CHAPTER TWO

She left the building a little less than two hours later. Night had fully fallen while she was preoccupied, the clouds casting the city into a murky darkness and obscuring any moonlight that might have otherwise trickled down upon the streets. Instead the sparse light posts provided intermittent oases of color against the looming bricks and concrete. Near the PRT building the tall poles remained in good condition, though a few blocks away she could see the occasional gap in the illuminated chain due to vandalism or simple neglect.

The registration process hadn't been what she expected. In all fairness she didn't have much of an expectation to begin with, but the breadth of options had surprised her. She hadn't thought there was much room for independent heroes, expecting a hard push to join the Protectorate. The encouragement was there, but after her initial refusal the woman in charge of the process had smoothly turned to discussing the level of independence she was looking for. There were options from near-vigilantes to the local family group New Wave, or famous freelance heroes working on commission.

The PRT liaison had gone out of the way to caution her on the realism of the last option. Plenty of new heroes signed on with dreams of glory, visualizing themselves as the next Alexandria or Legend. The harsh truth was that while no power was useless, the playing field was far from even. Ingenuity and teamwork could provide a dramatic boost to a hero's capability, but at the end of the day some powers were simply better than others. Heroes who attempted to pick up too much responsibility without the capacity to back it up usually resulted in a cautionary tale told to the remainder.

Disjoint's eyes turned down behind her mask, struck by a wave of melancholy. How many of those stories ended with her, she wondered morbidly. A promising hero rising through the ranks, supported by friends and allies, before being cut down with a flick of her wrist or a single tear of her jaws. Only scattered flashes of memory remained, the remnants of an uncertain list of casualties. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the rest.

Sensing the mood, the liaison had trailed off after a moment, letting her collect herself before continuing. The woman didn't press, and Disjoint was grateful, not knowing what she would have said if asked.

The conversation had moved to her own powers after that, and she was glad for the distraction. She was careful to undersell her ability, but much of it could be passed off as uncertainty rather than intentional concealment. The liaison mentioned access to complimentary power testing, but she had declined, unwilling to risk details emerging that she couldn't wave away. Perhaps it was suspicious, but they both knew parahumans were notoriously protective about the limits of their capabilities.

Still, the woman had seemed excited when she revealed her enhanced strength and durability, making several notes on some of the papers spread out beside her. It seemed her natural toughness was relatively rare amongst the local heroes, with only Glory Girl of New Wave having something similar. Then again perhaps the PRT were happy they wouldn't be dealing with anything more complex. She hadn't missed the dual piles of paperwork in the corner stamped with the 'Master' and 'Stranger' headings.

Once that was finished, they had talked for another half-hour about minor details including availability and ways to get in contact. After signing the papers Disjoint had accepted the disposable phone from PRT before she left, walking out through the double doors and into the night before her.

Currently her highest official priority was finding a place to live, but honestly she found it hard to care. Her body was closer to a statue than a real person. Even her mind would churn along unceasingly, as implacable as the rest of her. She would not eat, would not drink, would not sleep unless she went out of her way, and even then it was a facsimile of the real thing. Why bother, when her senses of touch and taste were as nonexistent as the body she mimicked? Although, remembering her previous habits she didn't complain too deeply about being unable to taste.

No, finding a place to live wasn't really that important. She would still do it, but not out of any pressing desire. Instead her actual priority was something she had been refusing to consider before the meeting. The reminder had come over her at the end of their talk like jagged clumps of ice growing on her insides, highlighting a gaping emptiness. When the time had come to sign the papers, she had looked down and felt it hit.

She still didn't have a name.

It seemed sadly, laughably obvious in hindsight. Immediately after her awakening she hadn't given it a thought, too preoccupied with her new forced perspective and the subsequent flurry of action. It wasn't until the dust had settled and she committed herself to working as a hero that the choice of identity had laid before her. Her memories as Manton's daughter had moved to fill the gap, but she rejected them. Even without the details she knew enough of what she had done, and it was clear she was not the person that the name once belonged to. She was unworthy, and her own rejection had hurt. Now it had once again been brutally shoved to the forefront of her mind, and her still-developing sense of self ached at the wound.

Picking an alias hadn't been easy, but by its very nature it was divorced enough from her actual self to avoid most of the emotional connection. She had settled on Disjoint as an acknowledgement of her unique nature; she knew there was something different about her, be it in mind or body. There had been a vague hope that her alias would be enough, but even then she had known she was fooling herself. A name was far more personal.

She drifted to the side of the street, leaning her shoulder against the rough brick wall as she instinctively sought to prop herself up. It was ridiculous, she thought dazedly. Her form was infinitely more durable than any mundane structure, but the new parts of her didn't care. She remembered the placid feelings of support and certainty, and habit drove the rest.

Moments passed as she stared blankly down the street, before steadying herself. The lack of a name was painful in a way that was completely new, but even as scattered as she was it was obvious she was in no state to even approach the problem. She would push it aside for now and walk, walk until her mind settled and the ache faded.

She began by wandering north, heading towards the edges of the city and the train yards that made up its border. It was an easy target, peeking out between the skyscrapers as an expanse of low-lying shadows whenever she crested a hill. The closer she got the more it stretched out before her, a significant chunk of the northern edge of the city. Abandoned rail cars squatted silently on their tracks, coated in alternating layers of paint, rust, and dirt. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark she could pick out lines of tracks and trains crossing each other haphazardly, giant bones half-buried in an enormous graveyard.

