportation System idea afterward."

It takes a little bit to get all the armor suits and yourself into the elevator, but soon enough you're down at the shooting range, shaking hands with Miss Militia, while the two tinkers look over your video footage in the room across the hall. She's clearly a bit surprised you have a literal child in armor, but you assure her you don't intend for Portent to get into any dangerous situations. "The armor is merely a precaution. We do live in Brockton Bay, after all."

That doesn't quite satisfy her, but she drops the subject. "I suppose if this is a version of those," she gestures toward the armor being set up down the range, "it might actually be reasonable."

"Far be it from me to make unwarranted suggestions," Metis offers, "but if this works out the Protectorate could commission mass-production versions of the light armor for their own members, the Wards included."

"I'm not sure the Youth Guard would agree," Militia points out. And you hear the undertone in her voice suggesting she wouldn't agree either.

Metis shrugs. "Parahumans will seek to use their powers, and teenagers are at that age where they rebel against the world to define themselves. Better to give them some protection than risk them going out on their own."

"Indeed," Matron deadpans, giving her a flat look.

"Hey hey, I learned my lesson!" Metis objects, raising her hands defensively.

You tap your parasol against the ground. "Whether or not it is ethical to provide the Wards with armor is a question that can be asked after we prove whether or not it is possible. Though I will state I had a more general clientele in mind. And on that note..."

You gesture toward the firing range, stepping aside for Miss Militia to take a firing position. She does so, her ephemeral weapon shifting in her hands and firing various rounds at the armor. You can vaguely identify them as handgun, rifles, and... some really heavy gun you hope none of the gangs actually have access to--probably a Brute testing thing? At least she's not using rockets or incendiary rounds yet, this is more about seeing how the armor responds to damage in general than specific edge cases.

Although now that you think about it... maybe you should do that at some point.

Miss Militia stops firing just as Armsmaster and Dragon walk in. "The footage you provided appears to be genuine," Armsmaster admits. "No doctoring, and no stage tricks. So your armor can be built by non-tinkers. Though whether it can be maintained is another question entirely."

"And there's the whole 'will it actually fix itself' question," Metis offers with a grin.

"There is, yes. Miss Militia?"

The woman gestures at the armor sets. "You can see a lot of bullet marks, but... I'll admit, I expected at least the small one to fall apart."

"Hmm." Armsmaster makes his way over to the end of the firing range, scanning the armor with something or other. "...I see something is filling the gaps. And the outer layer is reweaving itself... This is fascinating. How does it work?"

You pull out the manual. "I would explain, but! To prove that this is not tinkertech..." You hand it over to Miss Militia. "I think your colleague should attempt it."

Miss Militia gives you a flat look, but obligingly opens the manual. She reads out the proper parts and admits that it sounds "decently complicated, but it's nothing a trained mechanic couldn't grasp."

"There might need to be some more quality assurance tests," Armsmaster muses as he examines the rest of the armor. "However... in regards to whether this technology could be patented, I will defer to Dragon."

"Oh, it almost certainly can," Dragon agrees. "Do you happen to have the paperwork on you?"

"I do indeed," and you pull out the paperwork, "and I believe it's up to date."

"Hmm. Yes... it all seems to be in order. Armsmaster?"

Armsmaster walks over and signs the 'this definitely isn't Tinkertech, we checked' line. "It would take a week or two for this to go through, even if you filed it this afternoon," he warns. "But, as of this moment, you can consider this technology of yours patented under your name."

You give him a grateful nod. "Thank you very much Armsmaster. And you as well, Dragon. And of course Miss Militia," you add quickly, "I would be remiss if I failed to acknowledge her contribution--"

"You've certainly made an impact," Miss Militia states. "Both with this and... well, on the streets. There's been a lot of talk about you and your group."

"All good, I hope?"

Miss Militia's eyes crinkle. "As good as can be expected."

"Hmm." You tilt your head. "You know, I have been meaning to meet with all the local protectorate members at some point, to get on the same page as it were. Seeing as we are here already, would it be remiss to ask if we could introduce ourselves?"

"...it might be possible to arrange," Armsmaster allows. "Most of them haven't left for patrol yet. With that said..." He turns to Metis. "I understand you offered to analyze Kid Win's power in action?"

"I did, yes."

"If you wouldn't mind doing so for a while, I can arrange a formal meeting between Fable and the local Protectorate in the interim."

You gauge the rest of your team, who all seem interested, and nod. "I believe we would be most appreciative of the opportunity."

So it is a few minutes later that you and Metis are escorted to Kid Win's own lab space by Dragon. You're still not sure what to say to her about... herself, but she seems to be fine for the moment. You shake off your confusion as you enter Kid Win's personal laboratory, focusing on the now.

