Interlude: Taylor
4/13/2011, 4:30 PM EDT
Probably a Thinker of some kind. And what would the 'official' classification be for a drying power anyway? A Breaker? A shaker? neither of them really fit. Whatever the true nature of his powers, he'd somehow figured out, Taylor knew, that she had powers.
If he is a precog, she reasoned then he might very well have seen that she would beat Lung, and hadn't actually risked her life by telling her, at that moment, to go out and fight. Or maybe he hadn't, but didn't care. Or, Taylor realizes, the question might not have occurred to him. She knows there was nothing preventing people with mental disabilities from getting powers, but she hadn't actually thought about the implications. Who knew what kind of craziness he could set into motion?
Of course, she wasn't planning on reporting him to the Protectorate anytime soon. The less she had to do with them, the better.
It was stupid to assume they'd be different from Winslow's administration. They had certain people in their circle, and obviously they didn't care if one of them likes to run around torturing people. She can't believe she ever thought otherwise.
As if on cue, Taylor sees him in the park, gazing fascinatedly at... some ants? She waves, and he makes no gesture of recognition. But after her second attempt at a greeting, he whips around, fixating on her.
"Uh," she begins, slightly shaken, "You remember me, right? I'm Taylor Hebert." He stares, apparently attentive but completely unresponsive. It's... really fucking weird, but not any more so than their first meeting. "What- um, what do you call yourself?" She curses herself silently for managing to be awkward even in this socially maladroit company. His reply is quick, his voice not monotone but off in some unplaceable way.
"Zion."
4/13/2011, 5:00 PM EDT
Taylor sees Tattletale slink off out of the corner of her eye, as she and 'Zion' head off. He must be able to find his way back home, she assumes, or his parent or guardian wouldn't have let him wander around the park by himself, right?
As she thinks it, she realizes that of course they might. Taylor wasn't sure what was worse; a person driven to a debilitating condition because of their power, or an already disabled person treated such that they would have a trigger event...
4/14/2011, 12:00 PM EDT
The information Taylor gets from him is disturbing.
The Undersiders wanted to recruit her, and are confident that they will succeed. Given that they have a precog - or something like it- in the form of Lisa, it might not be misplaced. She remembers her anger towards the Wards, the Protectorate... really, just everything. Could they have gotten to her, she wonders, in her moment of weakness?
She knows precogs could interfere with each other; and wonders if Zion had thrown a wrench in their plans for her. He has certainly helped her in that respect, giving a rundown of their powers(although sometimes in terms she can barely understand), their connections (and, she notes if Coil is really behind them, he's much more dangerous than she thought), and most importantly, their next big heist.
Taylor's swarm is already in the bank. If she can beat Lung, taking on Coil and his henchmen... well it wouldn't be easy, but she had no intention of going down the alternative path.
4/15/2011, 11:00 AM EDT
Heated air blasts past me, concentrated with dust, ash, and other particulates. I am not in my golden guise, however, and so I manipulate it discreetly, causing the effects, which would otherwise terminate nearby humans to veer away harmlessly, thus keeping my cover intact.
A shard is ultimately responsible for this, as well as the other explosions which have occurred throughout the city. It's owner, one Bakuda, is familiar to me, as I was asked by Taylor describe her powers, at one point. I did not investigate it at the time, but I begin to wonder if there is a connection between these events. I must use my power to do so, as whatever chain of logic was governing her inquires is still incomprehensible to me, in spite of my increasing acclimation with humanity in general.
Admittedly, this familiarity has been limited to only two individuals. Besides Taylor, the other refers to herself as 'Lisa' or 'Tattletale.' She has cornered me several times now, asking questions for a certain length of time. These interrogations usually end when I lose interest, or she begins to bring her head into contact with various objects, usually her hands or a nearby surface.
Her own shard, I sense, is nearby, hiding in a place which will not be targeted. I move to her location. She yelps as she sees me, my arrival having not been detected by her shard.
"Goddamn it," she exclaims. "I'm still getting used to that." She looks me over, appraisingly. "So your power told you this was a safe spot, too?"
"No," I reply.
She stares. "You mean it's not safe here?"
