From the moment I had first boarded the bus I could sense people staring at me. First the driver and then the passengers. There weren't that many people on the bus, yet I could feel all of them glance in my direction. I had taken a seat in the empty back rows to avoid any unwanted attention or having people in my blind spot. I knew for sure that I was failing with the former, by now I had grown familiar with the feeling of stares from Winslow. I was never what most people would consider attractive, so my clothes could be dismissed as the reason. My next guess would be the lunchbox. If someone had seen me, pay the fare with a bill from the container, all that money might make them curious.

Most of the passengers looked like regular people just going about their day, but so had Lisa. If one of them turned out to be looking for trouble, I could manage, probably. I felt well enough that I could move around, but I didn't have enough blood to change for an extended period, I didn't want to risk being caught taking blood from fellow passengers. I could've remedied both of those problems by running home instead. I had considered the choice at every bus stop but regardless of whatever I chose I'd still dreaded the possibility of a confrontation with dad. The bus had made another stop allowing a mother and her young child to board. The mother carried the child in her arms the kid had pointed when they saw me.

"Mommy look she's a mummy!" the mother politely hushed her child before giving me a worried look.

I turned to my reflection to see what was obvious, I still had the bandages wrapped against my face as well as my leg. It was wrapped in several layers of gauze. The bandages were sprinkled with my dried blood. I ducked low in embarrassment as I unwrapped them, I tucked the remains away into one of my small pockets. Even after two days my injuries still felt tender, but still a far cry to their condition back at the warehouse. I had been so absorbed by my earlier conversation with Lisa that I hadn't discarded the bloody bandages. No matter the excuse it was reckless on my part. What if I had gone home and dad had seen them? For a drunk he had occasional bouts of focus. I was kidding myself, it would be like him to start caring when it would be detrimental to me.

Daniel Hebert was as much a drunk as he was a father, my night could go one of two ways depending on which he chose to be.

The drunk was someone I could work around. Dads focus became near non-existent he would stumble through dark rooms while chugging a beer and bumping into everything. The most that meant was that I'd need to cook dinner tonight. I recalled leaving a number for take-out, but he'd be too drunk to use it in that scenario. It was the best I could hope for. If things worked out that way then, at home any way, things would just blow over.

But I had to be realistic with myself, dad had always seemed to sober up at the worst of times. That meant during the week I skipped school after the chest incident or now that I had been out of the house for two days. I imagined that he ever called the Barnes in search of me. Even while, sober he could miss the obvious. In that state dad was still a problem, a manageable one, but a problem, nonetheless. I noticed that it was getting late as the sky transitioned from orange to black. By now if it were the second scenario then dad was home alone with a splitting hangover and exhaustion from not eating for two whole days. Despite it all he would still be pissed off. My best chance in the second scenario would be avoidance. Dad would want to ask me a million questions until he finally pieced together an acceptable answer.

Beyond my activities as a cape, I had little in the way of answers but plenty of things to hide. I looked down at the Eidolon lunchbox; it felt heavy in my lap. Both of my parents held a general level of disdain towards capes in general, growing up it had always seemed like a sore issue for the both of them. As a result, our home became a cape free zone they weren't allowed on the television, as a topic of discussion, and definitely not as memorabilia. I'd have to take care to hide the lunchbox. The fact that it was loaded with hundreds of dollars worth of dirty money, was only a secondary concern.

Since I first got my powers, I've played with the idea of letting dad know about what I could do. It wasn't everyday that someone in your family suddenly had powers. Even if the road to getting them wasn't pleasant maybe, he could still help me adjust to having and using them, maybe then he could see me as more than a stranger.

As hopeful as I had been for something even close to that it was only a fantasy. Dad had remained the same person he always was, an inconvenience for the worst of times.

He wasn't concerned with me or what I was going through, why would any of that change with powers? There was no way for things between us to just magically get better. What if disdain was really hatred all this time? I didn't want to find out that particular truth when it came to my dad. Some secrets had to stay that way, we didn't have a great relationship but at least we still had something.

The worried glances had ceased for the most part. I was grateful for the measure of privacy; it meant I was able to look inside the lunchbox without being concerned about prying eyes. It could have waited until I got home but I needed to open it right then. Thinking about dad had left me in a sour mood, I needed the distraction. Balancing it on my thighs, I opened the lunchbox for a second time.

The first time had been shortly before I got on the bus, it had nearly burst open once I undid the latches. I was careful to use my body to block anyone from seeing me with the money. Lisa's reward had been what I could only guess amounted to a couple thousand dollars. She had anticipated the bus fare and left me with a small enough bill to cover it. The rest of the cash had been in twenties, fifties, and the occasional hundred dollars.

