Boot 1-1

I love fanfiction, honest I do. I love to see other's creative changes to a story. Who wouldn't, it's a chance to experience someone else's work. I had even gotten a kick out of the self insert genre. So what I would love for someone to tell me is why of all the places I had woken up it was in a cold dark alley. Last I had checked, I had fallen asleep after binging through an entire movie marathon. I knew it involved alcohol, hence my early retirement.

I knew my friends were bastards. But seriously, this is not the kind of prank that is acceptable. What's worse, I distinctly remember being taller and needing glasses. If this was one of their poorly thought out pranks, then I would be sorely displeased with them.

I heard laughter in the distance and people coming down the same alley I was in. Eagerly I hurried towards the sound. My now oversized shirt and pants barely clinging to my now diminutive frame. I would later note that yes, this was a poor decision and yes, I was still in denial about my current situation. Not only because of my state of dress, but because it was fucking cold. Something clearly obvious due to it being in the middle of winter and all. But again, I point to my lack of rational thinking for this foolishness on my part.

I would also remark that anyone who could act rational in this situation is a god damned dirty liar. Or most definitely a sociopath. One who would fit right in the crazy fuckers club.

So when I had come across some people who all looked like the Proud boys, darker edgier cousins. With there pro Nazi tattoos and paraphernalia. I thought I could at least have a somewhat civil conversation. It was 2021 after all the year of healing the divide. Biden had won, and there was nothing they could do about it. So I would try to act like the adults here in pointedly ignore their racist comments.

"Excuse me, but by chance could I borrow a phone. I seem to have lost mine and my friends have just played the nastiest of pranks on me." I asked.

It was only once the tallest of the bunch stepped into the light. Followed by a man and woman flanking him did I notice the masks.

One a mask in the form of a metal wolf, one a stylized full face tiger mask. And the last was the woman who wore what looked like a metal cage. It barely did the job of hiding her face. They looked kinda like ghetto Halloween rejects, if I was honest.

"Well, boys, it looks like we found ourselves a Fuckin sand rat on Empire turf," The big man jeered.

"Hey Hookwolf, weren't we looking for something for the rookie to do?"

As I took a step back. I did not like the way they were looking at me. Not one bit, not at all. Worse yet, there was something familiar about them, something niggling at the back of my mind.

"Veeder, out front and center." Hookwolf commanded. "It's time you proved your loyalty to the empire." He took a bat from one of the other men.

"Don't forget to have some fun. And become a man before you make it hurt."

'Empire, Hookwolf, Veeder?' Don't I know those names from somewhere? I thought.

Slowly they were surrounding me. And clearly this was the wrong place to be. So I turned and rabbited as fast as I could. And I would have probably made it too. Despite my short legs had it not been for whatever the hell it was that clipped me. All I knew was the mind melting agony that was my back being flayed.

"Would have made it quick once our boy here had his fun." Hookwolf sighed in frustration. As if he was doing me a favor here. "But really girl, it's your own fault for wandering in Empire 88 territory at night by yourself in Brockton bay. You filthy sand nigger," he put one of his massive boots on my back and pressed down hard. He pressed down so hard I was doubtful I could barely breathe, let alone run.

Wait what, the hell did he say Brockton Bay for? Better question, what the actual double fuck did he mean, girl?

"The fuck you doing, rook. You're just going to stand there or are you gonna man up and get this show on the road." The man who could only be Stormtiger roared. "The main man Hook even got her on her back for you."

That was right when Hookwolf kicked me as hard as he could because it sent me skipping down the length of the alley for a few feet and I felt something give in my side as I slid to roll on my back.

"R-Right boss." Greg nodded quickly.

"Rook here, take this, it'll help." Hookwolf said, slapping a knife into his hands. "Remember now it's either this or you go back to the pits. Now earn your keep."

The boy absolutely stiffened at that cruel remark, hurriedly making his way over to my crumpled form.

Putting everything about the revelations that I had, so helpfully discovered mere moments ago to the side for the moment. I channeled everything I had into flight.

I weakly struggled to my feet. It was a hard thing with my back looking like a cheese grater had been used to carve bloody ribbons from my hide. And the pain I felt with each gasping breath I took that only seemed to get harder and harder to take.

This… was definitely not a good sign.

I looked around for anywhere to go as the boy slowly approached, bat in one hand and the knife tucked into the back of his pants.

I was at the end of a dead-end alley with no side streets or even the ever helpful fire escape. Even were there a convenient escape, I doubted I could escape this not in my current condition. So fight it was then. If I was going to go down, then it would be kicking and screaming. I determined as I slowly backed my way into a corner.

