I find an EMT and send them to the main medical tent with the message that I won't be coming back. I have no idea if this is anything close to the correct procedure (if there is such a thing for Endbringer attacks), but leveraging cape synergies is probably more productive than just assisting regular surgeons. Then I follow Dorian to another tent, this one with a pair of PRT troopers at the main entrance and a truck near the back. The troopers give us a nod as we pass between them, and I return it, taking a moment to really think about what they do. Regular people, wearing body armor rated to help them survive maybe a few gunshots at most and armed with rifles that don't do more than tickle half the threats they face. And once they're done fighting villainous capes, they come here to offer assistance against monsters that Alexandria has reason to fear. Plenty of parahumans don't show up to these things. It's not a sign of weakness: it shows that you have a healthy respect for your own life. Sure, the heroes shouldn't skip out on an Endbringer fight, but it's not mandatory they attend.
Endbringers are above and beyond the call of duty. And the PRT, the vanilla humans, are still here.
They're far braver than I am. So brave it makes me sick.
Then we're past them into the tent, where the scent of blood and meat is overwhelming. Dorian shudders for a moment but keeps moving, and I start breathing shallowly, trying to smell as little of it as possible. There's a man in a white suit who's so pale that he has to be a cape standing next to an industrial-grade inflatable pool, and when he notices our entrance he nods once to the both of us, a distinctly creepy smile plastered across his face. The smell tickles a memory, but I can't quite-
"Hey. Funny seeing you here," Amy- Isidis says, putting on a forced-looking smile that's a little too tight around the jaw as she waves at us from a plastic lawn chair in the middle of the pool. She's positively caked in gore, with small blood splatters on her face and red coating her from the neck down. Whatever costume she's wearing, it's going to be ruined by this. In fact, I can't quite see any fabric at-
I slam a pair of shutters closed over my eyes even as I turn away. "Why are you naked?" I ask, flexing my torn muscles because maybe screaming out in pain would be less mortifying. Beside me Dorian groans and the pale man laughs.
"Took me a while to get used to it too," Dorian mumbles. "Anyway, she's-"
"Going to explain this set up on her own," Isidis interrupts. "Now quit being a prude and get next to the pool." I reluctantly pull back my blinders and slowly step after Dorian, taking care to look in any direction other than Isidis's.
"Okay, you remember the pit where we worked on Triumph, right?" Isidis asks, shaking one arm and flinging droplets of blood to the ground. "Think of this as a bigger version of that. I'm naked because my power operates on touch. By exposing as much skin as possible and slipping and sliding all over someone while we're surrounded by processed dead people, I can fix big things way faster." There are still a few small puddles at the bottom of the pool. I think I can make out flaps of skin. "The problem is getting the necessary material. The boy here-"
"Dorian," he interrupts, drawing the gaze of the other two capes. "She called me Dorian," he says more quietly, pointing at me. I sigh internally. "It's my cape name now." Isidis rolls her eyes and Alabaster snorts.
"Why yes, name yourself after a fag's delusions of grandeur. I'm sure that doesn't have any unintended implications," Alabaster says sarcastically. I blink.
"You've read The Portrait?" I ask incredulously. Why would a Nazi read the works of one of England's more famous gay authors? Shouldn't they be focusing on Nietzsche and stuff?
"Dorian and Alabaster," Isidis says, voice louder and more commanding than either of ours, "are two Brutes that can regenerate fast enough to be useful, and while Alabaster here doesn't feel pain we can't just feed him into a woodchipper over and over again."
"Indeed," he says, adjusting his suit jacket. "My body is adept at taking harm, but not that adept, and while the two of us can certainly supply a sufficient volume of flesh, the issue lies with transforming our bodies into paste of an appropriate consistency. Most parahumans with powers capable of doing so are out there" — he points towards the entrance of the tent — "attempting to fight Leviathan."
"At any rate, we need a better way to turn them into material and I ran out of my normal mash after the first rash of casualties." Amy continues. I nod in understanding. When Brockton General began asking people to volunteer their corpses for her use, there was nearly a riot. Things have gotten better since then, but there's a reason Isidis can't just fix everyone who comes in to see her. "Anyway, you're here now," Isidis says, twisting her neck and letting loose a sickening series of pops. "I'm still running out of bone faster than anything else, so if you could feed the meal some calcium that'd be great."
