Mess 1.2

I watched the fly dance around the air with a sense of intrigue from the relative comfort of the hospital bed. It wasn't quite like I was flying on my own, the senses that played at my attention, but it was pretty close! It almost seems to react to my commands before I've thought them out, landing on the railing, taking off, swooping around my head. It's a little strange, being able to see out of my eyes, but also out of the bizarre compound vision of the fly in my control. The senses don't translate very well, even looking in the exact same direction and angle as the fly I can't tell what it's seeing.

[Swarm] of insectoids necessary for visual and auditory [Acuity]
Addendum: Select insectoids are of greater use in reconnaissance, notably [Designation:Dragonfly] and [Designation:Gypsy Moth] are known to us as the [Pinnacle] of [Sight] and [Sound] among insectoids.

'I'll want to get a bunch of those then, if I'm going to be doing this cape thing' I have the fly leave the room, sending it away until it's out of my range. 'I feel like I should be more freaked out about all this… Or atleast grossed out about my power, I mean really? Insect control?'

[Khepri] utilizing ability expression to [Cease] emotional response until Host-Self[Taylor] has physically recovered. Combined with suppression of [Administrator] shard, recovery of Host-Self[Taylor] strongly expedited.

"I'm… really not sure I'm okay with that. Making sure I'm awake and getting the treatment I need is one thing, but screwing with my head… I don't want you doing that.'

[Acceptance]

The stress of the last few days, on top of the stress from before all comes rushing back, my heart rate monitor slowly picks up as my pulse starts to rise. It takes me a few seconds of deep breathing to ground myself, I'll have to find some way to burn off stress when I get out of here. Maybe running, I feel so lethargic. For now, I've got other improvements I can focus on to take my mind off things.

'Khepri, loosen the reins on my power a little bit, I want to start practicing with movement and senses for real now.'

[Acceptance]

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Amy Dallon is, by and far, exhausted. Not even halfway through her planned shift at today's hospital, blessed by her presence, as she's sure the nurses would say. She's not, of course, exhausted because of the use of her power, that hardly takes anything other than time and a little bit of focus, no. It's the people that are exhausting, always the people. The ones that are healthy enough to try and joke around or make small talk do nothing but irritate her. The ones that are suffering enough to cry their eyes out, blubbering at her in thanks make her feel like she should have been here soon. Then there are the ones that are too out of it to do or say anything, she can count on one hand the number of times someone has found her later to say thanks in the last few months.

But she's not doing this for their thanks, nor for the recognition. It's because she has to. And, because she has to, she pushes herself up from the bedside of the person she's just cleared of their bloodied lip, broken collarbone, and stark intoxication. The name of the belligerent drunk already forgotten as she walks across the hall. A quick scan of the chart shows… some name, initials T.H., sure. Abrasions, cuts, and infections on her knuckles, her legs, and the back of her head, strong antibiotic dosage to help septicemia, and an IV drip. Patient has been alternating between periods of fitful rest, and sedated wakefulness, likely some mental trauma, otherwise known as not 'not my problem'.

Two sharp knocks, wait two seconds, crack the door open. Double check the record, Hebert, okay.

"Miss Hebert?" Amy starts, pushing the door open and walking in, "My name is Panacea, I'm here to fix you up, and potentially have you cleared to go home by the end of the day."

The girl on the bed looks about her age, loose brunette curls that'd look better on her if her hair weren't sticking to her face and neck with sweat. Probably still running a fever, infection might be getting worse instead of better. There's not much that makes a patient stand out to her. She remembers the injuries, the bad ones especially, but rarely the patient. Something about the way this Hebert girl looks at her though, Amy knows this one will stick with her.

"Yes, hi, I've looked through your file, you've got some cuts, some bruises, and a pretty nasty infection, but it's nothing I won't be able to handle. That said, since you're awake, and have been awake off and on, I'm going to need your permission to heal you. Is that alright with you?"

For a second, it's almost like she's looking through Amy instead of at her, the girl's head slowly tilts, then decisively nods.

"Yeah, sure. It'll be nice to get home sooner rather than later, thank you." The frail specter finally responds, somehow managing to sound like a perfectly average teenage girl.

Amy pulls a chair over from the wall, getting close enough to keep contact with her, blood problems are always annoying since they can be spread all throughout the body, and reaches over for the girl's hand. The girl bridges that last bit of distance and-

Everything snaps into focus, from the cellular level up, the pumping of her blood- Stage 2 High Blood Pressure, Staphylococcus aureus present in bloodstream, Vitamin C and Vitamin D deficiencies. The framework of her skeleton- Microfractures across metacarpals 2,3,4 on the left hand and 3,4,5 on the right. Tissue attaching Lateral Femoral Condyle to Patella in left leg bruised. Her skin- Lacerations present on left and right hand knuckles, left side of face. Abbraisions present on left knee, back of head. Rash forming on the palm of left hand, sole of left foot. Everything is directed as it needs to be, dangerous bacteria fed back to the system as raw building blocks, fat reserves pulled together and remade to fill out all the scratches and repair the bruising. Last thing to check, more for the girl's file than anything else… Don't let there be anything wrong with her nervous system- Corona Pollentia swollen, Gemma partially fused to frontal lobe, brainstem.