Among all the self-defence tips I had gained in my life chief among them was there was no such thing as a fair fight. With that in mind, the second rule was go for the soft bits. The eyes are ever so nice and squishy, the nose the bigger the crunchier, the nether's or as I called them at one point the nards oh so poppable, and the ears ever so tearable even to a ten-year-old. And then there were the harder targets, the fingers, I think the saying went you have ten fingers, well that just means I have ten ways to make you cry like a bitch.

I noticed that he had stopped well out of reach and was pacing back-and-forth muttering, "not a bitch, not a pussy, not gonna go back, not the pits." he looked to me even from here I could tell his pupils were blown wide. "It's the only way." then he bum rushed me, the bat angled to strike me in my already broken ribs.

Fucking coward.

Instinctively, I put my forearm in the way of his swing. Mistakes were made. As my arm broke, snapped in two like so much tissue paper. I suppressed the pain. I had no time for it, anyway. Not if I wanted to live.

I had managed to get him in kicking distance. And I would like to Say I went straight for his balls. My knee struck home, and he folded right on top of me. His superior weight kept me pinned. Even with my good arm grasping at his balls in a death grip.

He felt none of it, in fact. It only seemed to drive him further. As he rubbed himself against me… h-he was hard… 'EWW, EWW, EWW…' he had the nerve to kiss me. I bit him for that…

The shock on his face as blood streamed onto my grinning visage showed me. He in fact felt that one. I took several blows to the face and my already broken ribs for it. 'Totally worth it.' To see His face morphed into a rictus of rage at my defiance, in fact He spent his rage bouncing my head off the pavement. Once… twice… thrice. Until I was seeing stars. He had taken advantage of it to undo his belt. I could not, would not make this easy for him as he worked his pants down to expose himself. As I kicked, screamed, clawed at his face with my one good arm even scoring a few good blows despite his drug enhanced state…

That was when he tired of my resistance and choked me. I struggled to search for anything, anyone who would help. Clawing at his face and arms and even breaking a pinkie. Lot of good that did me when he was jacked on what seemed like enough drugs to kill Skidmark. For how hard I struggled.

That was when I saw it: a shadowy figure on a rooftop, just watching. Why wouldn't they help? That was also when it hit me as I blacked out… this- this was Brockton Bay home of Shadow Stalker. Fucking Voyeur and coward extraordinaire. She would never call this in, nor would she help with the capes involved.

I came too moments later, my shirt torn away to make an improvised gag and cordage to bind me with, Sans my pants, my legs spread as wide as possible, and his fingers- his fingers… were inside me…

Oh god, he was rough, aggressive and it really, really hurt. And still he kept at it. He was muttering to himself, "come on, come on, not a bitch, I-I'am not a fag, not a pussy." he was stroking himself in a vain attempt to get hard. For once my efforts and luck ad payed off. Someone had forgotten to inform him that some drugs and impotence go hand in hand.

I let out an inaudible hiss of dismay, my efforts renewed as I kicked him square in the same hand he had touched himself with. I heard that satisfying crunch of bone and a whimper. It seemed I had gotten a two for one there. Maybe even a threefer.

He let out a roar of rage. I felt a searing pain. Like getting branded or worse… "eh?"

I had chanced a glance down to see the gleaming steel of the bowie knife Hookwolf had given him sticking out of my belly. I couldn't believe it, the fucker had actually stabbed me.

Then he pulled it out again. And just kept stabbing me repeatedly over and over he just would not stop.

I struggled with all my might, squealing and screaming as loud as I could. My hands bound as they were behind my back. There was not much I could do. And eventually I was too weak to do even that…

My vision as good as it was; now had faded to mottled gray. My breaths came in short pants now. I- I was going to die… on

some level I knew that was certain.

Hookwolf put his hand on the boy's back. "That's enough, kid. She's done now." he pushed Greg back to the crowd. "Tiger, you and the boys head back."

As the crowd of Nazis dispersed, only Cricket remained.

"You fought hard, LIttle Bird. And regardless of your race, I gotta respect that. So I'll stay with you till the end." he told me. Looked me dead in the eyes too.

He took out a cigarette, lit it and took a long drag.

I stared at him defiantly to the end. To show him I was still here, even with nearly thirty stab wounds, my back flayed of the flesh there, a broken arm and ribs, my right eye socket all but crushed, jaw broken. Violated on an emotional and physical level. They failed in their one task. They failed to break me. That if I died, then I died unbroken. Even as my sight left me, then smell, and finally hearing. As my breaths lessened one by one until I was still.