"Oh, uh--hi again." Kid Win waves as you enter. "You're... going to watch me tinker, huh?"

"Yep, that's what we're here for." Metis grins. "Should be interesting."

"Right. Um, okay... where should we start?"

"In my experience, tinkering is more of an art than a science," you offer. "Despite our efforts to catalog it, sometimes it is simply best to let the effort flow."

"Uh... okay..."

The two of you watch Kid Win do his thing, moving from shelf to workbench as he works on something. It starts out life as what appears to be a pistol, but as he continues to work you notice it's... not just that. There are elements in there that adjust range, output, suggesting it could do more than one thing... You look over the rest of his equipment, and you start to see something similar, if... oddly restricted.

"...Huh." Metis leans over to you. "Yeah, something's definitely up with him."

"Yes?"

"When you tinker, your library machines access a single file at a time before passing it on to the tinkering bits of your brain. Sometimes they'll access more than one file, but never more than one at once--it's 'here's a thing, do halvesies, we need another thing so let's look, do some more.' Like... running out to the store whenever you want a new part. You with me?"

"...sort of?"

She nods at Kid Win. "His library machine is different. It accessed multiple files, all at once, and then shoved them into the tinkering part. And the tinkering part is fitting them all together, and he's... having to actively resist using all the files, making stopgaps when he chooses to leave one out?"

"But why would he...?" You think a bit about what you know about the capes of Brockton Bay, and then groan. "Armsmaster. He's an efficiency tinker. Kid Win isn't, that's the problem, he's been taught habits that don't work for him."

"Well then, what is he good at?"

"I might have an idea." You clear your throat. "Kid Win? Might I ask you a question about your hoverboard?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure."

"Well, I've seen you using it at ground level and above the rooftops. How exactly do you do that?"

"Oh, well, those are two different modes. It's also got a turbo mode, but that's not exactly something I use often."

"Three modes." You nod. "And you've used a... lightning gun before?"

"My spark pistol? Yeah, it's not that impressive," Kid Win grumbles.

"Oh? Are you certain? What does it do?"

"Well, there's the standard stunner mode, which tasers a guy. Then there's the wide-spread mode, which shoots a lot of sparks that can taser a crowd. And I guess there's the EMP option, you know, to stop gangsters from calling for backup."

"Three modes, again."

"Four, actually. It can become a melee plasma lance for cutting... through... things..."

You let the realization sink in slowly. Then you gesture toward the thing on his workbench. "Tell me what you want this to do."

"W...well, I was thinking, what if I had a gun that could transform from short range to long range? Or even medium range. And, well, I thought I could use multiple kinds of rounds--electric, non-lethal, maybe something like... but then I thought that would be too complicated to maintain and pass through the checks--"

"Abupbup!" You hold up your hand. "You are a Tinker, an artist of unknown technology. While you must confine yourself to the restrictions of reality out in Brockton Bay, here in your workshop you practice your art freely--even if you never mean for it to see the light of day."

"...Uh... sure, I... guess?" Kid Win looks back down at his work. "So... like... multiple rounds, multiple... functions. Multiple modes... multiple modes." Realization dawns. "That's it. That's it! I--it's plug and play, modular design! That's what I was missing, I'm a modular design tinker!"

"Mmm... I'd say more of a versatility tinker," you muse. "Almost the same, to be fair, but from what I can tell your devices are less meant to be taken apart and put together--although they certainly can be--and more meant, in their finished state, to be adjustable to the situation. I noticed that your hoverboard seems to be lacking certain control circuits here and here, for instance...?"

"Yeah, I had a plan for transitioning the lift force sideways so it could become a shield, but Armsmaster said--"

"Armsmaster," Dragon interjects, "is what we call a Focus Tinker. He works on improving one object until it does what it does with extreme efficiency. His methods work for him, but... I suspect they wouldn't work for you." She gives you a curious look. "That was a good catch. How did you spot it, though? I'd have to have taken apart the hoverboard to figure that out."

"One aspect of my powers that I don't advertise is that I can see how machines are put together at a glance," you explain. "Not necessarily how they do what they do, mind, but if you asked me to take out the central processing unit in some tinker's robot that I'd never seen before..."

You allow your helmet to gaze at the base of her neck for a moment.

"...well, I wouldn't do it without a very good reason," you finish. "As I've said, Tinkers are artists, and one simply does not destroy works of art."

"Oh. I... well. That's... that's good to know." Dragon quickly regains her professional poise. "You know, I'm capable of reverse engineering some tinkertech, but it takes time. If we worked together--"

"I would dearly love to collaborate, Dragon, at some point in the future. That said, I do have some things I need to do here in the Bay first." You nod to Kid Win. "It was quite a pleasure to see you again. Now, we have a team to rejoin, and you have a laboratory to reorganize."