Chapter 2

"Nervous?" Melanie asked.

I was pacing in the underground garage she kept private for the crew's use. The parking for the club was in a paved lot on the other side of the building. The presence of the crew at Palanquin was an open secret, but Melanie still worked to keep them separate as much as possible. It was more about plausible deniability than actual subterfuge.

How could it not be with Newter running his side business in the club's VIP section and Gregor going in and out of the club every day. I had yet to gather the courage to ask why he kept an apartment separate from the group. The rest of us stayed in the rooms above the dance floor, though I spent most of my time in this makeshift practice space.

"Yeah," I replied. "Hookwolf once told me most people had to psych themselves up for their first combat, or something like that. I'm trying to do that, but all I can imagine is what I've seen in the movies or a few fights on the streets. Somehow I don't think it will be the same."

"It won't," she confirmed. "While we often try to avoid actual combat through planning, subterfuge, or careful maneuvering, sometimes we have to throw down and get stuck in. This time there will be no avoiding a fight."

She propped herself on a crushed cube of metal that had once been a car. She had several delivered when I explained what my power was. I used them as material for forming steel shells. "I'm not happy that we are forced to fight next to people from the gangs. I don't like splitting up like this. But that's the job. I would much rather be with you on your first mission but keeping my eye on Tattletale is the priority. Since I don't want you anywhere near her, that means we'll be on separate teams this evening."

"Why are you so worried about her? I read she's some sort of thinker."

"That's not important at the moment, just stay away from her when you can and don't talk to her when you can't. She'll get in your head and fuck with you. That's what she does." Melanie shook her head, sending her ponytail flicking like its namesake. "Anyway, I'm putting you with Gregor. He's smart and experienced. More importantly you can both take care of yourselves and each other. You do realize that, physically, you are the strongest and toughest of us all?"

I ran mindlessly down the street. Some people saw me. They pointed and screamed. I ran further and faster. Some gang kids – Empire I think – started chasing me. I kept running. I must have been downtown because I ran by one of those big, mirrored buildings. It was well lit, and I caught sight of myself. Only it was not me.

It was something like a mannequin made of the same grey metal used in the lockers at Winslow. It even had the locker number tags, combination locks, and graffiti on its 'skin'.

It had no face.

I freaked. When I turned to keep running, I tripped and fell headfirst into the surface of the street. It was suddenly like I was swimming in a darkened pool. I could sense the surface above me and kicked towards it.

I popped out of the pavement in the middle of an intersection. I had part of the crosswalk stripes on my arms. I never saw the truck that slammed into my back, shattering me.

"I'm not that tough," I replied.

"In the right shell you're bullet and blade proof, mostly resistant to fire, and immune to Newter's poisons and most of Gregor's chemicals." They had tested her in several training sessions.

"But not your powers," I reminded her. It had been a painful lesson and prompted me to recall the second time I had been hit by a big vehicle.

Once again, I was running. It was getting lighter, and the streets were beginning to get crowded. I dived into the pavement and tried to stay below the surface rather than targeting a destination. Almost immediately I started to feel pressure pushing me up. I could not resist the force. Only a few seconds later I popped up in the middle of the street.

This time I managed to dodge the truck that was speeding towards me, only to get hit by a bus going the other direction. The bus was hurt almost as much as I was. The front window was shattered, and the metal grill was bent inwards where it had almost wrapped around me.

I was tough in this asphalt shell, but it was still a bus moving at speed. I was thrown half a block down the street then bounced into a parked van, crumpling its side. I had lost a leg and an arm, and it hurt like hell.

I dove into the street again. The pain began to fade. I had to push through it to select a semi-remote alley a couple of blocks north. When I surfaced, my new shell was uninjured, but I could still feel a shadow of the prior pain. I shoved some handy boxes over the hole in the pavement creating my new shell had caused and crawled inside a nearby industrial dumpster, burrowing in and pulling the trash to cover me completely.

Laying still seemed to ease the pain so I stayed there until it went away.

"No, you're not invulnerable. But none of us are," she reminded me. "The intel says that your target tonight should just have normal ABB members, no capes. Which means you'll mostly be facing knives, clubs, and guns. Maybe even some swords or hatchets, given the group culture. I'd suggest a steel shell rather than a concrete one as multiple attacks are less likely to wear it down. If Oni Lee or Lung should be there, I'd recommend switching to a stone or concrete shell to better withstand explosions and fire."