Hookwolf let out a sigh. "Stupid kid." he muttered. As he lifted the corpse that had once been a pretty girl. There was no need to be gentle now. She was dead, and he had seen many dead most by his own hand. He found an empty dumpster in another alley about a block over and tossed her in like refuse. And piled in some garbage on top of her for good measure.

"Come on, Crick, I need a beer." he told his silent observer.

]|[

[connecting to archive]

W-what was that? I wondered, I was pretty sure I had just bled out.

[attempting self repair]

[error insufficient power]

What the hell was going on?

[prioritise vital functions]

"Oi, mysterious voice in my head what the fuck is going on?" I mentally shouted.

[beginning restoration of vital functions]

I felt a surge of power flow through me. And with it, I drew breath once more.

My situation was still not much better. Then before I was still crippled, bound and gagged, and still stabbed a lot like a lot, a lot, buried alive. And that was the most important part: I was alive.

Even if it was getting hard to breathe once more. And this would mark what I would come to realize was the second time I died. My cause of death asphyxiation. It would not be the last time either.

It was not this strange world that I found myself in that broke me. Nor was it my vicious assault, molestation, or even my very near rape. It was not even my death, my first I mean. Not even the fact that I was thrown out like so much trash. I had not expected them to treat my corpse any better than they did me when I was alive. I expected far worse, in fact. Waking up in a dumpster was unpleasant, yes. But not unexpected.

The thing that broke me was the isolation. Dying repeatedly alone. I lost track of how many times I died in what became my personal hell. Alone, cold, cramped, and trapped in darkness.

My power informed me of all the things I could do. Yet as of now, I lacked the power to do the very basic thing I wanted most of all… to escape. Because all of my power was directed into the restoration of my being. And so I spent days? Weeks? In that hell.

]|[

Vicky AKA Glory girl loved this feeling of her power surging through her veins. Even better was that the snow made it easier to track the empire skinhead she was chasing down. He and his friends had been rather careless tonight. Attacking a black woman on her way home. And while New wave was on patrol, too.

It was fun while it lasted. But now it was time for this chase to end. Flying down low right into the alley he was running into. She hooked one hand on the lone dumpster in the alley. And gave it a firm shove at him, a firm shove for her. Which meant the dumpster was sent careening at him. Where it bounced off a wall, one wheel got caught in a divot in the road. Spilling its contents all over the man.

If this was not a total accident, then one would have thought that the flying brick known as Glory girl had a thinker power. For this was not the intent.

"Gah, what the- ahhhhh," Vicky snorted in amusement when she heard his shocked surprise, then his scream of terror. As he scrambled back in fear. Covered in filth, but otherwise fine.

"What, you can't handle a bit of rubbish? I would have thought you're kind would be used to it by now, being Nazi scum and all." she joked. Floating over to him.

Her next words died in her throat at what she saw. Lying amid the trash was a nude bound girl, her face covered by a curtain of her matted locks. Once the color of spun gold, now stained crimson with blood.

She dropped to the ground in her shock. Never had Vicky thought that she would be grateful for those classes on securing a Crime scene. Classes that drilled into her the exact procedure on what to do.

Immediately she took out her phone and took photos of what the scene looked like or she would have had the dead girl not glowed a bright blinding white.

]|[

[restoration complete]

This was the.. UGG I don't even know now how many times I have died. But something was different now. Even without opening my eyes, I could feel it in the fresh breezy air. Has someone found me?

I opened my eyes to the dark of an alley. And to the sight of a Nazi in front of me. All my instincts told me was RUN, to get away as fast as I could. Something I failed at with my legs bound as well. I only managed to wiggle my way partially out of the dumpster.

In my manic state, I did not notice the girl floating just off the ground, nor what she said. I simply reared back in fear, lashing out with all I had when she touched me.

I only calmed down once she backed off, pulling the man away as well. I was still bound, so I sought safety back in the dumpster, wiggling my way back inside. And into a corner, my back smearing blood all over the icy surface.

The blonde who I would later come to find out was in fact Glory Girl had taken out her phone and dialed 911.

(This is 911, what is your emergency?)

"Yes, this is Glory Girl of New Wave and I have a severely injured Parahuman Female here, It looks like she was attacked."

(Is she still breathing?)

"Yes."

(do you know her approximate age?)

"I think she might be somewhere around 11 to 14."

(I am triangulating your location now… I see you're at the corner of Gloucester and Walsh is that correct?)

"Yes, that's correct."

(EMS and a PRT detail is on its way please remain on the scene and stand by.)

"Hey are you still with me? I just called 911 and EMS are on the way." she softly stated, as she tried to approach me.