I'd never even seen that much money in person and it was all mine. It was a struggle to keep the look of surprise off my face. Ideas immediately began to surface for what to do with it all.

I could finally buy a costume that was more than tights and an extra-large raincoat. Body armor was also a major concern, if I'd learned anything through my fight with Lung, some protection is better than none at all. I needed to prepare for the next time I went out as a cape, if there was even going to be a next time. Sophia had known my real name and now that I was an alleged criminal what was stopping her from revealing my secret to the heroes.

A wave of panic swelled in my chest for a moment. What if the PRT were waiting for me at my home? If they thought I was dangerous, what could stop them from locking me up in the birdcage? If that were the case then I would at least put up a fight, becoming a villain in the process. Possibilities ran through my head, each one worse than the last.

I took a deep breath. Lisa or whatever the girls' real name was, had been informative for the most part. She had seemed keen on my joining the Undersiders. Sending me away to be arrested by the PRT would be counterproductive if that was really her goal. Although the chances of that being the case were slim, they still felt real. How much should I really trust her? Sure she had rescued me back at the warehouse, but how did I know that wasn't a ploy of some kind? I had fallen for that trick once already, the pretend hero. The only difference was that now the stakes were even higher.

When this had all started I wanted to be a hero, how the hell did things spiral into me becoming a villain? A part of me felt that I should just go to the PRT and tell them everything. Maybe I could gain some leverage by offering information on the Undersiders. A major arrest would be just the thing to put me back into their good graces.

Though I didn't entertain the thought for long before dismissing it entirely. If Sophia had gotten the chance to tell her story, then I knew well enough from Winslow, she had twisted every detail to paint me as the villain. Punching her had probably corroborated her story. Additionally, even though it was in self-defense, from Armsmasters point of view, I had attempted to murder a defenseless victim. With those two things working against me, I'd doubt I would even be able to finish talking before they shipped me away to prison. The entire scenario left a bad taste in my mouth.
I would be no better than Sophia if I betrayed someone for helping me. The realization of the alternative, should that plan actually succeed wasn't much better, becoming a ward and being forced to work with Sophia while under a short leash seemed downright hellish.

Lisa had mentioned giving me some time to think about her offer, but things were only going to get worse if she and the Undersiders turned out to be villains. Even though Lisa had given the money as a supposed 'gift' I wasn't unaware towards the ulterior motive behind it. Somehow the word 'bribe' and the image of Regents weapon in my face didn't quite mesh together. There was definitely more to the team than they were letting on. I wasn't sure if they were the type to get violent if 'no' wasn't an acceptable answer. I hadn't ever gotten that vibe off of Lisa, but that didn't mean much. Her true nature was a mystery I didn't know what she was hiding, but using the rest of her team as a point of reference didn't reassure me.

Grue and Adlet had concerned me the most. They seemed like the type that could seriously hurt someone without batting an eye. That type of resolve took a certain level of experience i wasn't sure I was comfortable with. Regent had irked me for different reasons. It had taken a while for the wraith to completely heal me, the bruise form Regent's Scepter was among the last things to be addressed.

Whatever the case I would need to protect myself moving forward. My first step in that direction would be to purchase a mask. It could've been something as simple as a bandana over the lower half of my face. It was one of my earlier ideas before I had decided my powers were enough to conceal my identity. I had assumed that my power was the type where I could cut loose.

My body was unrecognizable from regular Taylor's, it was strong and bulletproof, and most regular people would think twice before a fight. It was everything I could want from my power and yet solely relying on it had left me exposed. Over the last couple of days, my identity was known by half a dozen people if not more. Wendigo might've been invincible but as Taylor Hebert I was nothing special.

If my life was going to become a tangle of issues then I was determined to work my way free one step at a time.

-B-

By the time I arrived home, it was already nightfall. The lights were off within the residence, compared to the neighboring homes mine seemed dreary in comparison. The darkness was actually an improvement on its overall appearance, masking the chipped paint and rotted wood that was visible during the day. The burglar bars that framed the windows looked like solid pieces of metal. Growing up I realized that we didn't live in the best part of town but the bars always seemed unnecessary. The older I got the more convinced I was that the bars were more for isolation rather than protection.

Like the rest of my things my phone and keys were destroyed at the warehouse. It was dumb for me to have brought personal items into a firefight. Hopefully home wouldn't become a similar situation. I had tucked the lunchbox underneath my shirt better to be safe than sorry. I avoided the squeaky front steps altogether as I made my way towards the backdoor, where a spare key was hidden in the bushes. I had to rely on memory in the place of actual light. The bulb for the back light had burned out, but dad had never gotten around to fixing it.