"Where are the troopers?" Dorian asks quietly, looking around. Isidis winces and Alabaster turns to face the boy, smile still just as unsettling as when we first walked in.
"They refused to continue cutting me after you stepped out for your rest. They felt" — he waves his hand in the air dispassionately — "disturbed, even though I assured them that I myself do not feel harm." There's a bite in the words aimed at Dorian that makes me want to test how little pain he actually feels. Then he pulls out a distressingly large knife and twirls it in his palm. "I sent them for an axe with which we can take turns butchering one another, though if you have a better plan I'm more than open to it."
"Oh," Dorian says, deflating next to me. Damnit. This is exactly the sort of demotivating shit that I was trying to undo. Isidis shrugs and waves her hand dismissively at him.
"You're a kid. Chances are one of them is a parent or an older sibling. Hurting you would bring up all sorts of bad images. It's not your fault," she adds, cracking a small smile. It's fake though, and Alabaster just rolls his eyes, tugs up a sleeve, and slits his wrist. Blood spills out in small jets, joining the puddles at the bottom of the pool and slowly beginning to fill it. Despite the lingering smell there isn't enough material left in it to pack a gouge the size of a few fingers. I can only imagine how busy Isidis has been.
"While your attempt at levity is appreciated, it doesn't solve the problem," he says. His flesh flickers and the knife strikes down again, renewing the cut. "What about you, Miss Rose? Any ideas?" I shake my head and point my arm at the pool, away from Isidis.
"Nothing off the top of my head," I say, starting the rippling effect I used when I had to fill up Isidis's pool at the hospital and oh God that hurts too much stopstopstop! Argh, why does it hurt more now!?
"Are you alright?" Isidis asks. I shake my head and regain my bearings.
"I'm fine. Just... wasn't prepared," I answer. There are a pair of bone spikes stabbing into the ground, holding me up in a sort of slouch. I try to lift myself up and wince. Right. Shredded muscles. Isidis is leaning over the edge of the pool, one hand on my mask and the other waving in front of my eyes.
"Not prepared for what?" Isidis asks. Alabaster scoffs.
"Much like Dorian here," Alabaster says, mockingly stressing the other cape's name as he slashes his wrist again, "It appears that White Rose does not share my pain tolerance."
"Wait, so your nerves are still connected to your bones?" Isidis asks, looking at me incredulously. Behind my mask I grimace. Crap. The one person who might care.
"Not sure about that, but I do feel my bones. It's not a big deal, the bigger problem is that Leviathan hit me and it messed up my muscles. All I need to to do is hold still and-"
"Yes this is a big deal!" Isidis says, grabbing the sides of my head and dragging me around to face her. "Were you in pain when you were giving me strips of bone while you were volunteering? What about all the stuff in your shop? Did that hurt to make? How long have you been hurting yourself to use your power!?"
"Since day one," I hiss, getting my feet under me and pushing her arms away. "It's fine. I just need to get used to the muscle thing and-"
"You're walking around with torn muscles?" Isidis interrupts, looking me up and down incredulously as realization slowly dawns. "No. You're not using your muscles. You're just puppeting yourself with bone. You're making it worse." I grit my teeth and suppress a growl. She's just worried, and if I explain why it's not a problem we can get back to figuring out how to help people. Now shut up and listen.
"Yes, moving hurts, but I don't need to move to supply you with bone. Now if you could please step back so I can just-"
"Jesus fuck," Isidis says, bringing both of her hands to her face and groaning. "Just because you can stand something doesn't mean it's a good thing. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell someone?" she asks, spreading her arms wide. "Being in pain all the time is not good for you-"
"And what would you have done?" I snap back, clenching my fists and standing ramrod straight. I'm towering over her now, leaning forward and trying to convince this little wretch that I. Am. FINE. "How would you 'fix' this?"
