Burn Up

by JellyfishBlues

Taylor moves via explosions and does not appreciate being teased. Where is Lung when you need him.

(1)

…..

Slow…

Gladly flashed his teeth. "Taylor could you answer-"

Slow.

Emma's mouth quirked, red and cruel in glittering lip gloss. "I bet she bought that at t-"

Slow

Danny pawed the back of his neck. "School called, they said you-"

Slow

Slow slow slow

Everything is so goddamn slow

Hurry up talk talk talk say what you need to say

Shut up do it or don't do it

Gladly's teeth slid back under his lips. "Taylor-"

I am calm

"And what you you doing in here?" Emma preened. "You know pigs are supposed to eat outs-"

Don't explode

"I'm just worried about you." Danny said. It showed on his face, the way stress made him old. "You don't-"

Not here not now

"Were you paying attention?" Gladly said. "Come on Tay-

What do you want a cookie

"Oh, are you going to cry again?" Emma's eyes crinkled, "that's so-"

You need to go

"Talk to me Taylor." Danny sighed. "Please. I can't-"

I need to hit something

Metal shrieked and thundered beneath her fists.

I need to break something

Her knuckles split. Her elbows popped. Her back burst.

Everyone is so slow

Her skin melted and stretched. It slopped off in runny globs. She felt night air on her bones.

Everyone is so goddamned slow

Fire gurgled in her spine. It spat from the vertebra as she punched. It roared from her neck and her back and her elbow and her fist, from every edge and bend and crease, pushing pushing pushing

I need to move

Booming knuckles took the door off its sliders. It squealed across the ground.

Faster

A crack of fire launched her through the warehouse. She burst through every wall and every beam.

FASTER

A blinding corona of red streaked into the sky.

Taylor howled.

…..

After the locker and the blood and the drama, oh the drama, and among all the changes: the spits of rage and the burning and the melting, what really stood out the most was that Taylor had gotten bigger.

This – stuff – was around her arms and legs, and her stomach, and all over her back and her shoulders. She'd read that it was called… Muscle? Was she saying that right? It even looked like muscle.

But then she'd bump into something and oops turns out I'm a bag of rocks. Case and point there went Sophia trundling away, nursing her arm after a failed shouldercheck. Taylor wanted to follow her to her locker. She'd hear her finally break down and hiss in pain, and Taylor would goad her, and Sophia would throw the first punch and it would be completely justified when

when

when Taylor destroyed her in an instant.

That didn't sound very satisfying once she thought about it. One and a half years of petty bullshit cumulating in two seconds of murder? The ratios were off. Also she was better than them, or something, she supposed.

Later that day found Emma and Co. spread around her like a pack of geese. That 'V', the wicked 'V,' aloft in each other's slipstreams.

"Wow Taylor. Love the hoodie. Where did y-"

If they'd do something it would be different. If they pushed or punched it would be different, but no Emma just stood there flapping her jaw up and down up and down

flap flap flap flap

And then the pass to Madison

flap flap flap flap

off to Sophia for the assist

flap flap flap fla-

Interference from the hangers on – their hearts were in the right place but their form was terrible. Leave it to the experts, girls.

flap flap

flap

And really the sounds didn't bother her anymore. She couldn't hear them even if they tried. After the first sentence her ears started to ring and her vision seemed to narrow until it was just her and them and nothing else

flap flap flap flap

and she would welcome the flapping if they didn't just stand there and talk talk talktalktalk

flap flap

flap flap flap

And didn't they know what they were doing? Picking a fight and then pussyfooting around like that the fucking teases just talking talking talktalktalk

flap flap flap

And she could feel herself slipping like tectonic plates, millimeter by millimeter and any minute now the the fault line would snap and cascading failure would split her apart

JUST

flap

FLAP AWAY YOU FUCKING BIRDS

Taylor was calm.

Shit's tricky. Trickypants. Trick trick. Trick one, oooh look at me wheee, Taylor distracted herself with nonsense, that was trick one. Trick one worked four times out of five. That eighty percent success rate showed when Emma flapped away unharmed.

Did they know what they were doing to her? Teasing her like that and then leaving her hot and bothered? Time skipped along while Taylor simmered down. She went to class. Class came and went with her none the wiser.

