CANS OF WORMS
by Louis IX

Check first chapter for disclaimer and global warnings. Diary-style, except Taylor got from her mother the habit to write long essays.

Networking

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Dear Diary… today, I got a diary, of all things!

It all started with a single word, a single idea: I was going to die.

Death.

It was a profund concept, though, with intricate metaphysical ramifications. Would I get to keep a sort of consciousness afterwards? Would I meet my mum? Those were the first questions. And others bloomed immediately afterwards. What was a soul? Which religion has it right? Is any of them correct?

From "death" came a whole nimbus of thoughts, each visible in my mind's eye as a point of light as if I could see the individual neurons in my brain as they worked together. Thankfully, seeing some thoughts running in circle, I was able to stop them before I ended up crazy.

I still ended up in the hospital, both for my apparently deteriorating mental health (and wasn't that a boon for my bullies)… and my physical wounds. Because I had been shoved in a locket with disgusting things inside, and I had quite the septic shock.

There, and at home afterwards, I got stuck in front of the television, absorbing ideas one after the other and seeing what they did to my network of thoughts. And when I had nothing more to absorb, I switched to another channel.

I ended up doing all of those available in English, and started with those in Spanish, afterwards. I did some Spanish in school, so it wasn't a completely new language. Still difficult, at first. But my enhanced integration of data allowed me to learn quickly. And change channels again.

When I would be deemed ready to return to school, I would be quite fluent in the language, and starting others, like French, and then branching on languages with other alphabets such as Russian, Arabic, and Chinese. And let me tell you this: when you start learning several languages, you identify the similarities quickly, and learn them even quicker. Like learning to play the cello after the violin, I gather.

Some linguistic exchanges even being due to contact between countries, sometimes during war, it also helped with lessons in History and Geography. Besides, all that was thoughts and ideas and concepts, all mapped on neurons, all visible to me. It was as if I triggered in my locker, due to my fear of death, only for the power to focus on micromanaging thoughts instead of, say, insects.

I could actually think about several things at the same time. I was up to four parallel trains of thoughts, and felt sure I could add a fifth soon. All this while looking at my neurons with yet another separate thought process.

And write this.

Because, yes, some shrink's idea for treating ongoing mental conditions is to write everything down, like in a diary. So I write.

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Dear Diary… today, I discovered I'm a Telepath!

Let me rewind my life a bit, because I found something: those points of light weren't neurons, but they were the representation of the neurons interacting with the information they held. How do I know? Because I accidentally interacted with them, once – I was badly surprised when my dad entered my room without knocking, so sue me.

My frantic gestures moved thoughts and concepts everywhere, from those I was currently managing, and I lost some knowledge in the chaos – nothing important, thankfully. Still, the interaction allowed me to notice that I could interact with my thoughts: I could move them.

I could exchange two concepts so that their interpretation would be mixed up in my mind, such as red and green (which would be dangerous, on the road). And I could do that to others, too!

I could disconnect a node, forgetting about it (while still, because of my power, being able to see its presence and being able to reconnect it). And let me tell you, forgetting the number seven by accident is quite strange when you have two thought processes doing math exercises.

But more importantly: when I focused on seeing my thoughts, I could see dad's when he was nearby. I could… read his thoughts! That shocked me more than everything else, because while there were rumours of parahumans able to read minds, there had been no confirmed case of a true Telepath.

When I realized I could read dad's mind, I immediately made plans to leave the house to test my new ability with others. But not right away because it was dinner time, and it was already dark outside. Instead, I practiced reading my dad's mind, concentrating on not reading his thoughts about mum – a topic that was often at the centre of his thoughts, unfortunately. Still, I was able to check upon his mental processes while he was cooking… and I realized that I was learning at the same time! Later, in front of the telly, I let him watch a political show, and I learnt from his thoughts about the way the politicians really worked.

Learning that way seemed too easy to be true. And, true, the next day, I had almost forgotten everything. Only the power that allowed me to see my "neurons" also allowed me to link them again to practise the new knowledge and stabilize the connections. In clear, I could learn fast, but I would only retain what I'd practise.

The first time I went out, I didn't stay long. First because I wasn't used to. Second because the days were still short and the area dangerous. And third because I met two Empire capes. Oh, I didn't met them while they were being capes. They were two young adults on the bus, a man and a slightly younger woman, sitting in the same chair and hugging and talking softly. From the exterior, you could say they were normal people in love.

My reading their thoughts made me aware that they were Victor and Othala, from the Empire 88 – the gang of racist thugs in town (the white ones). I also realized that Victor's power, often speculated upon on PHO, was the theft of skills. And since he had accumulated many, I was able to copy a few.

Meanwhile, another thought process inspected Othala. I wondered if I was able to copy powers too, but failed any attempt to. Still, Victor's skills included many medical fields, from first aid to cardiac surgery – most certainly stolen from a doctor or another.

Still, while I was not able to copy or move powers, I should be able to prevent someone from using them if I redirected the neurons they used to activate them. Perhaps. But not on unmasked capes: PHO had been clear about the Unwritten Rules – and all Unwritten they were, they made people write about them!

