Wingspan 1.7

My cell was quite large. That was nice of the PRT, I guess. They were surprisingly courteous in all of this considering they were arresting me and all. I had told them that I was photosensitive and they held a parasol over me. And they put me into a cell that could accommodate my large wingspan. If I unfolded them completely they just slightly curled forward on either side of the room.

They'd still arrested me though. None of the heroes had spoke to me and it was the uniformed officers who read me my rights and stuff. At least I was smart enough to have the first word out of my mouth be "lawyer."

I was still waiting for him to arrive. It'd been a few hours and no one had come to see me. Guess I just wasn't important enough.

Actually, that's probably true.

There was a lot of time to think in here. It was just me, a bed and a shower/bathroom device. Compared to literally every other villain in the city, I was probably one of the most tame. I killed one person. That was the extent of the crimes I committed by myself. Everything else I did was part of Faultline's crew.

Well, three now, I guess. But it's not like the PRT knows about Squealer or Skidmark.

Regardless, I didn't come close to the sort of things that ABB or the Empire did to people.

"Ugh."

So why am I the one locked in here, while Bakuda and Lung roam free? Hell, what I did to Squealer and Skidmark last night probably made this city safer than the PRT has in months. Two villains are off the streets.

A yellow light turned on and a soft chime echoed. It meant somebody was going to speak to me.

"Miss Hebert, your lawyer is here. You'll be escorted to an interrogation room. Please don't attempt to resist."

I folded my wings to not look intimidating, sat on the cot and put my hands in my lap. They kept telling me not to resist but not once have I ever tried.

The problem was the sunlight. Escaping would be neigh impossible until night fell.

The officer came in and placed me back in cuffs to walk me to the room. I tried to be courteous but he showed me no emotion.

If there's anyone not to get mad at it's the uniforms, I thought. They have no power to make decisions. And they chose, even without superpowers, to join an organization to bring peace. I bet they're the most earnestly moral people in this building.

I was brought to a small room that had a single table in it with two chairs. The officer undid my handcuffs and I sat at the other end of the table. It would be foolish to think this room was any less secure than my cell.

My lawyer was already here. "Miss Hebert, I presume?" He asked.

"That's me." I shook his hand.

"I'm Kevin Conway, an old lawyer friend of Alan's. You're friends with his daughter?"

It took me a few moments to connect the names. I didn't have any friends, but once upon a time Emma was a friend, and her dad's name was Alan. He's a lawyer, isn't he? Now that I thought about it I never told dad who it was that bullied me.

So I guess that connection is still alive. Not telling him actually ended up being beneficial. Go figure.

"I was," I said.

"Right." He frowned. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Let's just get into it," I said sitting down across the table from him.

"Of course." He opened a folder. "They should have read the charges to you, but to recap, you've been charged with voluntary manslaughter, kidnapping, false imprisonment and reckless endangerment."

"If I may ask," I said, "why are you helping me?"

"I'm a lawyer."

I almost rolled my eyes. "No, I mean you're a friend of Alan Barnes, right? I'm charged with killing his daughter. Why would he ever want to help me?"

Conway pointed to his folder. "The evidence against you here is pitiful. Alan wants to know what happened to his daughter, not send her friend to prison as a scapegoat. There's trace evidence that puts you in the same alleyway as her." Conway smiled. "And that's it. That's all the evidence the PRT has."

That should have been good news. But it was wasn't anything else? Not, say, the testimony of Shadow Stalker who definitely saw me fleeing the scene and maybe the actual murder itself?

I looked up to see Conway staring at me.

"I'm glad," I said quickly. "I just didn't... I don't know."

Did he really think I didn't do this? I definitely did do this.

"The missing body also caused a lot of questions, but there's no evidence you did that either. While perhaps a storyteller would say you killed her and stole the body, no jury would ever be convinced by such weak evidence."

The thought was sinister. But I still had it. If I go to trial and get off, double jeopardy will let me get away with Emma's murder.

"The problem is the other stuff," Conway said. "The false imprisonment and reckless endangerment charge. Enough smooth talking can get that second one lowered or dropped entirely, but the false imprisonment. The whole Dinah Alcott fiasco is going to cause you trouble."

No surprise there. That was done quite openly. "What's the difference between false imprisonment and kidnapping?"

"It's not important, just think of them both as kidnapping." Conway adjusted the glasses on his nose. "Before I talk strategy, is there anything else you might have done that could get brought up? Even if you think no one could ever find out."

I thought a moment. "Underage drinking. Underage gambling." Murder in the first degree of two supervillains. "I think that's it."

Conway jotted a few things down on a legal pad. "Alright then. The best way to go about this is to say you were pressured into the kidnapping by Faultline's crew and play up how you haven't been violent. At all. This is excellent, actually, because it more easily lets us shut down the manslaughter charge. We'll play you up as someone who was at the wrong place at the wrong time and joined Faultline's crew because you didn't know what else to do."

That wasn't too far off from the truth, actually.

"Our prospects are good," he said. "I'm surprised they brought you in with an offense this weak. I'm looking forward to my numbers going up."

He gave me a thumbs up at that. I smiled meekly.