Gladly held her back afterward, smug in a sweatervest and jeans. "I haven't gotten any of your work-

Made sense she hadn't done it

"-you know if anyone's giving you problems you can talk to me-"

Wow look at him go whee talking talking talktalktalk

"-and I've seen some of the other girls hanging around you, why don't you try asking them for help? I'm sur-

TALKY TALK TALKALICIOUS NOT WORKING

TRICK TWO WAS VERY QUICKLY-

Trick two was very quickly walking away. Taylor smelled like smoke. The small of her back was singed. But she was cool! Everything was super cool and totally fine. She just needed to get through the day.

Taylor opened her locker and tossed her unnecessary shit inside. And her notebook. And then her backpack. All of it, all the shit. Get in there. Just working out some minor frustrations get – get in there. She'd fit in there so how the fuck wasn't it all fitting in there-

GET.

IN.

THERE.

CRUNCH

SHIT.

Well this was one of those many things that would fix itself if she ignored it. Her biology textbook was already in the hole, that's practically a patch right there - problem solved she wasn't reading it anyways – locker closed, microphone dropped, Taylor out.

Was the plan.

But all plans go to shit on contact with the enemy: in this case a flock of birds. The locker door closed revealed Emma behind it, lurking like a horror movie villain.

"Taylor!" Crooned Emma like she'd found her favorite person. Going by the amount of attention Taylor got from her that observation may well have been entirely too accurate.

Taylor fell against her locker shoulder first, pressing her temple to the cool metal. Felt nice. Almost centered. Sorta strange considering she'd gone insane in it three weeks ago.

But no time for flappy birds, there were places to be. Taylor pushed off the locker and stepped around Emma-

Was that a hand on her shoulder? Taylor looked down at it as though it were an alien.

Sophia shoved her back against the locker – clunk JK I'm a bag of rocks – and then held her head high, proud like she hadn't just almost thrown out her back

How's the arm? You tired? You need a nappy nap?

Taylor tried again. Another girl caught her – or tried to catch her, her shove was closer to a pushup. Taylor remembered at the last instant that she should pretend to not be a brick and stumbled back.

Good shove, plain girl, I felt it and everything, see? Honest.

It was painful how slow they were. How much they talked and talked and then acted like it meant shit, stood there trapping her in their peninsula of flapping flappy flap and Taylor stood there and took it, and that was what burned the worst, that she could get out if she tried.

It would be so easy. She'd bowl them over like pins. She was taller and bigger than them she would throw them out the windows. She would pick them up by their ankles and shake the bitch out of them like loose change.

It was difficult for her to remember what she was afraid of. Something about… police, maybe? Her dad? Emma's dad? Was she afraid of prison? She sure as hell wasn't afraid of flappy bird here.

Taylor watched them. She waited, like she'd trained herself to. Waited. Waited. Waited. Talktalktalktalk they were taking so long.

She tried to leave again. Medium-sized mean girl just about knocked herself over stopping her. Taylor threw herself back.

Medium-sized mean girl looked so proud, so big, so full of herself. It was infuriating, it offended her that this dumb bitch thought that shove would knock over a chair - but everything was fine. Everything was totally fine.

Flap flap flap flap

Taylor wasn't catching on fire at all, nope. Taylor was perfectly-

flap flap

Perfectly

Flap flap flap

PERFECTLY

FLAP FLAP FLAP

…..

That night she hit things.

She broke things

She burst and howled and she blew up like a rocket, an exhaust trail of choking fire and magma chased her into the clouds. She wrote out her frustrations in smoldering brick and steel. She crashed down into the bay, spearing through bows and hulls of derelict ships.

She went under, surrounded by slabs of rusted metal and boiling water, things that could take it. She let go. She exploded. It wasn't nearly enough.

Breaking walls and doors and boats, and going fast and howling - none of it satisfied her. Against, she needed against something, versus something. But who the hell was she going to find at two in the morning?

Taylor waded out of the water. She felt the cool night air on her back, her shoulder and hands still shaking with manic energy.

And really, who was there to punch locally? She was up to date on cape news.

Hookwolf? He probably wouldn't just explode. But how the hell would she find him? Kiss a jewish black girl over a floodlight so their silhouette lit the night sky? The Nazi-signal? Uber and Leet already tried that, spoilers it didn't work.

Lung? He probably would just explode – but in a good way. But where would she find him? She didn't even know how to offend him or like what even to do in front of a floodlight so that was a dead end.

Skidmark? No.

Random goons and naer-do-wells? The technical term was "total body disruption." It'd be like kicking over a sandcastle that no one cared about, but instead of kicking it you shot it with a cannon, and then only after it was a smoking hole in the ground would the police show up and suddenly start caring about sandcastles saying you kicked over this sandcastle too hard there's sand everywhere-

"Hey!"