As rabid as I was, ready to lash out at anything, she was pretty brave. Ether that or pretty stupid. At least the Nazi gangbanger was long gone by now. The coward had run off in a hurry once Glory Girl was distracted dealing with me. Lowering my anxiety levels by a lot.

She floated next to me, not caring of the grime that coated the surface of my current hovel. "Hey… is it ok for me to touch you?" she softly asked. "I'd like to get those ropes off you."

Slowly, hesitantly, I nodded my approval. I doubted I could really stop her if I wanted at this point. Given the severity of my injuries. It was a wonder I had not passed out from blood loss, I still couldn't talk with my jaw broken, my arm was still broken, and even if my stab wounds were not fatal any more. They were still very serious.

I shimmied around so that she could free my hands. And I heard her suck in a breath when she saw my back.

Still she Rallied her nerves and using a knife from her pack she cut through the remains of my shirt that was used to tie my hands. Careful of the giant purple bruise that was my left arm.

"You must be cold in there, right?" She was sure to make eye contact, making sure her hands were visible to me at all times. As she undid the clasps that held her cape, "Here, take my cape."

Wordlessly I took it, wrapping it around myself. While she undid the bindings around my legs.

We sat like that for a while until we heard the sounds of sirens in the distance.

The first to drive was Armsmaster. Riding in on his custom motorcycle. "Glory Girl," he greeted. Dismounting from his bike in one quick stride. Walking over to us.

"Armsmaster."

"Where is the Parahuman," he asked.

An arriving PRT van that disgorged a fully armed team soon followed him.

"She is right in here," Glory girl said, pointing to the tipped over dumpster.

He looked at the bin in question yeah there was no way he was fitting in there with his armor. Engaging the plasma cutter on his halberd, he made quick work in cutting away the sides and top of the bin.

"Hey, not to sound rude, but where are the EMT's at Armsmaster?" Vicky asked.

"Standard protocol, when involving a parahuman, is to have a member of the Protectorate identify the parahuman in question. And make sure that the area is safe for emergency services."

He knelt down into the squalor to check for a pulse. His frown grew when he found none.

"So are you going to call them in?"

Armsmaster shook his head in the negative. A pit forming in his stomach, "There is-" before he could even finish getting out words that tasted like ash on his tongue, there was a bright flash of light. And he spun back around to face the origin of the flash. His halberd shifting and firing a dart at it.

[restoration of vital functions complete]

Ah, I must have died… again. I felt a sharp stabbing sensation. I quickly felt weaker than before. Sluggish and light-headed. It was a struggle to even open my eyes. But I could not believe what I saw... Sticking out of my chest was a rather large dart. 'What the literal fuck…' that was my last thought as everything went black.

[error, foreign substance detected]

[insufficient power to purge]

When I next awoke, I was in a hospital. My wounds had been patched up and my broken arm had been set and bandaged. In my right hand was a call button. I promptly pressed it.

Within about five minutes three doctors, someone from CPS, and a rather sus PRT investigator with an immaculately trimmed beard entered the room.

"My name is Dr. Lenard Samson head of psychiatry here at the Vikare memorial hospital and this is my colleagues Dr. Stephen Strange head of neuro, and head of general surgery Dr. Jane Foster." the doctor in the lead said to me as he introduced his colleagues.

He himself was a rather tall man of 6'6, well built with short brown hair and brown eyes. Dr. Strange was a man of average height, with black hair that had rather distinguishing streaks of white on the sides, and his eyes were a striking shade of gray. And finally Jane was a woman of average height with blue eyes and brown hair cropped into a pixie cut.

I was kinda impressed with three department heads for little old me.

"Now I know you can't speak right now we had to wire your jaw shut. This is Barbra Morse from child protective services. She will be your representative. And this is investigator Collin Wallis with the PRT. and he would like to have you do an interview to find out what happened to you."

"And there he is, Armsmaster in the flesh," I thought as I nodded my assent.

"Before we leave you for your interview. I have a few questions for you." Dr. Strange asked. "Do you know where you are?"

With the ever so helpful dry erase board left on the tray next to the bed, I wrote my answer much to my displeasure. "Brockton Bay."

"That's good, do you know what day it is?"

I shook my head in the negative.

"It is currently January tenth," he informed me, "you were brought in on the ninth."

So I was too late to really do anything like say prevent a certain incident involving a girl in a locker. I idly thought. Even if she was bad ass enough to bully a literal god into suicide.

The doctors left me with Armsmaster, and the lady from CPS.

"Before we begin, I would like to let you know we can stop at any time for any reason."

Again, I nodded.

"Before we begin can we get your name," he asked me.

I was about to write my given name. But I hesitated. Could I really use the name William Daniels. No, I decided. Not as I'm now. So instinctively I wrote, "Alexandra Miles," it- it just felt right. Like it was always mine.