"Do you have any questions?" He asked.

"You didn't even ask if I did it or not."

"It doesn't matter for your defense, all that matters is what the state can prove you did." Conway folded his arms in his lap. "If you really did do something terrible, and you really need to confess, I'll listen. Better you tell it to me, who will keep my mouth shut, than to someone in the PRT. I can't stress the importance of not confessing to the PRT right now."

"I'm not an idiot."

"Good. So, is there something you want to tell me?"

"No."

"Alright then." Conway stood up and started organizing his things. "The PRT isn't in the habit of letting parahumans out on bail, but I'm sure your father is doing his best to visit you. I don't think they'll make it too difficult for him but I'll keep myself in the loop just in case. The best thing you can do right now is be a model prisoner."

"I will. Thank you Mr. Conway."

He smiled and asked to leave the room. An officer escorted him away before another one escorted me back to my cell.

It was a productive conversation. I'll probably still get jail time, maybe even years of it. But it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

Maybe...

Maybe it will be okay.

If I don't get sent away for life it won't be that bad. Hell, maybe I could join the Wards or something. For real. Live with dad again.

No.

No, that's just a dream.

The lawyer got me thinking positively, but he doesn't know the full story. Emma isn't dead, she's very much alive. I killed Squealer and Skidmark. There's a high likelihood that my ability is infectious and could become a major threat if left unchecked. Maybe even class S.

Thinking I can be a hero is stupid.

Fuck, I can't even go to prison. If I go to prison then in a month I might start having those symptoms again. And I might end up killing a fellow prisoner and master them. And then they'll see just what of a monster I am and it's off to the Birdcage.

Conway had a good plan, but it's only good because he doesn't know the truth.

I leaned sideways onto my cot. "Fuck," I said aloud.

Just leave me alone. All I want to do is live with my dad in our house. How can that possibly be too much to ask for?

But instead they kept me locked up, checking in on me every hour. It was the most boring thing I'd ever had to sit through. There was literally nothing to do except get lost in my own head.

I fell asleep at some point but I had no concept of time. There were no windows nor clocks. Nothing but a small cot and a shower I couldn't use. It wasn't until halfway through the next day that something finally broke the monotony.

That yellow light again blinked with its little chime. Six seconds later an image appeared on a screen embedded into the wall. I recognized the girl it displayed.

"Hello, I'm Panacea." She said.

"I know," I replied. "I'm Taylor."

"Nice to meet you, Taylor. I was asked to perform a medical checkup on you. I've not been able to cure case fifty-threes like yourself but I can still use my power to help."

"I'm fine."

Panacea nodded. "I'm sure, but you're still entitled to medical care while imprisoned."

"No thank you." The last thing I needed was Panacea discovering everything about my power and telling the heroes. It's the exact thing I've been trying to avoid. In fact, as a general rule I need to stay as far away from Panacea as possible.

"Very well then." Panacea looked entirely unsurprised at my decision. But before she left someone else came on the screen. It was Armsmaster.

"Miss Hebert, we really must insist you get checked."

My lawyer had told me to be a model prisoner, but this was something I cannot allow. Panacea's ability, if the public was correct, let her fully understand the medical condition of anyone she touched.

Would another doctor be able to tell if I let them examine me? Doubtful, but it would still be a risk.

Maybe it's worth it.

"I'll agree to a physical," I said. "But not from Panacea. No offense, but I don't like you." That wasn't true. I had nothing against Panacea, but it might offer me some credibility. She didn't seem off-put in the slightest. "No tests or needles," I followed up with.

Armsmaster sighed. "Fine. We'd also like to do a psych evaluation."

"Only if my lawyer allows it," I said. "In writing."

He sighed again. "That will have to do."

"When can I see my dad?"

The only response I got was the screen shutting off. That didn't bode well.

It wasn't until the next day that a doctor got around to seeing me. I guess they expected me to agree to Panacea and didn't have an alternate lined up. But the physical was entirely uneventful, albeit humorous. The doctor took my blood pressure, which was fifty over twenty.

Then she took my heart rhythm, which was zero.

She was quite frustrated for the remainder of the tests and I'm fairly certain she was able to draw no conclusions whatsoever except that I shouldn't be alive.

After the exam it was back to my cell.

I didn't know if it would be possible to escape from here. It's probably not worth trying until after I'm sentenced. The Birdcage wasn't on the table, so I would only get sent to some average prison I could easily bend the bars of and walk away.

It would be a lot easier than escaping the heavily fortified anti-parahuman defenses the PRT building had in place. Which left me nothing to do but wait. Wait, and wait, and wait.

A few days later I was still waiting. There was enough space in the cell to do some jumping jacks and exercise my body a bit, but other than exercise there wasn't anything to do. It wasn't painful or uncomfortable. Just really really boring.

If I had something to distract myself with it wouldn't be nearly as bad.

The yellow light again.

"Miss Hebert, the psychologist is here to see you."

"Okay."

"We must insist you shower beforehand. You haven't used it once."

"It's too powerful," I said.

The guard did not sound pleased. "Make do. If you don't shower we'll have to make you shower."