And then the sandcastle experts walk in all if you really want to knock over sandcastles for good you need to knock over the buckets get the buckets out of there that's how you really stop sandcastles-

"Hey!"

Were there brutes in the wards? Like. Vista? She'd sooner hug Vista than punch her. Wasn't Aegis a brute? But she wasn't a villain so why would they fight even. Was there some manner of batsignal for Aegis? If there was she didn't know it.

"Hey, asshole!"

Although technically that would just be the Wards-signal, and that was literally just dialing the police. But she'd be calling the police on herself and that didn't sit quite right. Such was the duality of man or whatever.

"I know you can hear me!"

Taylor glanced up. There was a girl hovering there: fluttery white dress, swishy cape, stupid tiara that Taylor didn't want at all. Tiara-girl hovered at roof height. On her left were the remains of a thoroughly demolished warehouse that no one could prove Taylor was responsible for. On her right, five hundred yards of weeds, gravel and decrepit shipping crates.

Taylor tried to figure out if she recognized this person or not.

Tiara Girl gestured angrily. "You done now?! It's a school night! People are trying to sleep! Asshole! Come on. You're coming with me."

I sorta recognize you! Tiara-babe! Dress-girl! Are you a hero? You're a hero right? Can we fight for a bit? Would that be cool? These were all good questions, but what actually came out of Taylor's mouth was "You're a brute, right?"

"You've got ten seconds to get over here with your hands on your head, that answer your question?"

What Taylor wanted to say next was actually pretty eloquent. She'd open with an apology, go on to explain that her powers made her very hot-headed and she was out blowing off steam and maybe things got a little out of control, and then segue into asking Tiara Girl if she wanted to duke it out anyways, because she seemed a little hot headed too and who knew, maybe it would be good for her as well.

But her chest was swelling with gluts of fire and now her lips were gone and what she actually said was, "'uckkkou!"

Tiara Girl snarled, "I tried being nice! Fine!" Tiara Girl flew at her.

Taylor gave a wordless cry of exhilaration. A five meter stretch of water flash-boiled behind her. The air shook with a thunderous boom. Taylor impacted Tiara Girl at just under two hundred miles per hour.

Tiara Girl's fist smashed into Taylor's face. Taylor's head rocked back an inch. She would have embarrassing blushy dreams about it later.

Taylor's fist smashed into Tiara Girls' face. Her face took the punch without complaint.

Tiara Girls' other hand drew back.

Taylor's back exploded. They slammed into a shipping crate.

Tiara Girl put a hand on Taylor's chest to shove her off.

Taylor's elbow exploded. Her fist plowed Tiara Girl through the crate and into the ground. The blow made a hollow clunky sound, almost like a baseball bat.

ftoonk.

Tiara Girl rose off the grou-

ftoonk

Tiara G-

ftoonk

ftoonk

ftoonk ftoonk ftoonk

Taylor didn't see how far their fight traveled or the damage she caused. She only saw Tiara Girl, and an empty, endless expanse stretching behind her. She felt nothing but the thrill of the moment; a calamitous heat that burned hotter and hotter with every second, its fire screaming at her back, carrying her forward through smoke and glory. Taylor howled. She roared and screamed. She was alive, spectacularly rapturously alive.

And then Tiara Girl was down; unmoving.

Space filled in around the edges of Taylor's vision. Torn metal and rubble and fire. They were still in the docks, inland now. It was painful to hold back. Taylor shook and rattled. Her hands clenched and unclenched. She was cooling down.

Come on

Tiara Girl stirred. The movement shifted rubble off her shoulder.

Come on you can do it get up get up

Tiara Girl winced and groaned. It was pure bullheadedness that saw her stand out of the rubble, but once she was on her own feet she stumbled and fell.

This can't be it

Tiara Girl lifted her head long enough to shoot Taylor a murderous glare. Then blood dribbled out of her nose and mouth. She coughed and fell on her side, struggling to keep her head off the ground.

Not enough

Tiara Girl's tiara slid off. Taylor put it back on her head, hoping that maybe it was the source of her power or something.

Please

But that was it. Tiara Girl didn't get back up, instead she remained on the ground, breathing wetly.

Taylor shuddered and sighed. Her fires closed. Her skin began to grow back. The urges passed. Her vision filled in. She heard sirens and engines in the distance. It was time to go.

Taylor crouched next to Tiara Girl. "You gonna be okay if I take off?"

