A Propensity For Wrath Chapter Seven: Twilight Looming, a worm fanfic

Chapter Seven: Twilight Looming

Taylor stood in the shadows, not moving, as she watched the drug deal take place before her. Both the clearly Asian appearance of all of the men involved as well as the colors worn by the dealers easily told her that this was an ABB operation. Of course, calling it an operation probably gave those associated with it far too much credit.

No, Taylor was observing three scruffy young Asian men buying something from two other slightly less scruffy young Asian men. Should she stop them now or try to wait for bigger fish? As a slow burn began somewhere deep within her, Taylor was inclined to think of acting immediately.

Then the decision was taken away from her as an argument began to take place. One of the customers flung down whatever had been handed to him by the dealer and began shouting. Soon, all of the men were yelling. Taylor decided to stop this now before it turned to violence.

Walking out of the shadows, she was unnoticed at first. As a matter of fact, Taylor was less than fifty feet away from the argument and had already drawn her club before the first of the men looked her way.

In this case, it was one of the dealers whose eyes widened as he saw her. Taylor watched as he nudged his partner, who also looked her way. It was the partner who yelled something in a language that sounded like Chinese at her. Of course, that caused the other three to finally realize that someone was behind them and also turn in her direction.

By this time, Taylor was less than ten feet away. There was a familiar sensation of growing anger smoldering within her, as if a fire that had nearly gone down to the ashes was being stoked back up. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Taylor leaped forward, viciously swinging her club.

The tallest of the three drug buyers went down like a ton of bricks when she hit him, vomiting continuously, and seemingly unable to move, while his partners dodged back, trying vainly to avoid his spew and yelling curses in a foreign language. Taylor ignored them both to turn to the dealers, both of whom had drawn weapons, a foot long knife and a short pistol, respectively.

Even though Taylor believed she was bulletproof, she decided to attack the gunman next. Rather than swinging the club, she instead jabbed it right at the man's face. Somehow, he dodged the attack, then fired directly at Taylor's chest.

There was no impact even though from less than five feet away it was almost impossible that the gunman had missed. There was also no sign of trepidation within Taylor at being shot at. Instead, it was as if someone had poured gasoline down her throat and then tossed in a match.

Absolute rage, so intense it literally caused a crimson sheen to Taylor's vision, ripped through her. It was filled her so full that she could literally not hold it within herself and had to scream at the top of her lungs to release some small part of it. Her own scream easily overpowered the curses of the others. It also froze the gunman in place, fear stealing over his features, for Taylor to smash him in the face with her club. Then there was a sense of danger from behind her and she spun, lashing out with the bat, striking the knife wielder alongside the head.

She ignored the collapsing figures who were already busy regurgitating their last two meals all over the street and turned to the remaining two buyers. One had already taken to his heels, while the other dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands up in a placating gesture. Of course, that just left his ribs exposed to the savage blow Taylor sent sweeping out in horizontal arc. He collapsed suitably, his vomiting as intense of the others, almost sobbing from the effect.

Breathing heavily, Taylor stared around her. To her growing satisfaction, all of her enemies were vanquished, collapsed onto their faces or sides and helplessly still heaving even though nothing was coming out any longer from two of the four figures.

What should she do now, Taylor wondered? More than anything, she wanted to hit them all again, to punish the men for what they'd done. Instead, she took a deep breath, thankful that she couldn't smell the stench of all of that regurgitated food, and marched over to one of the dealers, the one who'd had a gun.

His gun lay at the man's side, forgotten in his misery. The man himself was helplessly dry heaving, occasional moans emanating from him. Taylor quickly checked his pockets for more of the drugs, finding more than two dozen twists of a white powder, another dozen tiny vials of white rocks, and three glass pipes.

After checking the man's associate, Taylor found about $300 in mostly five's and ten's, with a scattering of ones. She also did the same thing to the two young men who'd been trying to buy drugs, netting about $80 between the two of them.

Now, what was she going to do with the drugs, Taylor wondered? A slow smile stole over her features as an idea occurred to her. She walked a dozen yards away from the men and pulling one of her Wrath grenades from her belt, setting it on the ground. She then piled the drugs around it. Then with a thought, Taylor touched the link she had to her item and activated it.

The resulting blast blew the drugs and paraphernalia to bits, with nothing but floating powder left of them. Taylor picked up her grenade and attached it back at her waist. Then she walked back to the men, who were still dry heaving, even ten minutes later.

Putting away her club, Taylor drew her sword. She slammed the sword's blade edgewise onto the metal revolver on the ground several times, not satisfied until it lay in multiple pieces. As with everything Taylor had cut with it so far, there was no resistance from the gun.