"So can you tell me what happened, Ms. Miles,"

And so I did as best I could. Unfortunately, I was a lefty. And with my left arm disabled. It was slow going. I gave them every detail I could. From time to time he asked for clarification. I accommodated as best I could. Literally I couldn't forget I remembered everything down to the last detail. I had also informed him that the alley they found me in was not where the assault happened. I think he looked surprised because he took a step back.

"Your eyes are glowing," my case worker helpfully informed me. She took a compact from her purse and showed me that yes, my eyes were in fact glowing.

But that was not what was important because I could 'sense' the scant traces of my blood. Scattered all over the actual crime scene. It was kinda hard to describe it, but I simplified it for them. That I was seeing from 'a bird's-eye view' of the area where it occurred. That I was looking for traces of my DNA. And I could find traces of it, no matter where it was. I could find anything, really.

It was unfortunate that he informed me that evidence had to be collected through official channels and verified. So even if I drew him a map, it was still illegal without good old-fashioned police work.

Then came the part I hated most. "I know that this next part will be uncomfortable, but would you be willing to submit to a Sexual Assault Forensic Exam?" he asked me. "It would give us the best chance at catching the ones who did this to you."

I knew what he was asking for. It- it was a lot, but what he said was true. They could prove without a doubt that what happened, happened. And that it was against my will. With a shaky hand I wrote, "ok."

With the injuries I sustained, they deemed I was too weak to walk on my own. So a nurse helped me into a chair and had me wheeled into an examination room.

In the room was a large paper sheet. With the Sexual Assault Nurse Examiners help, I could stand on it while with the help of a nurse was able to take off the gown. And all the bandages. Little rivulets of blood still leaking from my wounds. It was only the first part of the exam.

My body was a patchwork of very tender cuts and bruises. My back looked like they had flayed me with a whip. Several long gashes interspersed with many, many smaller but no less severe cuts. They went from my right shoulder to my left hip. The examiners being the consummate professionals they were. They started there measuring, documenting, photographing, and then swabbing and debriding every cut. That I think hurt more than anything.

They photographed the many purpling bruises and ligature marks. Gently they went through my hair with a fine-toothed comb. They cleaned underneath my fingernails, took blood and skin samples. Took pictures of the severe bruising around my neck. Cleaned and swabbed the inside of my mouth.

After they helped me reapply the bandages. They took X-ray photos of me from head to toe. Then came the part of the exam I was dreading the most. As a man, I had never thought about it. I had tried not too, in fact. But now that I was a woman. This would make everything all too real. That I had been assaulted, that something trapped me in a body not my own, that I had foreknowledge that could save the world. That could stop Gold morning. Stop the foolish actions of Cauldron.

They helped me into a paper gown. With assistance, I was able to get onto the exam table.

I had to compartmentalize. Take things one step at a time. Just focus on getting through this.

I put one foot into a stirrup, then the other. I laid back, slipped my rear down to the edge of the table. And let my legs spread as far as they could. My good hand had a death grip on the cushions of the table.

"Are you ok, honey?" one of the examiners asked me.

'Ah,' I thought, 'one of them must have noticed my unease.' I hadn't even thought to get their names. I had been going through the motions of this so far in a mechanical haze. Glancing at her name tag, I learned her name was Dr. Ilhan Omar. And her partner was Dr. Kamala Harris. If it were not for this situation, I would snort in amusement. The sheer irony was comedy gold.

I shook my head no.

"Would you like to take a break? We've been at this for a good while." Dr. Omar asked.

If what they meant by a while was nearly a seven-hour exam then yea it's been a while. I shook my head no once more. I wanted to have this done now. If I stopped now, took that out… then I doubted that I ever would.

I shook my head no once more.

I tuned out what they said as they began the pelvic exam. I did as they recommended and tried not to tense up. And relaxed the muscles in my abdomen and between my legs. There was some pressure but no actual pain, just some slight discomfort.

My mind filled with designs and information, things I could build. Some small, while others would count as hand held weapons of mass destruction. I could almost cry. It was only now that I knew what kind of parahuman I was. I was a tinker. Possibly a tinker of fanfiction. I was in the zone. I was in a state of Zen, my mind a million miles away as they scraped, photographed and swabbed my insides.

By the time they were done, I ached to put pen to paper. I was eager to get back to my room. I eagerly waited for them to pack up everything so I could go back to my room.

Once I got to my room, I would spend the next few hours. Eagerly writing the code for the device I would construct. Even now, as I recovered, I could feel my power growing. And I knew without a doubt I would only get stronger.