Tiara Girl lifted her head – and made a complicated face. Taylor didn't understand what it was for.

Then Taylor looked down at herself. Oh, naked. Right.

She'd brought a change of clothes, though! She'd thought ahead! It was in her backpack, right over-

sheets of broken wall, bent steel and curtains of fire

-right over there.

…

Taylor looked at Tiara Girl's dress, and then at Tiara Girl.

Understanding flashed in Tiara Girl's eyes. She shook her head.

Taylor nodded.

Tiara Girl shook her hea-

TAYLOR NODDED

…..

Oh but what a walk home it was.

The dress was too short and too small. Dresses were so swooshy and airy why did girls wear them? Taylor didn't get it at all.

Also it turned out she and Tiara Girl had very different proportions. Round halfway back she started busting out of it like She-hulk and some asshole tried to buy an hour- sir just because I look like a prostitute who was just in horrible fight does not mean I am one- but he maybe thought she was a man, and with a figure like hers she couldn't blame him.

Taylor got home around half past five looking like the angel heaven tried to throw into hell. She hung the dress in her closet. Maybe it would sell online? It would definitely sell online. She could use the money. But she wasn't sure if she wanted to cater to that particular fetish. Especially because she still felt a little guilty. The dress even had a liberal helping of Tiara Girl's blood down the front. Like, she couldn't, she shouldn't it wasn't right.

…

Would the blood increase or decrease its value?

(2)

Increase, said a cursory internet search. Taylor shook her head. The internet had gone too far this time. When she got home she was throwing Tiara Girl's dress in the trash.

Computer lab ended.

Emma and the flap brigade were waiting for her at her locker, but Taylor was so Zen from the previous, nearly almost perfect except-for-the-fight-cut-short night that she didn't even notice them as people.

flap

What was that sound, wondered Taylor, yanking her backpack out of her selectively too small locker. Was that a bird? Silly bird. Birds belong outside.

The day passed quietly. Danny was waiting for her when she got home. "Tayl-

So how were the docks doing?

The public library's computer lab said that the Docks weren't doing great. Not a huge distinction considering they were already dead, and that was Taylor was taking away: she hadn't damaged them, she'd only defiled their corpse. And that was a win in her book. Defiling a corpse was a victimless crime after all.

Except for Tiara Girl. She was for sure a victim. But she was fine, Taylor checked her social media (Glory Girl, right) and she'd already been healed up. Panacea gave her the ol' one-two; bing-bang-boom right as rain.

Taylor even got an honorable mention in the post! Sure it didn't frame her in the most positive light, what with Glory Girl's internal bleeding, and the stealing of her dress, and the leaving her near a spreading fire with the bleeding and the no dress.

Also Glory Girl didn't know her name so Taylor was going by the stand-in epithet of "loud asshole."

Also there was some mention of the PRT being on the lookout for her.

Also Glory Girl's ten million followers weren't particularly thrilled with her.

Also, neither was the owner of the warehouse, which as it turns out wasn't actually "dead" so much as "closed." The lots next to it were owned by non-fictitious people as well. They weren't particularly happy either..

The current damages figure was on the upper end of 120 million...

But whatever! Taylor was staying positive. Hell it even looked like Glory Girl would hold a grudge! Grudgematch at the docks? Tonight? Taylor made a throwaway account and left a message on her feed:

User: ThatLoudAsshole

Message: Glad you're okay. Hope it was good for you too. Sorry about the dress. And the blood. You looked good? You work out. Dresses are weird. Rematch? Post the time and place.

And send. There, done. She conveyed her feelings clearly and concisely and there is no way that what she said could possibly be misinterpreted.

In related news Taylor really needed a laptop. The library PC's still ran '98. The text appeared on two second delays it was like typing into a time machine.

Plus, if she got a laptop she could finally haunt one of those fancy internet bar cafés, with the actual tables and the plushy seats and the no homeless guy masturbating three chairs down.

Taylor pulled out her wallet.

She had… that was a candy wrapper… bus pass… school ID… same candy wrapper… sandwich coupon…

Zero dollars, she had no dollars none.

…

Well she wasn't asking Danny for money. They had enough problems as it was. She also just.. didn't want to talk to him. He'd been giving off sit-down vibes when she ran off earlier. She couldn't do that with him, not now, not anymore.

…

She could sell Glory Girl's dress? She hadn't thrown it away yet. That uh. That was still an option. And it was a victimless crime too, right? You know, except for all the victim's blood.

Oh hey, people had replied to her post! Wow the internet sure moved fast.