Before I could protest or explain the screen shut off. Great. Admittedly I'm sure I smelled pretty bad, but I couldn't tell. I looked at the interface. It was simple enough. A single button turned it on and another one turned it off.

I took a deep breath and pushed the on button while standing off to the side. Water jetted out of the pipes down onto the floor. My entire body tensed and I immediately pushed the off button. I just couldn't do it. My hands and legs were shaking and I didn't even get wet.

This is so stupid. I don't understand it. Sitting water is perfectly fine. I can sit in the bath and not be harmed at all. What is so special about moving water that terrifies me?

The red light on the door flickered and a minute later the door slid open. Standing there were two PRT guards in uniform.

"I told you to shower," said one of the guards.

"I can't." I crossed my arms. "I'm afraid of running water."

"Stop being difficult."

"I'm not—I just can't shower, okay?"

The guard didn't care for my protests and grabbed me by the arm. He wasn't nearly strong enough to move me so I grabbed the post of the cot. Since it was nailed to the ground it was solid enough for me to hold onto.

"Stop resisting." The guard tried and failed to drag me away.

"I told you I don't want to shower," I shouted, tightening my grip on the cot.

The other guard took the butt of his rifle and smashed it against my hand holding onto the post. It hurt, but I kept my grip firm. A few more smashes with no success and I was really tempted to beat the crap out of both of them. I was obviously a lot stronger than them.

Just bear it, Taylor, I told myself. Just bear through the bullies, you've done it before. Wait and they'll go away.

"What's going on here?" Armsmaster asked. I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway of the cell.

"She refuses to shower, sir."

He looked at them, then at me. With a sigh he stepped towards us and grabbed the same post I did with one of his gloved hands. He was wearing some sort of power armor. With a single gesture he ripped the cot out of the floor and threw it into the center of the room, me flying with it.

In a quick gesture the other guard hit the on button of the shower, and water poured from the ceiling.

I screamed. I screamed as loud as I could.

A thousand knives stabbed into my back. I curled into the fetal position as my entire body burned. It hurt. It hurt. My entire body was on fire, the water pierced my skin and churned my organs. Spears stabbed through my eyes, I was drowning and suffocating.

"Make it stop make it stop!"

I shouted, screamed, cried, flailed.

It hurt.

It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt please make it stop please make it stop—

All of my senses were overtaken. I couldn't see anything but white, I couldn't hear anything but the rush of a whirlpool. A waterfall. I couldn't control my body. I shook. I tried to hold myself, get a grip, but I couldn't. I couldn't even think. Thoughts left my head.

I just knew it hurt.

It hurt it hurt it hurt

—and it stopped. My entire body was shaking and anything that biting Skidmark did for me had been undone in a single moment. My throat hurt. I was tired. I couldn't move.

And I was crying. There were people shouting but I couldn't process what was happening. There was talking. Arguing. I don't really know. I think more people showed up, but I couldn't register any of it properly.

I was afraid. Just afraid. There wasn't anything in particular. It wasn't logical. I was just afraid, that's all it was.

But it crippled me. Faultline was right. Leviathan doesn't have to kill me. I'll die if I ever set foot in the same city as him.

It must have been hours before I came to my senses in any reasonable capacity. By then I was locked back in my cell with no one else inside.

I guess I missed my psychologist appointment.

It was about half an hour later that the yellow light popped on again. I glanced up at the screen as a woman I didn't recognize appeared.

"Excuse me, Miss Hebert. Are you feeling well?"

"I've... I've been better," I said softly. My throat was dry. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry for what happened. My name is Jessica Yamada, a psychologist specializing in parahuman psychiatry. Do you mind if I call you Taylor?"

"No."

"Then Taylor, would you mind if I came in and we had a chat?"

I shook my head and a few minutes later the red light came on and the door opened. Jessica walked in slowly and stood in the corner. Armsmaster accompanied her and looked like he wanted to stay, but Jessica shooed him off. The door slid down and locked us both in.

There wasn't anywhere to sit. The cot was broken in half on the floor and that was the extent of the accommodations. The floor was still a little wet, but it didn't bother Jessica as she sat down. I sat across from her.

"Do you mind telling me what happened?"

I looked down at the floor. "I'm afraid of running water."

"Aquaphobia isn't that uncommon, but if you don't mind, it looked to be a little bit more than just irrational fear."

"It hurt," I said. "When I got wet, it really hurt. A lot. Probably something with this stupid body of mine."

"I see." Jessica wasn't taking any notes. Her hands were in her lap. "I was told that you were a considerate prisoner and didn't cause any problems. Am I right in saying this is the first time you've lost your composure?"

"I guess."

"How long have you been afraid of water?"

"Ever since I got my powers, I think." I said. "It's complicated. Maybe around April, if you want an actual time, though it may have slowly getting worse since January."

"Has it always presented this aggressively?"

I shook my head. "I've just taken baths since then. This is the first time I took a shower like that."

Yamada didn't ask me any other questions. I expected her to try to take a history or something, but instead she tried to calm me down. She asked me questions about how I was feeling, what I wanted, how being in custody was effecting me. Stuff like that.

It was nice.