I nodded. That made sense. "It's funny," I said. "Oni Lee's power is probably closest to mine of anyone in the city."

Melanie thought about that for a second. "I might argue Hookwolf or Kaiser because of the metal, but I see what you mean."

"With Lee the difference is that he's faster with creating new clones, but his clones can only last for a few seconds, whereas my empty shells last forever."

"Yes, and his clones can still act after the prime body has teleported away. That's his biggest advantage. If you could move back into one of your old shells you could play a bit of his own game against him."

I enjoyed talking powers and tactics with Melanie. She was an expert, and I felt like I could learn a lot from her. "I can. That's how I practiced building this face."

I spent most of the next week huddling in an abandoned gas station/garage trying hard to make my shells more human looking. I was glad to discover I could recycle a shell, moving from one back into another. Each time I did I was able to make small changes to its shape. This let me practice without tearing up the building.

I needed a face, and not one that looked like Taylor Hebert.

She was gone. I knew that if anyone ever discovered my real identity, Dad would get harassed, arrested, kidnapped, or killed to force me to do things. How bad it would be depended on who was trying to control me. The PRT or Protectorate might only use legal methods, along with heavy social and political pressure. The Empire or another gang would go much further. I remembered they were the ones that had killed Fleur when she came out.

I briefly considered calling Dad or sending him a message letting him know I was still alive. But if I did, he would spend all his time and resources trying to find me. He would involve the police, and if it were discovered I was cape, the PRT. They were already hunting me. I did not want them involving Dad. It was better if he thought I was dead. He would grieve, but he would get over it and move on.

Like he did with Mom? A traitorous voice in the back of my head asked. I ignored it.

Eventually I had a shell I thought was as good as I was going to get. I had also practiced talking. Shaping my mouth to produce a voice that was close to human took some trial and error.

In the garage I had found some old boilersuits. After removing all trace of identification, I put it on with a beanie, hoody, scarf, and overcoat. I found some work boots at the dump and was fully covered. I was glad it was February. I did not look too overdressed. My shell was steel from an old truck frame abandoned behind the garage – rusty, but still strong. I was determined to run rather than dive if I needed to get away.

"Then creating a shell game, if you'll forgive the term, to confuse your enemies and effectively multiply your presence is something you'll need to practice." Melonie replied thoughtfully.

I thought about it for a minute. "I can see it, sort of. It is quicker to recycle a shell than creating a new one, unless I'm making changes."

"Keep it in mind for the future, but Oni Lee is not expected to be at your target this evening. Tonight, you'll need to concentrate on protecting Gregor while he creates foam to take the ABB targets down non-lethally. You'll need to be aware of pulling your strikes. With your strength you can kill easily. Avoid head and chest blows where you can. But remember your safety and your team's come before concern for the bad guys. Got it?" She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. Somehow, I could feel it despite being in a concrete shell.

"Got it," I replied.

She turned to go back into the building then hesitated and turned back to me. "Chrysalis?"

"Yes?" I asked.

"Never mind. Good luck tonight. If things go to hell, Gregor will get you out of there."

"Right, you too." I wondered if she had been about to revisit the argument we had been having about my contacting my father. If so, I am glad she changed her mind as I really did not need that stress right now.

I squared off against a very thin Japanese man a few inches taller than me. He held a knife in one hand and a katana in the other. A narrow smile crossed his face as he made his katana blade whip around himself at lightning speed.

The building that loomed over us was a tenement, like countless others in the Docks. Five or more apartments in an area so small it should only hold three at most. Ten or twelve families sharing a single bathroom and shower. That reality was ugly on its own, but word had been that the ABB was turning tenement buildings like this one into barracks for their soldiers. The Undersiders and Coil's intel claimed that the less than enthusiastic recruits, the ones with bombs implanted in their heads, were being gathered up here so they could be watched, trained, equipped, and deployed by the ABB's captains.

I was still not certain how the gang of teen thieves had managed to get the ABB after them so much that Bakuda had started a bombing campaign to get them, if that was what was going on. Rumor had it that the Undersiders and/or Purity had been involved in Armsmaster's capture of Lung. Maybe there was more to the story. If only the Protectorate had managed to hold on to him long enough to get him out of town.

The swordsman slashed at me. I caught his blade in my steel fist. It stung a little, like slapping a ruler onto your palm. With a tug he was unarmed and over balanced. A light slap on his back sent him pancaking onto the pavement. I kicked his knife into a storm drain and tossed the sword into a dumpster. It looked too cool to bust up.