There were two bids for the dress (eww? money though) a few death threats… a death threat contingent on them not receiving the dress… Oh, even a post from the star herself!

Hey loud asshole. You want to go again? Alright. Same time same place. Don't hold it against me when I smash you into the ground and take whatever hasn't burned off.

Taylor shuddered. She'd love to say that it wasn't the rudest message she'd ever received and leave it at that, but the truth was that it was also the kindest message she'd received in years, ever since the premier of Emma: Blood Feud 3; the betrayaling.

No attacks on character. No implications of promiscuousness. A promise of a delightful evening with zero ominous overtures. It was sort of strange getting such a confrontational message with Glory Girl's profile picture smiling at her in the corner, but mixed messages were Taylor's bread and butter so she could look past it.

Taylor replied: See you then. Would you mind if I sold your dress? I am a little strapped for money.

The reply was immediate.

If you do that I will literally kill you.

Taylor inhaled sharply; it was like being electrocuted. Oh wow… so tingly. Coming from someone who would back up their flapping, too, so that's what that felt like. Could she push this a little more? Did Glory Girl get her power from being pissed off?

I already sold it to XXVoidCowboyXX

Technically he had made an offer. A creepy, creepy offer. 'Don't wash it and I'll pay double.' Wow guy, really? Don't wash it?

Double though…

No. She didn't feel bad about throwing him under the bus. Even if she probably would have been able to get a new laptop. Two minutes passed. Taylor wiggled in her chair.

She received an invite to a private chat room from someone called Amy Dallon. The name seemed familiar. Alright sure.

Messages started appearing.

(Amy): Victoria broke her laptop. This is her sister Amy, I'm typing for her.

(Amy): She's very mad. I'm also mad. You could have killed her you know? Leaving her there alone? What the hell were you thinking!

(Amy): She's swearing a lot.

(Amy): Quote: "You sick fucks, did he want the blood, was that it? How much did he pay for it?"

(Amy): She told me to say that in caps, but I don't do that.

Taylor strapped her mind for the most infuriating thing she could say. Glory Girl seemed to be the most upset with the blood aspect, should she go with that? Or was it the dress in general?

(ThatLoudAsshole): Well he offered 400 but I spun the blood angle and got him to up it to 550. I think I could make a lot more if I went to a dedicated celebrity collector but I really need a laptop asap.

(Amy): Quote: "You bitch!"

(Amy): Pretend that was in capsawe;ljaf

(Amy):;LAH;ljlakj;ldc

(Amy): SKDLS

(Amy): jdkgLJLKE

(Amy): YOU BITCH

(Amy): WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU

(Amy): I'M GOING TO KILL YOU TONIGHT

(Amy): BE THERE

By the end Taylor was fanning herself with the keyboard. Was Glory Girl trying to destroy the library? Was that what was happening? Her sleeve was a little on fire but it patted right out, no harm done. Taylor figured she should probably warn her?

(ThatLoudAsshole): You're making me too hot.

(Amy): ASE ;RF.F;

Amy left the chatroom.

Taylor collapsed into her chair. The anticipation was already getting to her, washing over her in electrifying waves. She placed her hand on her chest. She could feel heart throbbing through her sweater. How was she supposed to last that long?

No. She could totally last that long.

She was calm.

Deep breaths.

Count down from ten.

Also, now she could actually sell the dress! Or rather, now she had to. She wasn't a liar. She had her integrity.

Clickety click clack Taylor arranged the magic. XXVoidCowboyXX opened a chatroom. They agreed on a price (500 bucks? holy hell, was she going to get a mid-range laptop or what) and arranged a method.

He told her to mail it to his address, including it in the message.

Taylor asked him if it was a good idea to just give away your address like that.

He said that he'd mail the money to her address after receiving the package, so they'd be even. He asked for her address in the same breath. It didn't quite seem on the up and up but she didn't have the wherewithal to call him on it.

Taylor recognized his address, it wasn't far from her school. She told him he lived nearby so she could just bring it over in an hour instead.

He tried to somehow spin that breach of privacy into a discount.

She called him a jew.

A message popped into her inbox. Her twenty minute old inbox. It was from Amy. What did she want?

User: Amy Dallon (verified)

Message: Has the dress changed hands yet?

Um.

(ThatLoudAsshole): No?

(Amy): I'll match your buyer, plus 10%.

Amy could have said minus ten percent and Taylor would have agreed. VC was being a pain in the ass. Also nice of Amy too look out for her sister like that, Taylor supposed. They weren't exactly talking about pocket-change.