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Dear Diary… today, I'm going back to school!

I so wanted more time to self-study, to receive and send homework by mail without it being intercepted by the demonic trio, to even stay and follow online course, perhaps. But it was not to be. I had enjoyed the two weeks of blessed silence, and trained my abilities, and now was the test of fire.

To train myself, I had dad fling make-believe comments and insults at me, making him angry that I had to learn to manage being called those names. Still, I assured him that it helped, and it did: using the disgust and anger I felt, I powered a mental construct that I called "shield" but that was more like a porous membrane, like a cell's. My thought processes were protected behind this, and barbs from outside would not derail them too quickly for me to be overwhelmed and unable to answer.

Another aspect I noticed was the space "below" the shining network… which I hadn't noticed before. There was something underneath it all, except that it was mostly invisible. From my point of view, my neurons and thoughts looking like stars in a black sky, and the space below was like a lake under that night sky: black, and mostly unperturbed. Except when some insults hit home: there were ripples, and a few waves.

In fact, the subconscious mind had ways of impacting the conscious, and my seeing how thoughts worked showed me how it did so: when waves were sufficiently high, they could submerge thought processes, making people unable to move… or moving in unscheduled ways. Fight or flee responses were such an example, as was instinctive fear of the stranger, and those hormonal reactions usually witnessed in people my age.

However, seeing what happened allowed me to control things, and the first thing I did was to move higher thought processes at a higher "altitude", in relation to those waves.

I tried reading my unconscious, too, even acting a bit on it, but it was like holding wet and slippery water balloons: you didn't stay long in control. And the "underwater" concept held true for something else: I was convinced that I had to hold my breath, when investigating there – as if I couldn't stay long without being submerged. Even though, like Morpheus said to Neo, once: when there, it wasn't air that I breathed.

But back to the subject at hand. Or subjects, rather, because I went back to school. And while my newly-awakened power was enough to rebuff Emma's vitriol, it did nothing to me, physically. Sophia did.

Apparently angry that my person dared return to confront her by my presence, she had pushed me down the stairs… and had done so in front of witnesses. It had happened before, too, but my loud standing up to Emma had attracted attention, and people had been filming the scene. With several angles. And since several of them were buff, and white, and blond, you have only one guess as to which gang they belong to.

I returned at the hospital because of the various broken bones I had, and watched from PHO the onslaught on Sophia… and the PRT as a whole.

Apparently, when investigating incidents regarding Sophia, the police was always pulled back by the parahuman interest group, and it was easy to find the common denominator in each incident. With the Empire going at it, and going through possible black and athletic parahuman with her build, it was easy to link her person with her "heroic" persona. Even if a few people had their post redacted and their account banned, it was soon evident for everyone that the PRT was effectively harbouring someone who still flouted the law (and common decency) quite regularly.

Under the shit storm that this created, the government-mandated group did as all government-mandated groups did since governments existed. Like the school did, too: those in charge covered their ass and fired everyone else. Alan Barnes, who was trying to get his daughter out of that mess, was attacked for having vouched for Sophia. The vigilante disappeared from Brockton Bay, only to reappear in Alaska… for a short time. Piggot stayed… for an equally short time.

It was just enough time for the people to realize they were being played, and the escalation to begin. Senators started receiving complaints, and they went to the President. The head of the PRT, Rebecca Costa-Brown, had to fire the Head of Brockton Bay PRT and Protectorate: Armsmaster had been nominally in charge of the Wards, and thus held some responsibility. Triumph and Aegis got tarred too, but stayed where they were, while Armsmaster chose to leave, rebrand as Defiant, and join with Dragon.

But the world in general was on a spree of revelations, and even Costa-Brown was hit by the storm: people started seeing similarities in her appearance with the super-heroine Alexandria. Previously above such suspicions, they got her when the President asked for the two of them to appear at the same place. Her body double was good, but the "agencies" had more experience – as was revealed when they shot the two of them.

They also wondered how Shadow Stalker disappeared, only for a girl with her general shape and disposition appear under another name, in Los Angeles and under the disavowed Alexandria. With another costume and weapons… but the same power. Sophia really was poisonous, apparently.

And with one member of the Triumvirate going down, the two others followed.

Seeing all this from the relative safety of my hospital bed, I was quite surprised: if all it took to topple the all-powerful Triumvirate was little old me falling down some stairs, it meant… that they weren't that stable to begin with.

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Dear Diary… today, I'm making friends!

I was't long in the hospital, because Panacea healed me. She had done so the first time, too, although I hadn't realized.

"Back so soon?" she asked, and I shrugged, working hard to hide my power.

It wasn't to be: even if she was rumoured not to do brains, she could still notice things. She saw that I was a parahuman and told me so. Thankfully, she didn't notice what my power was – people are quite touchy about their thoughts, first, and also despise Masters in general (because I would be categorized as such, with my power over these others' thoughts). With what I could do, I could already be seen as a lighter version of the Simurgh. Of course, I didn't want people to make that association: I didn't want to be killed, imprisoned into the Birdcage, forced to villainy, or even hounded. I just wanted to be normal, and free of bullies. Was it too much to ask for?