The search for the spare looked like it would take me longer than I had first thought it would. I was crouched in front of one of the overgrown bushes; the key was supposed to be just beneath the leaves, but was nowhere to be found. I was stuck being crouched down, with one hand searching for the key, while the other held the lunchbox in place. My frustration grew with every scratch from the unkempt bushes. I had begun to make peace with sleeping on the porch for the night when the sound of something clanging against the metal bars behind me. When I turned to look, I was met with the silhouette of my father beating one of his empty beer cans against the door frame.

"Looking for something Taylor?"

His voice didn't betray an iota of the anger her was feeling in the moment. In fact it could've been mistaken for calm, but I knew my father better than that.

I stood up slowly, careful enough not to drop the lunchbox but not so fast as to hop up. Dad held out the key in his hand which was outstretched towards me through the thick bars. As I walked towards him my mind was ablaze with possible excuses for the last two days. But for every possible solution I considered I pictured their inherent flaws immediately. I had gotten close enough to my dad to grab the key and unlock the door. Dad had moved out of my way for me to enter the house.

"Go to the kitchen An- Taylor," dad said in a shaky breath. I shared my mother's first name as my middle one. It had been a while since the last time dad had made that mistake.

The only source of light in the living room came from the stove light in the kitchen. It was a dim light but bright enough for me to avoid the worst areas where even more cans had piled up. Dad had been busy for the last two days. I made it to the table while trying to make as little noise as possible. Dad was still standing in the doorway; he leaned on it while taking several deep breaths to steady himself. When he slammed the doors closed it was with enough force to shake the house. As he approached, dad had tripped on every can in his path, loudly crushing them in his wake.

Once he got close enough to be illuminated by the dim light I could practically see the intoxication all over him. It was visible in every move, even while he stood still, he lurched too far to his left or right. When he walked, his motions were jerky, abruptly shifting his left leg in one direction while throwing around his right arm for balance. It was like his limbs were controlled by unseen wires, his body like clothes for an invisible 'something' to wear. He flipped on the light switch before entering the room, noticeably recoiling from the light.

He was wearing the same clothes from two days ago, the only difference now was that they were wrinkled and stained with several drops of beer. The largest of them stretched from his chest down to his stomach. During episodes like this, where Dad had somehow summoned the temporary will to give a damn, could I see the years strain on him. He had a noticeable slouch, enough that despite his greater height he had to raise his head to gaze towards me. His eyes were sunken and lifeless, and combined with his wiry frame, dad seemed more like a skeleton than a real living person.

Dad took the seat directly in front of me. He placed his hands against his temples massaging them in an attempt to ease his apparent hangover.

He took another deep breath before he spoke,"Taylor Annette Hebert, I need you to tell me the truth, where have you been for the last two days?! "

"Dad you're not making sense, it's only been a couple of hours since I left." It wasn't the best lie I could've told but it was already too late, this would have to work.

"I spoke with the Barnes and they said they hadn't seen you in the last two days either," he paused to make eye contact,"where were you?"

"I was at the Boardwalk with some friends, today." I had put emphasis on 'today' while gesturing to my new clothes.

"It's ok if you want to lie about that now, but you're not leaving this house again before you tell me the truth." I tried to interrupt but he talked over me. "Who are these supposed 'friends' where did you meet them?"

"They're just some guys- people from school. I don't get it what's the big-"

Dad had slammed his fist hard into the table. The sudden act had startled me enough that I had dropped the Eidolon lunchbox out from under my shirt. It had slid towards dad.

"I know you don't get it, that's the whole point you're a child and anything could have happened and you'd be helpless. I can't do this-"
Dad had looked to meet my eyes again when he saw my reaction to dropping the box of money. He ceased his rambling mid sentence and took a moment to unclench his fist. He pressed his fingers into his eyes to rub them while sharply exhaling.

It was too quiet in the room for me to drag the box without it being heard. I'd have to bid my time.

"I'm sorry Taylor. I shouldn't have done that."

I probably should've said something to the effect of 'no its ok' or some other combination of empty words, but I didn't. That had been the first apology dad had given me that had ever come close to addressing our problem. I wasn't just going to let that go.

With no response he carried on talking."Look kiddo I know how tough things have been on you lately, but I need you to believe that you can trust me."

"I know dad," I knew that promise would last for a few hours or whenever he found his next drink, whichever came first.

"Then where were you for two days, who is Amara?"