It turned out that fighting came more easily to me than I expected. The training with Faultline and the crew had helped. I knew the basics of how to fight now. But it was not until I realized these people were bullies as bad as the Trio had ever been that I worked up the motivation to wade into them. They were predators preying on those weaker than themselves. Not that I was immune to the irony, or possibly hypocrisy, of my own actions.

Looking around I saw the rest of the ad hoc team – Gregor, Grue, Crusader, and Ballistic, a kinetic blaster from the Travelers – fighting the ABB rank and file. We were outnumbered twenty to one, but I doubted any of us were really breaking a sweat, not that Gregor or I could. There was nobody with powers fighting in the ABB's defense.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of Bakuda, her workshop, or supplies. While Lung and Oni Lee were probably more dangerous than the bomb tinker one-on-one, it was her addition to the ABB mix that created this city-wide crisis. Whether it was her personality, her capabilities, or a combination of the two; she had set off the powder keg. We had not been led to expect we would find anything of hers, but I wanted us to be doing more than just beating up normal. I was beginning to feel like a bully.

I looked around. Most of the gang members were avoiding me at this point. I noticed a kid with a pistol popping up from behind a car twenty yards away. He was aiming for Gregor. I stepped in the way as he shot. The bullet bounced off me with a ping. It felt like a bee sting. Not pleasant, but survivable. Before I could react, Ballistic sent an empty beer can flying at the shooter. It hit him in the shoulder and knocked him spinning.

"Thanks," I offered.

"No problem," he replied with a smile. He was a big guy in his bulky red armor. He looked like a football player and grinned with the confidence of a jock.

"We're almost done here," Grue called out. Another confident jock, I surmised.

I glanced around the battlefield. Injured and unconscious ABB members littered the ground around the building. Though we had been outnumbered at the outset, only a few stragglers remained.

"This is it! Building's clear!" Crusader called back. Following his voice, I saw him standing on top of one of the few cars parked along the street, spear in hand, directing his ghosts who were quickly flying through the apartment's walls and ceilings. I guessed he could get some sort of sensory input from them. Or maybe they had just run out of targets.

"Right," Grue looked at the Empire controller for several seconds. Likely trying to decide if the nazi could be trusted. In the end Grue either decided he did or that it did not matter as he gave the order, "Let's bring it down."

As had been discussed before the attack, Gregor and I went through the ground floor. I was ripping away interior walls to expose the load-bearing girders that ran throughout the building. Gregor was secreting powerful acid that he sprayed on the base of those supports. As we went, I looked for any sign of people hiding or trapped. I found none.

Once we were clear of the building. Ballistic launched two heavy SUVs through the first floor like a pair of supersonic wrecking balls.

"Coming down!" Gregor roared. In seconds, the building started to collapse on itself. As the rubble settled, Gregor sprayed an extinguishing foam with one hand, directing the stream against the fingers of his other hand so the stream separated into a broad shower. Where each of the droplets hit a part of the building, they swelled into a blob of foam a few feet across. In short order, the building was covered enough that the few hints of flame that had started were quickly extinguished.

While this was going on, Grue and Crusader had been securing the ABB members with zip-ties. Soon the temporary team lead called out, "We're done. Let's get out of here!"

Grue, Ballistic, and Crusader each left in a different direction, Crusader riding on the shoulders of his ghosts as they flew away. I envied him that. Gregor and I were slower, but our van was not too far away.

"Are you alright, Chrysalis?" he asked when we were in the vehicle. His milky eyes were full of concern.

"Yeah," I replied. "I'm feeling a bit like a bully. I know those were bad guys, but they weren't a danger to us. We mowed them down like grass."

"It's true that individually they were little danger to us. But remember that an army of ants may devour an elephant. They were a danger to the city and the good people living here. Also, it was our job. Taking on fights that you have no reason to personally believe in is part of what mercenaries do." Gregor looked at me for a minute, then started the drive back to the club.

The silence was comfortable, companionable event. Gregor was just that kind of person. If you wanted to talk, he would talk. If you did not, he was equally satisfied to allow you time to think.

My mind wandered. This was not a good thing as it too often wandered back to one of my least favorite memories.

When I woke up in front of the dry cleaners I was made of asphalt.

I could see myself reflected in the dark windows. I was lumpy and misshapen, but humanoid and approximately the same size as my real body. My head had no eyes, ears, or nose, but I could sense as well as ever. I had no clothes. Of course, I had nothing in particular to cover. I looked like a play-doh man created by a kindergartener then rolled in gravel.