Staring down the man who'd shot her, Taylor drew back her foot and kicked him savagely in the stomach. Then she did it twice more as he sobbed piteously. Her tone as cold as ice, Taylor asked, ″Do I have your attention?″ The man turned terrified eyes upwards, nodding frantically. ″Good. I am Carnelian. You need to understand me. You don't sell here anymore. If I see you here again, I will really hurt you. Get me?″

To punctuate her words, Taylor kicked the man two more times. The she did the same thing to each of the others, although she did limit herself to just one apiece for the men who were only buying. Point made, she walked away.

The money Taylor had already decided she would drop into the donations lock box of the nearest homeless shelter on the way home. After all, it wasn't as if she needed it.

~~~~~~Wrath~~~~~~

Dennis moved along at a walk, while above him, Chris flew along on his hoverboard. He was moderately bored as it had been an incredibly slow night so far. Not that he was complaining. After all, slow nights meant little or no paperwork afterward, while excitement typically meant stacks of forms to be filled out as compensation. Personally, he preferred his patrols uneventful and paperfree.

Over his earbud, Dennis heard Chris say, ″Clock, I see something up ahead. Want me to check it out?″

″No way, Kid. We'll check it out together.″

Chris almost whined, but finally muttered, ″Fine.″

Dennis grinned, completely unrepentant. After all, there was no way he was filling out paperwork as to why he sent his less experienced patrol partner off to investigate some situation alone. He even knew the name of the form he'd have had to fill out if he'd done it. Form 7441-A1A Protocol Disregard was simply the devil.

From somewhere up ahead, he heard what sounded like a gunshot. The situation had suddenly changed and Dennis broke into a sprint. Stumbling over a bottle on the ground, he burst out of the mouth of the alley he'd been running through and into a slightly more open area, Chris hovering just above him.

At the sight that greeted him, Dennis' mouth dropped open. Okay, he thought, this is so not good.

There were at least eight bodies lying randomly throughout the small intersection of alleys. They wore the colors and haircuts that screamed Empire 88. But that wasn't what caught Dennis' eye. Rather, it was the figure, dressed all in gray, that squatted next to an older African-American man, who was clearly very badly injured.

Of course Dennis recognized her. Carnelian, the new vigilante cape. Before their patrol, Carlos had gone over both a description as well as a contact protocol for anyone who encountered her. Not that Dennis thought it covered what was going on right in front of him. In a low voice, he said, ″Kid Win, check those bodies. Make sure they're alive.″

Dennis didn't wait for Chris to acknowledge the order, instead speaking into his communicator, ″Clock to Control, come in Vista.″

Missy's voice came clearly in over his earpiece, ″Vista here. What can I do for you, Clockblocker?″ The youngest Ward got more than her fair share of monitor duty even though she was one of the more experienced members of their group. Dennis was fairly sure that Chris would have happily exchanged his patrol for Missy's monitor duty, as he actually enjoyed manning the console. Still, they all had to take their turns. Even Sophia, Dennis thought in amusement.

Dennis spoke quickly, ″I need to report an incident involving Empire 88. I have several injured gang members, all normals, no Parahumans. I'm going to need ambulances for nine, I repeat, nine casualties. I am also about to make contact with Carnelian. Send back up as soon as possible.″

Vista's voice was crisp with an undertone of suppressed excitement as she replied, ″Understood, Clockblocker. Back up incoming. Ambulances incoming. I am apprising the Duty Officer of the encounter. Vista out.″

Call done, Dennis exchanged a glance with Chris, who'd finished checking the bodies. The thumbs up gave him a tremendous sense of relief. At least no one was dead. Still, the Empire 88 goons were clearly badly injured and he didn't know how that was going to play out. Piggy and Halbeard were definitely going to be displeased.

Glancing Chris' way a second time, Dennis nearly had a heart attack. He could see the other's hand hovering just over the butt of his laser pistol, as if he were about to draw it and fire. Dennis gave his patrol partner a rather pointed glance causing him to quickly move his hand to a more innocuous position at his side.

Best to get this over with, Dennis decided. Walking forward, he stopped about two yards away from the costumed vigilante. The brief he'd received definitely didn't cover just how impressive Carnelian appeared in person.

Even kneeling, Carnelian looked to be tall and slim, covered head to toe in a costume that seemed made from of some slick gray material. Dennis had no idea what it was comprised of, but it looked to be of extremely high quality. He noted that while the material looked smooth, it didn't appear that shiny, having more of a flat sheen. The odd thing was that it didn't look that thick, not enough to stop bullets. Maybe whoever had shot at her had missed? Although what Dennis could see of Carnelian's chest seemed to indicate it might be more heavily armored there, while her helm appeared to be a solid piece of unknown durability.