"What the fuck?"

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The physical relief that worked its way through me was like the satisfaction of scratching a good itch, but multiplied through my whole body. Things that hurt, or were sore suddenly stopped being hurt, and instead felt better than they were even before… before the locker. I'm just about to speak up, comment on the sensation, when the healer cape pulls away from me like she's been burned.

"What the fuck?" She says, just shy of a shout, catching my eye with a panicked expression. I feel a nervous rush, shrinking back from her as she grabs her chair like she's going to jump to her feet.

"What's wrong?" I nearly pushed myself up out of the hospital bed to follow along with her, before considering that if she found something really bad while fixing me up that I probably shouldn't be standing just yet.

"Your…" She looks at the door, like she's double checking that it's closed, "You're a parahuman, right? No, don't… I don't know if you're a cape, I don't want to know, but your Gemma is fused to your cerebellum and to your frontal lobe, surprises like that aren't fun to just run into. You haven't had an MRI since you were brought in, right? Don't consent to one, don't let your parents consent to one for you. I don't know what happened to your brain, I'm sorry that I can't fix it, but I would really, really avoid letting anyone know about it."

I want to speak, but I don't even know what to say. I nod, feeling a little stupid for it as she opens the door.

"They'll probably want to double check everything's working right before they let you go. You might be out by the end of the day, or they might hold you for a couple if you don't take very well to the healing. I didn't have to pull too much fat off you, but it can still be a bit of a system shock."

With that, she was gone… looks like I've got some research to do when I get out of here, and some questions to ask my power. 'Hey Khepri, any clue what she was talking about there?'

I spent the better part of the day and the next morning playing 20 questions with my power, chatting with the nurses and doctors about how I felt now that Panacea had come through, and practicing with my power up above the ceiling panels. Weaving little cobwebs with the spiders and trying to micromanage flying insects to dodge between the sticky threads.

My dad stopped by at some point in the morning on his way to work; he'd apparently been here a couple times since I got in, I vaguely recall hearing him shouting at some point here in the hospital, and he had stayed the first night with me. I felt bad about not being all there for that night, but I also wouldn't have been awake even now if it weren't for Khepri, so I guess it's better than it could be. We chatted about nothing in particular, up to and including Panacea's visit, totally leaving out the abrupt and concerning end to her visit. Telling him about being a cape can wait until we get home.

Telling him that a version of myself from the future melted parts of her brain together to mess with her power can wait forever, I think.

It's just when we've both run out of small talk, when he's starting to stir like he's going to get up and go that a knock at the door makes us both jump, louder than anyone would reasonably knock. The door cracks, and a voice I don't recognize calls my name. I don't really believe what I'm seeing as in walks Miss Militia, tailed by someone shorter in a suit of power armor, following in with a hand sheepishly behind their helmet.

"Taylor… Hebert? Am I saying that right, and Mr. Hebert as well, perfect. Would you mind if we had a minute of your time?" She walks across the room, offering a handshake to my dad and then me in turn.

"...Sure!" Dad finds his way around to speak, turning to me. "You should've told me you were so popular, kiddo. I would've cleared out a bit more time today." He scoots his chair out a bit to be at my side instead of between me and them, "What brings the home-town heroes around?"

"Well," Gallant takes a half-step forward, speaking gently. "We wanted to start by saying that we're sorry to hear about what happened to you, Taylor. What happened to you is… terrible, that's the only word for it." He shudders, it makes my stomach drop, to hear him talk about it.

"You… heard about the locker?" I ask, throat suddenly feeling dry. He nods.

"The story made the local news, no names, but yeah. I only know it's you because that's part of what we're here to talk about." He steps back to let Miss Militia talk, but Dad cuts in, voice leveling out into a stern tone.

"Is bringing this up before she's even been cleared from the hospital really the most appropriate time and place? Surely this conversation could be had after she's had some time at home to properly rest." Miss Militia's power flickers across her body, popping in and out of existence around a couple holsters on her outfit as she takes a second to compose her response.

"We're here because having this conversation as early as possible has been shown to be the most beneficial," Her tone matches Dad's only softening when she turns back to me, "There's something that's gained a lot of traction in the parahuman sciences field in the last few years called 'Trigger Theory'. There's quite a bit to it, but the most basic aspects are that, while many people have the potential to develop powers, those with the potential don't actually develop them except under incredibly stressful circumstances. Circumstances like what's happened to you."

Gallant cuts in, nodding. "We're not asking you to tell us if you've Triggered, it's a hard thing to come to terms with, being changed by an event like this. But the PRT, and the Wards, they've got great resources to help people with the issues that crop up from these things. Power testing, dedicated therapists. If you have developed powers, please. Reach out and let us help."

Miss Militia pulls out a card from a little pouch at her side, passing it over to my Dad, "We're here to help any way that we can." She guides the kid in armor back towards the door, giving one look back to us, "I hope you both have a good day, and that the rest of your recovery goes well, Ms Hebert." The departure is much gentler than their arrivals, but the swarm in the ceiling buzzes in agitation all the same.