(ThatLoudAsshole): Done. How will this work?

(Amy): Bring it by my house today, before five. She included a link to her address.

Sounded good. Taylor left the library and walked home for the dress.

Danny was still there. Taylor pretended he wasn't.

She caught a bus to Wittington.

…..

The Dallons lived in one of the nicer boroughs of Brocton: wide, clean streets, big houses with gleaming windows, well-kept lawns and washed cars. Where the hell was she. What the hell was this fantasy land.

Taylor walked along the gumless, broken-glass-less sidewalk, perusing the decorative house number plates.

1846, nailed over the garage.

Was that a bike on the front lawn? Better pack that shit up 1846 or it'll be gone by sundown.

1848, hanging above the front door.

She could see their fancy car stereo. She could see it.

1850 over the kitchen window, embossed on a slab of wood shaped like the cow jumping over the moon.

She had no comment for 1850, just that they should know better.

Aaaaand 1852 Wittington Lane.

It looked like the kind of home a Brady Bunch spinoff might be filmed, the way a veneer seemed to hang in the air and make it surreal: the sun just a little too bright, the grass just a little too green.

Or maybe Taylor was nervous? She wasn't sure what she was feeling, exactly. Money was money. Glory Girl was fine. Amy said she would pay. Taylor brought the dress. What was there to worry about?

Taylor rang the doorbell.

A mousy, freckly girl answered, her face framed by brown hair.

"Amy?"

Amy looked at her – up at her, bemused. She frowned. "You're… not wearing a mask?"

Wasn't she? Taylor grabbed her face. Squish. Her mask was there. What was this girl talking about? Taylor decided to just push forward.

She held out a plastic bag. The white and red-brown of Glory Girl's dress showed though the thin plastic. Amy offered a hand. Taylor hung the handles on her thumb.

Amy held out an envelope.

Taylor took it.

She didn't leave immediately. Amy was staring at her, frowning, clearly meaning to say something with the way her mouth opened but then just froze there, and shut without incident. Taylor managed an almost-sincere smile. Smiles helped people talk sometimes, right?

Amy's nostrils flared and she said, "When Vicky beats you and puts you away in a small, dark hole, you're healing on your own." Then, quietly and with no small measure of disgust, "asshole."

The door shut. She heard Amy walk away down the hall, muttering under her breath.

Taylor breathed out through her nose.

She looked at the envelope.

…..

Seven thirty found Taylor at an internet café curled around a mint-green laptop, picking off the bloatware one obnoxious icon at a time.

pew

Goodbye Super-DVD.

pew

Goodbye u-Chat.

pew pew, pew

And goodbye, "Game Center."

She was awash in an electronic world, a world of rounded window corners, and status bars that weren't grey. It was responsive. It was high resolution. It was so goddamned colorful. She would love it even more if she wasn't about to go insane with anticipation.

Taylor was meeting Glory Girl around three in the morning. It was currently seven. These numbers were simply too far apart why would time conspire against her like this.

She sent a message to Glory Girl.

Excited for tonight.

The reply came five minutes later.

Die.

Two hours passed.

Taylor ordered a seven dollar cup of tea. Such was the price of not being kicked out of the café. Another message popped into her inbox, this one from someone called Clothesline. Well alright, what did this person have to say.

You do know it's a trap right?

Taylor frowned. Her first instinct was to give the teacup a onceover, but the barista had already robbed her and had no reason to turn that theft into homicide. Another message slid in.

The meet with GG. The PRT will be there. Your convo's already been taken down from her page. I got a hold of some records of the bla between her and bla bla BLA BLA BLA

BORING

Taylor closed the window.

Everyone saw her try. Everyone saw Taylor try to read it, everyone saw. It started strong, but then halfway she contracted a serious case of the jimmylegs and she was no longer reading it, now she was just thinking hurry up hurry up - but it didn't hurry up!

Just like time! Why wasn't time conforming to her whims!

Taylor checked again.

Her mint green laptop supplied the figure 8:10.

Taylor sipped her tea. The tea spun its magic, just like the barista said it would. Sort of.

She was excited. But she could manage, right? Right. Taylor held the tea to her nose and took a deep breath.

Still wasn't worth seven dollars.

...

(3)

...

Two in the morning finally came.

The air was electric. Taylor was jittery.

She paced the docks looking for Glory Girl, seeing her dress in every glimmering window, finding her tiara on every spoke of rebar. The anticipation was burning her insides; the rush, the pump of fire, the life she'd feel, and the calm that would follow, she could taste it.