"Painkillers!" she says. "Therapy! Fucking meditation! Seriously, you're basically cutting yourself every time you use your power! Do you think that isn't going to mess you up? I don't know enough about the long-term effects of that sort of stuff to actually say anything with absolute certainty, but it's not going to be fucking-"
"This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion," Alabaster interrupts, face smooth and placid, a sharp departure from his previous amusement. Both of us stop talking long enough to glare at the the worthless scum who would dare stick his nose in our business. His politely disinterested expression doesn't change as the knife flashes and more red spills from his arm. "White Rose, would you be able to enact a similar level of destruction on my own limb? If I were to tourniquet my arm I suspect that we could create enough biomass to keep this pool filled for as long as necessary." I think about it for a moment, then stomp on the ground and start extending bone. Two, no, four legs for stability. A cylinder, tilted down into the pool, filled with teeth and blades, wide enough to fit an entire torso, nevermind an arm. I don't know what a wood chipper actually looks like, but this should be good enough for now.
"Excellent," Alabaster says, shucking off his suit coat and rolling his sleeve all the way up to his shoulder. "Now, if someone would be so kind as to find a hose?" He looks meaningfully at Dorian, who's eyeing the contraption I've built with no small amount of fear.
"I'll... I'll do that," he says, stepping backwards then spinning around and practically sprinting out of the tent. I feel a hand on my shell and turn towards it. Isidis is glaring at me.
"When this is all over, we're going to talk, and you're going to tell me more," she says, her voice low and hard. I recognize the tone. It's the one she uses when she needs to boss around people who aren't listening to her, right before they get man-handled into medical restraints.
I don't like being on the receiving end of it.
"Fine," I say, wrenching my arm out of her grasp. "We'll talk later." I push down the sick feeling in my gut and start fiddling with the wood chipper, trying to pretend like there isn't a naked girl standing next to me with a mixture of hurt and worry on her face, like I'm not acting out of fear. She stands there for a moment longer before stepping back into the pool and plopping herself back down on the lawn chair to continue glaring at me.
I almost say something. Almost try to reassure her, try to justify and explain.
I don't have the words for it.
Instead I turn away and think about the problem. Isidis said she needed more bone in the meal. In order to avoid forcing her to search around in the soup for little flecks of calcium, I should probably provide some more. I start forming a tube below the main feed to shoot pellets out of before withdrawing it. No, it should be mixed into the main slush. Maybe detachable blades? Those could be a stabbing hazard for her though. Nubs then, ones that grind and tear. It'll hurt whoever's sticking their arm in there more but hey, Alabaster said he didn't feel pain. Also, fuck him. I warp the inside of the tube, making the tooth placement irregular and hollowing out the bases even as I start tweaking the internal structure to compensate for the lack of cutting power. Gears, maybe? I add toothed mashers to the end and give them an experimental crush. Yup, that stings, but not unreasonably so.
I keep changing the device as the silence in the tent becomes truly oppressive. At some point Alabaster switches to cutting off his fingers and starts humming to himself. He's actually pretty good at it; I can tell it's an actual piece and not just something off the cuff.
"Got the tourniquet," Dorian says, jogging back into the room with a loop of fabric and a buckle. "The nurse showed me how to use it so-"
"That won't be necessary," Alabaster says, snatching the thing from Dorian's hands and slipping his arm through it. "I know how to hurt myself."
"Applying a tourniquet isn't necessarily harmful," Isidis says, stretching her arms above her head. "It's primarily used to keep people from bleeding out." The dried blood on her skin cracks and flakes, and she absentmindedly starts rubbing it off, exposing her-
I cut off the thought and turn back to the wood chipper. Focus. I almost break a rib.
"It is harmful when I use it," Alabaster says flippantly. He tugs a few times on the buckle to check the tightness and nods. "White Rose, if you would be so kind?" he asks, gesturing to the wood chipper.
I take a deep breath, let it half out, and start shifting the teeth around. It's slow at first as I get each individual tooth extending and retracting in time to create the illusion of movement, then I speed them up once each protrusion is in motion. I wince at the brief flashes of pain that accompany the collision of the teeth as a rattling noise starts coming out of the cylinder.