With a tiny push of her legs she leapt onto the roof of the nearest car, landing with a gentle puff that sent a cloud of dust spiraling away from the impact before slowly drifting back down to the ground. She stood on some kind of box car, the corrugated metal roof weathered away until great holes had dotted its surface. It would have collapsed under any significant pressure, but that didn't stop her from drifting along the surface, boots beneath the cloak tapping the steel as she passed. It took a bit of effort to keep her power flowing through the clothing, preventing even its light weight from landing on the tendrils of rust.

Hours passed by as she explored the yards. There was no real purpose to it, no great wisdom to be gained from the masses of steel that had been left to rot. Instead she merely enjoyed the peace it brought, as the coldness inside her became a little less pronounced. By the time she finished the darkest hours of the night had arrived, long past when even the troublemakers would be out prowling the streets.

Once or twice during the impulsive expedition her thoughts drifted back towards her absent name, and the ache inside grew more pronounced. The oppressive need to address it had never truly gone away, but each time she found something to distract herself. There was always another train to glide over, another curving series of tracks to follow.

With a sigh she began picking her way back towards the edge of the train yards and the rest of the city. Sometime during her exploration the clouds had departed, and stars glimmered faintly overhead. With a last look at the expanse behind her she trudged back towards the artificial lights ahead, mirroring the twinkling above.

The walk back south was uneventful. She could tell she was passing through gang territories, tags generously applied to alleyways or even the occasional shopfront. Despite that the streets were deserted. Evidently even the criminals had ended their nightly activities, no doubt spurred on by the cold winter weather. It was decidedly odd, she thought, to know that it was cold but never feel it as the wind billowed along the edges of her mask underneath the hood.

Dawn had finally risen by the time she ended up near the address the PRT had provided to look for housing. She had stopped at a few of the city parks on the way to kill time, sitting on the frost-laden grass and watching the first tendrils of sunlight burn away the morning mist. Now she stood in front of a plain wooden door, a small placard marking the office to the apartment complex. Just from her brief look around it seemed like a decent place, nicer than the blocks of apartments she had passed during the night.

Signing the agreement was quick; the receptionist had either been notified by the PRT beforehand or was just that good. She didn't seem to mind dealing with an obvious cape, and twenty minutes later Disjoint clutched a key in hand, having parted with a fraction of the cash on her. The money had come from soon after her awakening, as she looked beyond Manton to take in a horrible, familiar visage. Her new memories and old impressions had united in that terrible moment, and she was in motion before conscious thought could begin to catch up. Afterwards, the former owners had no use for it anymore.

Opening the door to the apartment revealed a plain living room with a small offset bedroom. It wasn't much, but it was more than sufficient. She had nothing to move in, so after a brief look around she sat down on the plain-looking couch and brought out her phone, sending a message to the PRT with her new address.

Back when she had been discussing housing arrangements with the PRT liaison the previous evening they had gone over a few different options with varying levels of privacy. There was nothing stopping her from finding a place to live on her own, but since she informed them she would be renting under her cape persona they had offered to aid her in the search and promised to keep the information under the same confidential and secure protections as the official heroes. Wanting the process to be over as soon as possible, she had seen no reason to refuse.

Her official business was done for the day and it wasn't even noon. Striding back and forth across her new apartment, she contemplated what to do. Thinking about her incomplete identity was still too painful, so she hesitantly decided to postpone dealing with it. The delay ached, but the alternative was even worse, at least for now. In the meantime she longed for something to do, a way to help even in some small manner. The reminder that she hadn't accomplished anything was troubling, even as she rationalized that she had been in the city for barely a day.

The drive to go out and do something was overpowering, and she was halfway to the door before her thoughts caught up. She continued outside, a quick glance around revealed an unsurprising lack of emergencies in need of intervention. Still, now that she was out of the apartment she was loath to just turn around and go back in. Perhaps she should take the opportunity to learn more of the city, besides which streets led where. For all of her walking the previous night, she couldn't say she had truly gained any important information.

Some kind of internet access would be necessary, vital even. She didn't know how much information the PRT would be willing to share, but the public record would surely cover the basic powers that made their home in the city. Already her aimless walk through the streets hours ago seemed faintly ridiculous in hindsight. There was nothing wrong with it per se, but she wouldn't be able to make a difference that way. Not when she had the ability to do so much more.

Resolved to purchase a laptop and personal phone as soon as possible, she almost missed the buzz of activity coming from the PRT-issued device. She spent a moment fumbling with the phone's controls before accepting the incoming call.

There was only one group that knew her number, so it wasn't a surprise to hear the caller identify himself as a PRT officer. What was more of a surprise was what he said next.

"I.. I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" she questioned.

"We would like to invite you on a joint patrol with a Protectorate member today, to help you acclimate to the city and give you someone to talk to about being a hero," the man repeated.

It was a welcome invitation, and one she had no trouble accepting. To meet with the Protectorate heroes so soon was more than she had hoped for, and a small part of her screamed that it was a trap. That they had found out, and she would be walking into an army of heroes throwing themselves at her like they had done so many times before. But she banished that voice of paranoia, reassuring herself that it was just a regular patrol. She already knew that this city was full of parahumans, so it only stood to reason that the heroes would be more active than usual. For them it was more likely an opportunity to talk to a new hero as soon as possible.

The details were hashed out quickly over the phone, and she was given a time and place to meet. The location wasn't far, further up the coast in the nicer part of town. An area called the Boardwalk, according to the officer. The meeting time was relatively soon as well, lending further credence to her theory of how busy the local heroes were. Soon after the call ended she began walking, eager to see who exactly she would be with for her first official patrol.