Sometimes her breath came with smoke. Sometimes when she bit her lip it stretched in her mouth.

Where.

Wherewhere.

Come on. Hurry.

Please.

It felt like days. Every Junebug turned her head. Every breeze made her breath catch in her throat. But Taylor could wait, she knew she could wait. She had to wait.

Finally Taylor found her.

Glory Girl was near where they'd met, floating beside the largest of the warehouse wreckage piles. The tarmac was clear in spots, piled high in others. There were puddles of standing water, left over from the fire department's escapades. The air stunk with the acrid tang of charred metal and insulation.

Taylor was calm. "H… Hey!"

Glory Girl startled and spun around, looking down. She grimaced. "Wow. Uh. You really showed up, huh?"

Taylor nodded. She shuddered. "Are – are you ready?"

Glory Girl's mouth opened. "Ah. Uhhhh. Let's. Hold on a second. On that? Let's – talk. For a bit. First?"

Taylor remembered talking with Glory Girl earlier that day, across the internet with her library time machine. She had enjoyed it, too. She wasn't melting yet. "Ok."

Glory Girl floated down slowly. They were fifteen feet apart. "You know who I am, right?"

Taylor nodded.

"But I – I don't know who you are." Said Glory Girl. "So… could you tell me who you are?"

Taylor readily supplied the answer. "Taylor."

Glory Girl looked taken aback, for whatever reason. "I meant your… cape name?"

My cape name?

Cape names were for heroes and villains and Saturday night cartoons. Why would Taylor have one?

Glory Girl must have seen the confusion on Taylor's face. "Taylor, then. Um." She paused for a moment, frowned, then asked, stilted as though she reading from a teleprompter, "Do you have any criminal affiliations, organized or otherwise?"

What?

"Did you… want to make a gang with me?"

Glory Girl blanched.

Taylor shook her head. "I don't do gangs."

Whatever Glory Girl had been meaning to say caught in her throat. She coughed. "Uh. Good. I – really? You're not in any gangs or…?"

Taylor shook her head.

"So then why the hell did you attack me, then!"

Taylor found that at some point during the conversation she'd started resting on her heels; now she was back on her toes.

Glory Girl noticed. She winced and held up her palms. "Ah. Uh, hey I'm not… I'm not mad at you. No. I am mad at you. I'm really mad at you, you attack me – steal my goddamn dress, then sell it to some sicko on the internet? I'm really mad at you! What the hell was that for, huh?"

Taylor flapped her collar, fanning herself. "I was angry. I wanted to hit something. I thought it would help. And then you showed up, and-"

"And what, you attack me because I'm there?"

Taylor was only a little on fire. "I waited for you to start. I thought you wanted to, too. Did you not?"

"Well I-"

Taylor unshouldered her backpack, walked to the side and leaned it against some rubble. It was still within eyesight still because she really did love that laptop. "I've read about you. People call you Miss Collateral Damage."

"Hey, that's-"

"You put people in the hospital every week."

"Not every week- "

"Don't you enjoy it? The thrill of it? Not the squishy little people. People like me who can fight back. Didn't you enjoy it?"

"No! No, I… I uh."

"If you didn't then why would you do it? I waited for you to start. You did. That means you enjoy it, doesn't it?"

Glory Girl rocked on her heels, completely caught off balance. "I, well. Well! What about you, then, Huh? Do you just, enjoy going around, beating up people and talking their clothes - is that fun for you?"

Taylor nodded. "It was the most fun I've had in years."

"Wha –" Of the many retorts that flashed across Glory Girl's face, the one she chose to voice was, "Then why the hell were you screaming so much?! I thought you were in pain! Like from the fire or something!

Taylor felt a little faint. "You've never felt that?" She grabbed her chest, finding the right words. "Pressure. Good pressure. It feels like you need to yell. And when you do it feels good. Alive."

Going by the look on the girls face, Glory Girl understood maybe a little too well. After a moment of introspection she gestured to Taylor's backpack. "And you… you even brought a change of clothes this time, huh?"

…Shit.

Taylor bit her lip.

Glory Girl let out an exasperated sigh. "Really?"

"I got a new laptop and then kind of forgot."

"Wha - so you really did sell my dress to that creeplord!"

"I tried but he was being annoying so I sold it to Amy instead."

"You sold my dress to my sister?!"