"What's that sound?" Dorian asks, standing a good two arms lengths away from me.
"Bone shards," I answer absentmindedly. "Don't worry about it. Alabaster, you're up." Time to see if this works.
The pale man puts his arms into the the teeth are already snapping off in bits and pieces more bone more bone more bone! I grow blades and teeth to replaces the ones that snap as they get caught in the meat of Alabaster's arm even as I hear the wet tearing sound of flesh being cut. Dorian goes a little more pale as I feel bits of arm fall down the tube and splat into the pool. Okay, so this is a little more difficult than I thought it was going to be but-
"Can you get it smaller? This stuff is more 'cubed steak' than 'pink slime'," Isidis says. I turn to give her a flat look. She holds up what I think what used to be part of Alabaster's hand. "Also, can you stick your chest in there or something? This isn't going to be much use unless I'm only healing arms," she adds, looking between the two of us.
"No I cannot," Alabaster says as he examines the red, shredded stump of his left arm. A flicker, then it's back to normal. "I suspect he can though," Alabaster adds, looking towards Dorian as he shoves his arm back into the cylinder. I turn to stare at Dorian, head slightly cocked.
"What. . . is your power?" I ask. Alabaster's set up a rhythm of his own now. In, one second of shredding, out two three four. Like a metronome. It's oddly relaxing. Dorian fidgets in place, then sighs and pulls down the hood of his balaclava, mussing his dark hair with both hands as he groans.
"I don't know how to explain it. It's like... Okay. Imagine a soap bubble. If you coat a pair of scissors in soap you can put the blades through it without popping it, right? Same thing with me," he says, miming a chopping motion at his arm. "Goes right through. The bubble never pops, but, uh, I still feel the pain. Still splatter blood everywhere if I jump off the Chrysler Building."
"But can you regenerate your organs?" Isidis asks, leaning against the side of the pool as small flecks of gore spatter her leg. Dorian nods reluctantly, going tense for a moment then relaxing.
"If you could make another thing, I could get in there," he says quietly. I meet his eyes with a lump in my throat. Mincing Alabaster hurts. I don't want to make another one. I don't want to help this kid hurt himself. On the other hand, not shredding him would be hypocritical on a level that would make me have an aneurysm on principle alone. I helped him get up the nerve for this, now I need to help him follow through. Needs outweigh wants.
I almost laugh.
And since when have I gotten what I wanted?
"Give me a moment," I say, sticking out my other arm and forming another wood chipper. This time the feeding tray is wide enough to take a whole body, the cylinder is as tall as he is, and I make the blades a lot thicker. I form a pair of handles near the top, along with a ladder to allow him to get up to the entrance. I see him hesitate for a moment, locked in place while he contemplates the size of the thing, but it doesn't stop him from metaphorically girding his loins and moving towards it.
"Hey!" Isidis says and he freezes, turning towards her with wide eyes. She motions to his lower half. "Pants. Remove them. I don't want to be picking threads out of people once you're done with this." Despite myself I chuckle at the sudden blush that covers Dorian's face, and apparently Alabaster finds it amusing as well because I hear a full throated laugh over the sound of grinding meat.
"Don't worry, she does this to everybody," I say, turning politely away and forming shades over my lenses. "Tell me when you're ready." I start spinning the blades up to speed and try to think of something motivational to say. Then I give up and settle for something that I know works. "Some advice: think about who're you're trying to spite or what you want the most in life. Use those to handle it."
"Thanks." The words are muttered but not ungrateful. Good enough, I guess. There's a rustle of cloth on cloth, followed by the sound of flesh slapping against mud, and I feel the pressure on the rungs as he climbs to the entrance of the wood chipper. When I don't feel the sensation of flesh on bone, I drop the blinders from my eyes and look at him. He's naked save for the balaclava around the lower half of his face, and he's perched on the edge of the cylinder, gripping each handle as he stares into the whirlwind of blades. For a moment I think he's going to back out, to tell us to find someone else to feed the pool and settle with not being able to fix organs. Then he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and mutters something in a language I don't recognize. A prayer or a curse.
His eyes open and he slides into the blades.
Then the screaming starts.