The well thought out look of her costume was only heightened by the sheer monotonality of her appearance, as her shield, the hilt of her sword, and everything else about her was the exact same shade of dark gray. It a lot of ways, it made sense. Dennis could see how easily Carnelian's form would be lost in any kind of shadows or low light conditions.

Still, the most impressive thing about the costume wasn't actually its somewhat boring color. Instead it was the sheer quality of the costume. Most new Parahumans who went out usually had rather crude costumes, at least at first. Carnelian's costume not only fitted her like a glove, but did so as seamlessly as Dennis' own Protectorate issued outfit. And his couldn't even come close to matching how the vigilante's costume seemed to encapsulate her gear, as the hilt of both her sword and the handle of what appeared to be some kind of club partially jutted out of the vigilante's back, the rest sheathed within. Other unknown items adorned her figure as well.

Still, as impressive as she appeared, Dennis needed to talk to her and find out exactly what had happened to lead to the violent confrontation whose aftermath he was witness to. However, just as he was about to speak, Dennis saw something rather unexpected.

At some point while Dennis was studying her, Carnelian had removed her right glove to expose a slim hand adorned with a rather large number of rings, at least two per finger, that matched the rest of her costume in color. That same hand was now cupping the face of the injured man, whose breathing was slow and labored. From his own first aid training, he knew the man was likely in shock and appeared badly hurt, blood staining his clothing. From the hitch that he detected in the man's breathing, Dennis didn't think the poor guy was long for this world.

At that point, Carnelian did... something. Then, as if a film were being run in fast motion, the man's injuries visibly healed. His breathing which had been so labored a moment before, smoothed out, easing as if by magic. A moment later, his eyes opened and he started at the figure touching his face. ″Who are you? What happened?″

Carnelian spoke in a soothing tone, her voice sounding younger than Dennis expected, ″My name is Carnelian. Sir, what do you remember what happened to you?″

The silver-haired man glanced around him, lingering on Dennis and Chris, before moving onto one of the bodies on the ground. He swallowed. ″I-I got jumped by some skinheads. Boys, really. They had knocked me down and were kicking me. Then I guess I passed out from the beating. I think I was pretty hurt.″

Tentatively, the man touched his own face, first encountering Carnelian's hand, then his own skin as she slowly released her grasp. He looked amazed. ″I... I'm not hurt. Did... did you heal me, young lady?″

Dennis would have almost said that Carnelian looked shy as her helmet dipped momentarily. ″Yes, sir, I did. You were badly hurt. I was able to help you.″

The man slowly nodded. ″And you put down those boys that did this to me? You didn't kill them, did you?″

There was an edge to Carnelian's voice as she said, ″I put them down, but they're not dead. I think some of them probably wish they were. But the worse they have is broken bones. Still, sir, they won't bother you again any time soon.″

The man tentatively came to his feet as Carnelian took a couple of steps back to give him room. He held out a hand to the vigilante who carefully shook it. He introduced himself with a smile, ″My name is Edward Jones, Carnelian. Thank you very much for coming to my rescue. And for healing me. Why, I feel ten years younger!″

Dennis could hear the smile in Carnelian's voice as she said, ″You're welcome, Mr Jones.″

Edward Jones nodded towards Dennis and Chris. ″Of course, I recognize the others with you. I take it then that you're a new Ward?″

If Carnelian had been quiet and soothing before, she certainly wasn't now. Any trace of the smile was gone from her voice as she spoke heatedly, ″No, Mr Jones, I'm not a Ward. I would appreciate if you didn't call me one again.″

Carnelian's voice sounded so angry that Dennis couldn't stop his reflexive reach out. Whether it was to freeze the other or just provide a soothing touch, he wasn't sure. What Dennis didn't expect was for Carnelian to spin away from him, shield held out defensively, as if she'd seen him moving. In a tone so full of rage that Mr Jones actually took a backwards step away from her, she demanded, ″What the hell do you think you're doing?″

Oh shit, Dennis thought. He was utterly appalled by his own instinctive reaction. So much for a peaceful first contact.

~~~~~~Wrath~~~~~~

Taylor stared at the bluish orange Ward, her eyes focused upon his hand, which was slowly dropping back toward his side. So that was why her danger sense had told her to move. As a crimson haze colored her vision, she repeated, her voice rising to almost a shout, ″What the hell do you think you're doing? Were you trying to freeze me? To attack me?″

Clockblocker, easily recognized by his white uniform covered with gray clocks, some of whose hands spun randomly, seemed completely nonplussed by her question. Finally, he said, ″You seem a little too upset for such an innocuous comment. I was just trying to defuse the situation.″

Taylor demanded, ″How? By taking me prisoner? Stay the hell away from me.″ With that, she drew her sword and pointed it at the other teenager in warning. Ward or not, she would deal with him as she'd done with these others if he pushed her.