"No."
"... Then, it is safe here?"
"Yes."
She pauses again. "But that wasn't why you came here?"
"Yes."
"Do you... care about getting hit by one of those bombs?"
"No."
"... Why not?"
I pause. Questions starting with that one word often give me trouble. This one, I felt, might be comprehensible enough to answer without my power. Eventually, I say, "They cannot harm me."
She begins what will become a flurry of questions. None of them, I can see, will decrease my lifespan in the long run, and so I answer them all, with each reply rendering Tattletale more confused than the last.
4/16/2011, 9:43 PM IST
I float through the hallway underneath the massive settlement. The collection of energy would be sufficient to severely damage me in my human state, to impede me even now. There are few futures, however, which will see me make direct contact with it. The energy has been collected by the agency of one shardbearer: Phir Se. His companions have alerted him to my presence; but none of them are certain how to respond.
The conversation proceeds in the Punjabi language, which I understand like all others, as long as an unplaceable power of mine is in effect.
"It won't work," I say. Phir Se does not react to this, though many of the others have become shocked merely by my act of speech.
"Have you come to stop me?" Phir Se asks.
"No," I reply. My mission was my perenial do-goodery, and having made that statement, my power has dubbed my task fulfilled. The energy is stronger than ever as I leave.
4/17/2011, 3:26 PM EDT
"You shouldn't be talking to her," Taylor says.
I do not respond. Neither an inquiry nor a command, after all, was made.
"Why did you tell her anything, anyway?" she asks.
Again, I deliberate. "She asked."
Taylor sighs. "Do you - actually- have to do everything anyone asks?"
"No."
"But then... why?"
I wrack my memories. "I was told to be polite."
She looks at me oddly. "What? By who?"
"A British vagrant."
She walks away eventually, muttering under her breath.
5/1/2011, 3:26 PM EDT
Another task assigned to me is to fight these Endbringers. I am surprised, however, to find one in this location. It has never emerged before, like the others. It was not accounted for by my power, which registered only twenty of the creatures. Yet, it is clearly similar in composition to the others, and present in a location rife with civilians.
Was my power always so prone to making errors?
I grasp the Endbringer, its containment vessel shattering before my golden hand. I hurl it with just enough force to break through the building's interior walls. The creature is unresponsive, but my orders are clear; I punch and kick at it, throwing it throughout the laboratory. As I work, I dimly perceive an approaching shardbearer; my power gives his name as 'Blasto.' After a few hours, the building is thoroughly destroyed, a smoldering mess. I judge the pseudo-endbringer sufficiently fought, and I throw it on the ground.
Blasto stares, his mouth opening and closing without emitting sound. A coalition of humans, some with shards and some without, descend upon the scene, looking from me, to the villain, to his various creations, most notably the Endbringer, which causes them some shock.
I leave as the crowd falls upon Blasto. Another Endbringer, I sense, will soon be taking up my time.
Interlude: Morrigan
5/1/2011, 4:26 PM EDT
The foam doesn't block all of her powers. She can still see the past and the future; her biokinesis is also working.
Nearly every future shows her imminent death. Morrigan works in overdrive, causing just enough damage to make her captors weary, without drawing enough attention to her efforts. If they notice she is working on them, it's game over, she knows. For her and the hundreds of thousands of people nearby.
Acceptable losses, they'd say later. And the world, having been told an accurate version of those events, would agree. Scion, who'd welcomed her into the world with a four-hour beating, seemed like a piker compared with these people.
What did she ever do to them?
Yeah, OK, there's someone who looks like her, and she's done some unforgivable shit. And the resemblance may be more than skin deep. Not that Morrigan had too good an idea how she works, either. Just that she'd noticed someone else looking, when she was.
Up to ten hours in the past, anywhere in the world. At any number of futures, but no more than five hours ahead. Those are her limits. But whenever she looks, Morrigan can sense her. The Simurgh is aware of her, of everything, as far as Morrigan can see. Some of the knowledge Morrigan was born with prepares her for this. Some of that... was most likely from her.
Morrigan wriggle out of the foam. Putting all of her power towards seeing the future, she flees the the facility.