I was in my bed for a long time, at home, in comparison to my hospital stay. It was because of the turmoil in school, resulting from Sophia's reveal, the end result if which granting me leave to self-study for my GEDs. I couldn't be happier because it meant I wouldn't see the Trio… only to realize that their own difficulties would have removed the two main instigators, and that my power would have been happy to mesh with other humans in a more relaxed environment.

I started to roam the Boardwalk as well as roads around the local high schools, for whole afternoons. I made a few friendly acquaintances. I also saw many clouds of thoughts, and played with them.

And I met with Panacea again, in her civilian clothes. Despite not wanting to out myself (anymore than I was already, from her point of view), I saw that she looked miserable, drinking her coffee alone in a darkened booth, and I went there too. I had to reintroduce myself, because she healed people everyday, and I wasn't even the last parahuman she had touched recently.

And then her sister found us, and I was privy to their spat… which my power unravelled for me: Amy was in love with her sister, a feeling that was created and reinforced by the latter's unwillingness to reign in her aura; she also didn't do brains only because she feared what it would do: she was working on the physical side of things, with no idea how plucking neurons would do to thought processes, in the grand scheme of things. And their father being in quite the depression, Vicky, who Amy had confided in a long time ago, couldn't understand why her sister wouldn't at least try.

Seing a way out, I offered my services. For this, I had to explain that I could actually do "brains" – or at least their content. I prepared their thought processes in advance, though, because Victoria was as forceful in her ideas as she was physically, and she really really didn't like Master powers – which was ironic given that her aura was one, and her boyfriend's too, both influencing the emotions of others.

Once they accepted me, I got to work on Flashbang with Panacea, together. She monitored my activities by checking the body's state, and I dug around the neuronal nodes. They were in quite the mess, some clusters completely abandoned while others, ruminating thoughts of uselessness and suicide, were a flurry of activity. I had to plunge several times into the man's subconscious, too, to unearth the roots of his depression.

And then we had to do Brandish, too, because she interrupted us with the most heinous accusations. And, besides, she was the main reason behind her husband's depression: the woman seeking absolute control, he had thought he could give it to her, and he quickly found himself actually useless. Nobody needed him for anything. That one thought could destroy anyone. He wasn't even free to go, because while not useful, he still had duties.

Carol Dallon's own insecurities dated back to when their group of capes fought Marquis… and ended up practically kidnapping his daughter. Amy. I had to tell her this, too. Thankfully, by then, she had seen me work on her adoptive parents, and trusted me enough to work on her (while Vicky reunited with her parents).

At the end of the day, the Dallon family was much better, but I was exhausted. Vicky offered me a lift home, and Amy gave me an opportunity: join her in the hospital to see if I could also heal brains there too.

As it happened, I could. I had to train that ability for a while, too, because I hadn't helped anyone out of a concussion before, or out of a coma. I also couldn't work on those conditions alone, Amy staying for the physical part of things.

New Wave being unmasked, Amy didn't have a costume, when healing… and I didn't thing about getting one, either.

Leaks ended up going to the ex-PRT, folded into the Protectorate. The local version was even more akin to a gang than what it was before, too, especially with the military-like decisions of its new head, Thomas Calvert. The organization was still recognized as a public interest group, like New Wave, but much less subsidized than before. And villains didn't rejoice too much, because with less oversight, they also had less leash, and were ready to kill when facing real threats.

Thankfully, for a reason that wasn't clear, the Endbringers didn't rise out again. And nobody saw Eidolon again, either. Only one person made the link, but it was so tenuous that only her Thinker power allowed her to do that.

How do I know? Because when the information that I could do brains came, a subordinate of the Protectorate came to offer me a spot with them. Right as I was working next to Panacea, of New Wave – where my place hasn't been discussed yet, but it was still a possibility. And that person's way with words was quite forceful, too.

I stopped her. "Tattletale, you said you were? Please don't take it wrongly, but… could you forget about me for a while?"

"I'm not…" was all she said, when I plucked off the thoughts about me and my identity. Confused about what she was doing with Panacea, whom she didn't even like, the blond girl left.

The feeling seemed to be mutual, too, although in Amy's defence, Tattletale's words had been quite insulting, both about her parents and her biological ascendancy. I cheered her up, and we made plans for my induction into her group.

I ended up training alongside Amy's cousin Eric, Shielder when in costume: as a squishy Master, I was susceptible to normal damage, and he could help me. Besides, when they were all going out, that was where Amy was too.

And Amy got out of her infatuation with her sister, while Vicky got out of her overbearing ways towards her. Each of us made other friends, networking both with regular people and capes our age, such as ex-Wards. With my power, I also discovered a few young villains in school, but each understood that we wouldn't out them as long as they didn't make waves, especially with their power. With such a stalemate, some hated us (although no more than normal) but others took time to befriend us.

We met love interests, too, but that's another story entirely.

And Scion continued to roam the world, saving kittens stuck in trees.

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To be continued… maybe

Author's Notes: This one was inspired by "Skein", on SufficientVelocity dot com.