By Clockblocker's side, another Ward, Kid Win, recognizable by his red and gold armor, that oddly nearly matched his aura, rose slowly into the air on some kind of board. Taylor noted the way his hand was reaching for the pistol at his side and closing her eyes, waited for just a second. When her danger sense reacted, Taylor stepped to the side, allowing the red bolt to pass to her left, away from Mr Jones. Opening her eyes, she sheathed her sword and pulled a Regurgitation grenade from her belt. Without hesitation, she threw it as hard as she could right at the armored flying Ward.

Kid Win clearly saw the gray sphere incoming. He immediately dodged to the side so that it would miss him, holstering his laser pistol as he did so. Taylor's lips curved into an angry smile as she allowed it to travel past him by approximately five feet, far enough that Mr Jones would be well out of the effect's range, and then detonated it. The results were rather dramatic.

Enveloped in the bilious yellow sphere, both Wards immediately collapsed, Kid Win falling off his hoverboard to crash unceremoniously onto the ground in a metallic clatter. Now supine, they both began vomiting copiously, utterly incapable of moving. Walking around their miserable forms, Taylor picked up her Regurgitation grenade from where it had fallen to the ground and put it back on her belt. That was when she noticed that Clockblocker seemed to be choking.

Taylor realized that the Ward's faceless uniform wasn't allowing his vomit to clear out, choking the teenager. If it had some simple form of release, Clockblocker appeared too sick and miserable to use it.

She knelt down next to the writhing teen. Pulling her short blade, she carefully cut the region across Clockblocker's mouth. The glowing crimson blade sliced through the material with no resistance. Immediately, vomit poured past the teen's face mask as he hacked and coughed to clear his airway.

Taylor felt her own stomach heave slightly at the sight, glad that she couldn't smell it. She grimaced as she realized that some of the teen's vomit had fallen on her foot and leg. Fortunately, a moment later, it slid off the gray surface, as if friction had no hold upon it.

In the distance, Taylor could hear sirens drawing near. She turned to Mr Jones, who was looking a bit pale and queasy himself, a color that was not complimentary to the bilious yellow and pale olives of his aura. In a voice that surprised her with its coldness, Taylor said, ″Wait here for the authorities, Mr Jones. You should be safe enough. I'm leaving.″

Sounding shocky and frightened, the man quietly asked, ″You attacked them. Why?″

Bitterness surged within Taylor. A bitterness that filled every inflection of her voice as she stated, ″Don't believe all of the Protectorate's hype. That they're all heroes. They've done nothing to clean up this city. To oppose the gangs that exist as parasites, feeding off of our lifeblood. Remember the words of Edmund Burke, Mr Jones. 'All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.' Doing nothing describes the Protectorate to a T. As for these particular 'heroes,' they were about to attack me a second time. I merely stopped them. They'll suffer no ill effects other than feeling nauseous for a while. Goodbye, Mr Jones.″

Edward Jones looked poleaxed by her words. She stalked away, pausing only to chop up the gun that one of the Empire thugs had tried to shoot her with. A whisper followed Taylor into the night, ″Goodnight, Carnelian, and God Bless.″

~~~~~~Wrath~~~~~~

Dennis sat at the table in the Wards' debriefing room, his stomach still queasy even hours later. Next to him, Chris looked as green as he felt. Across from him, the figures of Armsmaster and Miss Militia sat, along with a PRT stenotype operator who appeared ready to record the interview.

Armsmaster began the interview. ″Let the record show that both Clockblocker and Kid Win have been cleared by Medical to be present for this interview in accordance to all rules and regulation as set forth by Youth Guard. Clockblocker, Kid Win, we've all read your written reports. What I would like to establish during this meeting is both the level of culpability you bear for what happened and to evaluate Carnelian's powers and mindset. Clockblocker, begin with why you chose to approach a potentially hostile Parahuman so closely.″

Dennis wasn't sure whether it was the lingering effects of whatever Carnelian had done to him or if the sinking feeling in his gut was a result of the ass chewing he was about to receive. Oh well, he decided, soonest started, soonest done. In a respectful tone completely at odds with his usually smart-alecky attitude, Dennis began speaking, ″I approached Carnelian because she appeared to be rendering aid to an injured civilian. So I...″