"How do you-"

"After the first day I searched for you in your room, but all I found was this on your bed." He pulled out the piece of paper that had Lisa's number scrawled on it.

He caught my hand bringing it down to the table cradling it in his own.

"Taylor, whatever you're going to say please just be honest with me. I care, I want to help."With the way he spoke, I could hear the hurt and exhaustion in his voice.

I felt something ugly fall in my gut and my veins felt cold. I'd survived a night full of gang bangers armed to the teeth, a literal dragon nearly beating me to death, and being pumped with enough drugs to put me into a mild coma. It had been necessary for all of that to happen for Dad to suddenly care.

"Taylor breathe,"dad had placed the paper on the table to cup my hand with both of his,"it's alright I'm here-"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I-"

"Dad, Emma's been bullying me for almost two years, for all that time I've hated every second of my life my friendships, school, everything." I was sure to make eye contact with that last detail."why is it after all this time that now you want to help?"

I felt the momentum that I had been building come to a halt. Dad was as shocked as I was. The information slip had been unintentional. Now I was left with a brand-new set of problems to address, as if I needed more. Dad scooted forward bringing himself to lean on the table.

"Taylor, I know things haven't been the best since your mother left us but-"

I heard dads foot kick the lunchbox and sending it sliding across the kitchen floor stopping once it hit the stove with a loud thud. We had both turned to look at it, dad had gone silent.

I knew what was next, dad would want to open the box and he'd find my money. There was no way I could explain that away. If this went on, he would question me until he figured out that I was a cape, I needed to stop him.

I abruptly stood up from my chair sending it flying back into the fridge behind me. That was enough to get my dad's focus back on me. The angry and confused expression on his face made it clear that he was about to bulldoze his way to the answers he wanted.

Despite everything, he was still my father lying to him didn't set well with me, but neither did being a prisoner in my own home. My only opportunity to escape was in those few moments.

"That isn't fair, mom's a bitch for what she did but you don't get to blame her for what's been going on. That's all on you."Dad had begun to retort but I didn't let him."Life's been hell for me ever since she's left but you were the one to leave me there, and for what. What did you find that was so important at the bottom of your bottle. While you were waiting for things to get better I took care of myself. If that means that I was out spending time with people who actually care about me then who cares how long I was gone for. It was better than what you were doing here waiting for someone who doesn't even want us. Hell even if she did come back do you think she'd want to stay, what for?

Dad was staring down into his lap. He didn't reply with any kind of retort or defense for his actions, he only sat their motionless and unresponsive. Somewhere in my rant the actual anger towards my father peaked through. I had forgotten about the lunchbox and instead focused on telling my dad the truth, though not the one he wanted.

As angry as my father had made me over the years, I never wanted to hurt him as badly as I just did. Without another word, I collected the box of money and ran upstairs. The ugly feeling from earlier had only intensified with my guilt.

Once I had made it to my room, I locked the door behind me. I tore off Lisa's clothes hard enough to rip the seams along the shoulder. I threw it all down on the bed. I repeated the process with the lunchbox, sending it to bounce off the bed and towards my window. The blinds had protected the curtains enough that they didn't break out right, though I could make out small pieces of glass that were now on the floor.

I dropped down to the floor leaning against the door; I let my limbs spread out in an attempt to release some physical tension.

I had no idea what the next step was. I probably was stuck in my room for the rest of the night, if not to avoid further questions, then it was too steer clear of dad. I didn't think I could face for awhile after tearing him down like I'd done. But I still had bigger things to worry about namely Sophia and the Undersiders. I had considered them both friends for the purpose of the previous conversation, but they remained as just another set of people I couldn't trust.

Compared to my dad, an ex-partner and a bunch of mysterious strangers, were barely worth noting as a concern on the list of people I couldn't trust. If only reality were so simple, I was cornered at every turn for the simple desire to be a force for good. The room had seemed to shrink just like it had back at the Undersiders base. I was experiencing a similar feeling that I had felt during my time trapped in the chest. My chest felt tight and I became hard to breathe.

At that moment I heard what sounded like a key entering my rooms lock. Dad was slow in pushing it in, with each of the tumblers moved slow enough for me to hear the springs strain. If dad wanted to continue his conversation I was too tired to care, I didn't budge off my spot on the floor. It didn't matter anyway, dad had apparently removed the key and with a heavy sigh he walked away from my door.

I had lost track of time when I had decided to move again. The rejuvenation I had felt earlier in the day had long since worn off and left me physically and mentally exhausted. I climbed into bed and tightly wrapped myself under the covers.

Whatever I had to deal with could wait until tomorrow, whatever I had to face I'd do so alone.