I moved my arm and watched my reflection match the movement. It was surreal. I was standing in the street, so I stepped up on the sidewalk. The difference in texture under my feet was amazing. Turning around, I saw a small crater in the pavement that roughly conformed to my new shape.

It was almost as if I had pulled myself from the street to stand before the dry cleaner.

A car drove past, honking its horn. Two realizations struck me almost simultaneously. First, I was a parahuman. Something in the locker had changed me and now I could shapeshift into the material of what I was touching, or something like that. The second thing I realized was that I did not want anyone to see me like this. Once again, I ran.

As my asphalt feet pounded on the concrete sidewalk, I felt an echo. It was originating from my feet and giving me a mental image of all the connected sidewalks on the block. The streets cut the sidewalks off from the sidewalks on the other blocks, so I could not sense them.

Somehow this reminded me of the underwater feeling I had had when I fell "into" the street before. I wondered if I could do that on purpose. I willed myself "under" and as I expected I was "swimming" again. Only this time I could select where on the contiguous sidewalk I wanted to reappear. There was an entrance to an alleyway on the other side of the block. I willed myself to surface there.

I came out of the sidewalk. But this time my body was made of concrete, and there was a humanoid shaped hole in the pavement. I ducked into the alley.

Standing on the alley's surface I could feel the connection of the asphalt to the street and of that street to others for two or three blocks around me. But I could no longer feel the sidewalks. It had to do with touch I realized. I selected a point in a different alley at the limit of my senses. It was in the center of its block and several turns away from the closest street. I willed myself under and back up in this new location.

Again, I appeared, this time with almost no feeling of time passing. It was faster when I had a destination in mind before diving. My body had once more shifted to asphalt.

Looking around I saw I was alone in the secluded spot. I collapsed onto a set of stairs leading to some building's back door. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. It was time to go home. But I could not go home looking like this. People might see and that would let everyone know Taylor Hebert was a new cape.

That would be bad.

It was common knowledge, reinforced in school and on the net, that new capes were particularly vulnerable – mostly to forced recruiting by one of the gangs of criminal organizations. Outing yourself, letting people know your real identity, was also extremely dangerous, especially to your unpowered family. It had only been a few years ago that a hero with a public identity had been killed in Brockton Bay. She had been attacked unexpectedly in her home. Someone connected to New Wave, though they still had open ID's.

So, I knew could not go home looking like this.

It was time to figure out how to change back. And hope my clothes came back with my normal appearance.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, or I tried. They did not shut, perhaps because there were no visible eyes or eyelids. Instead, I stared at a spot on the wall next to me. The area was lit by a single bulb above the door I was sitting in front of. I concentrated, looking for the switch inside me that would allow me to shed the tarmac or transform back to normal – however it was supposed to work.

It did not, work that is.

I spent the rest of the night trying different things, each failure making more and more afraid that I was going to be stuck like this.

During the night I learned a few things. I could change from one form to another by touching a new material. I touched a dumpster and created a new form out of blue painted steel. I also left my old form behind. The asphalt me was standing like a statue next to the dumpster, which now had a Taylor-sized whole in it.

That was when I really started to freak.

What if I did not have any 'real' body anymore? What if every time I transported myself or created a new form it left another empty shell behind? What if none of them were my real body, or maybe I had jumped out of my real body, and it was still back in the locker?

Oh God, was I still stuck in the locker?

I transported down the street, three blocks at a time, heading towards Winslow. I got there well before the school opened. The doors were locked. I almost busted them down. My asphalt form was strong, much stronger than my normal body ever was. I could probably have ripped the doors off their hinges. I tried touching them to create a new body on the inside, but there was not enough metal in the doors. They were too small. Too little mass, I realized. I do not know what the lower limit was, but they were under it.

I was standing on the concrete steps leading up to the doors, beginning to panic, when I realized the concrete continued under the doors and under the linoleum flooring of the hallway inside. I dove into the concrete and came out near the office. I was covered in grey and white checkered linoleum.

I was shocked when I saw the calendar in the office window said it was Thursday. It had been Monday when I went into the locker. Somehow, I had lost three days.

Can't think about that now, I thought. Gotta check the locker.

It was empty.

Worse than empty. The whole locker unit was gone. The area where they had been set into the wall was crisscrossed with PRT police tape instead.

"Fuck!" I yelled.