~~~~~~Wrath~~~~~~

Emily tapped her pen impatiently as she listened to Armsmaster's briefing. Finally, she interrupted with, ″So what you're saying is that both of your Wards made attempts to use their powers on Carnelian, only to be foiled somehow, whereupon she reacted with some kind of area of effect weapon that took them both down, making them violently ill. Does that just about sum things up?″

Armsmaster was silent as Miss Militia answered, ″That's a rather simplistic answer, but yes, basically. However, neither Clockblocker nor Kid Win carried out an actual attack upon Carnelian. Both were foiled prior to doing so. So the question needs to be asked. Just how did she know either was going to attack her?″

Emily knew the splitting headache she was feeling wasn't going away any time soon. ″You're saying she's a Thinker, some kind of Precog.″

″It appears likely. Plus the area effect weapon she used activated after it had already missed Kid Win, seemingly triggered only when the civilian Carnelian was trying to keep safe was out of range. That argues for possibly a shaker ability. Plus she healed Edward Jones, making it even more likely she's some kind of Striker.″

Armsmaster broke in at this point. ″Or Carnelian's a Tinker and remotely detonated it. The healing could also be a device. Clockblocker observed her wearing a lot of different rings.″

Miss Militia shook her head. ″We don't even know what, if anything, any of the items did. Neither of the boys had any physiological reason to have suddenly become so ill. No inner ear imbalance. Nothing. They were just suddenly vomiting so badly they couldn't even move. We can say it triggered, but all they saw was it miss Kid Win, then they were on the ground, unable to contest Carnelian further. Mr Jones was also healed with no visible effect.″

Armsmaster nodded. ″Additionally, there are the guns at the scene of both attacks.″

Emily went ahead and asked, ″What about them?″

″They were sliced into pieces.″

That was a little strange. Emily raised a brow. ″And?″

″The same thing was done to Clockblocker's mask. He was apparently choking on his own regurgitant, which Carnelian noticed. She used a knife she carried to cut through the face mask of his costume. It-″

Emily felt a sudden sense of urgency as she interrupted, ″Did she attempt to compromise his civilian identity?″

Armsmaster shook his head. ″No. However, neither the guns nor the mask's material showed any of the signs of being cut. Nothing frayed nor any irregular edges, for example. Even under extreme magnification, there are no signs of irregularities in the cut edges. The cut edges actually show to be far cleaner than the machined parts of the guns.″

Emily was growing impatient. Why does he always do this, she wondered? Aloud, she asked, ″Can you just cut to the chase, Armsmaster?″

″Director Piggot, Carnelian's knife possesses as close to a monomolecular edge as I've ever encountered. While it is likely not a true example, it is very close. She could very likely cut through most materials with it.″

Suddenly interested, Emily asked, ″Would it damage an Endbringer?″

Armsmaster seemed a bit less certain as he said, ″Maybe. It would at least cut through the upper layers of its skin, although I am not certain how deeply it would penetrate. Size and the strength of the person wielding it might be an issue. Certainly Carnelian has show no examples of being Brute.″

″I think the word you're looking for is yet.″

Emily and Armsmaster both turned towards Miss Militia at hearing her speak. Emily asked, ″Can you explain that point, please?″

Miss Militia spread her fingers. ″I mean, the last time we spoke, we thought we had Carnelian pegged at Striker 3, Tinker 3. Now, in light of the fact that she's show traits of being a Precog, has a distance area effect attack, can heal, and is using a blade that is very dangerous, we need to change and possibly raise those classifications.″

Armsmaster nodded. ″Yes, I'd up her Tinker ability to at least a 4. And add Thinker 3 to it as well as Shaker 3.″

Emily decisively shook her head. ″Let's not get carried away, people. I agree with raising Carnelian's Striker rating to 4, and to adding the Thinker 3 as well, but not the Shaker rating. No, for now, Carnelian's a Striker or Tinker 4, and Thinker 3.″

Both of her Parahuman companions appeared doubtful, but the ratings satisfied Emily. She added, ″This incident involving Empire 88 makes it even more urgent that we contact Carnelian first. Kaiser and his gang are going to be looking for whoever it was that attacked their people. Let's not come in second place here. Plus, there's the added issue of her attacking two Wards. I don't want this situation to escalate. Approach her with caution. Understood?″

″Yes, Director.″

″Understood, Director Piggot.″

With that, Emily got up and headed for her office. At least the chair in there was comfortable, making it a little easier on her back. Maybe it would even help with her headache. Maybe.

~~~~~~Wrath~~~~~~

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Topic: New Hero Codename Carnelian
In: Boards ► Places ► America ►Brockton Bay ►Independents