Taylor pulled her shirt and sweater over her head. "She offered more money so I dropped by your house earlier-"

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

Taylor felt her back open. The skin near her cheekbone dribbled down her face. "C – can we start… now?"

Glory Girl recoiled. "Jesus it really just-? I – no! No, no no no." She stepped back, her hands up once again, palms forward. "Hold on! I'm. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for yelling at you. Let's all just… calm down for a second, okay? Can we?"

Taylor tried with moderate success to calm down. Her face and most of her back reformed.

"Was… Is that really enough?" Glory Girl had a strange look on her face. "Just this, us talking? To – to get you… going?"

So many questions why with the questions. "I told you before."

Glory Girl frowned. And then the realization struck. "Wh - I thought you were fucking with me! You really just-?"

"Can we? Can we..." Taylor stepped forward. Glory Girl stepped back. "Why won't you fight me?"

"I – I don't want to."

For a moment Taylor didn't speak or move at all, adrift in a sea of 'what.'

"…What?"

"I'm sorry I – I don't want to fight you, I really don't. I'm sorry I attacked you in the first place. I just want to talk. That's all, okay?"

What the hell was going on. Trick one? Was Glory Girl 'trick one'-ing her? But trick one was about distraction, she'd never been confused into tranquility. Taylor felt herself cooling off. "I was looking forward to this." All day. All day.

"Yeah I – I remember your message. It uh. Makes more sense now."

Taylor frowned.

Glory Girl bit her lip.

Taylor tapped her foot.

"Are you… are you going to apologize, for the dress?" Glory Girl had a face like the words had forced themselves out of her mouth against her will. "As much as I'm trying to be calm I am actually pretty pissed off about it."

Seriously what the hell was going on.

"I did."

"Y-" The reply cut off and Glory Girl looked up in thought. "Oh. Ohhh yeah, I thought that… and you... Wow, that's..."

Taylor closed her eyes and breathed. When she opened them she said, "Bye."

"Wh – uh! Hold on! Th-"

Taylor heard a scratchy, gravely sound. She saw a small metal ball skitter out of the night, heading across the tarmac towards her.

Glory Girl took a step forward. "Wait! Don't- "

A coughing pop, the sound a block of styrofoam makes if you snap it in half, and she was covered in sticky foam. As she wiped it off her face it began to expand and harden. Within seconds her arms were trapped by her chest, her legs glued to the ground like the base of a statue.

…

What?

Even as Glory Girl turned to the side and shouted, people began to appear out of the wreckage. Men in uniform carrying heavy packs, a woman in a flag bandana, a man in blue armor.

What is…

Miss Militia. Taylor remembered her father once remark to a friend that she made patriotism sexy again, when he didn't think she could hear him.

Armsmaster. Once upon a time it was his face that guarded her crotch. She still had those underwear in her dresser somewhere; a memento from better times, like an old teddy bear.

Those uniforms, riot-gear-esque with the black and gunmetal grey, the PRT's logo bold across the chest. She'd dreamed of wearing one, once.

Why were all of these heroes here?

Her eyes settled on Glory Girl.

Armsmaster began to speak. "Unaffiliated parahuman, temporary designation 'Firework,' you are under arrest. The charges are as-"

Glory Girl stepped between them. "What the hell are you doing - get her out – were you even listening-?"

"-are as follows: aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, arson, destruction of private property, grand theft, reckless endangerment-"

"you heard us talk, you know – you know this isn't-"

Armsmaster finally acknowledged her. He had the air of a military man, strict and no nonsense. "Glory Girl, or should I call you Miss Dallon, now? I seem to recall giving you a script -"

"I ad-libbed! Do you blame me? You heard what she said-"

"I was in fact listening to the same conversation as you were, Glory Girl. I have been doing this for a long time. If you do not trust me as your acting superior, then trust my experience instead, when I tell you that you need to leave, now."

"You don't understand - I had her! I could have had her walking in on her own-"

"All the way to her holding cell? Do you honestly believe that would go over better? I will ask you once again to trust me, leave."

Taylor saw their mouths move, she saw Glory Girl gesture and get angrier and indignant while Armsmaster grimaced and grunted from beneath his visor, square jawed and cold like Judge Dredd.

She didn't hear them speak. Their lips flapped but no sound came out. She felt like someone had dumped icewater down her back.

"You…" Was it Taylor that spoke? She couldn't tell. She saw from the corner of her eye, the men in packs were collecting her things: her mint green laptop, her shoes and shirt, all of it was scooped up and rifled through, and finally packed away. "Those are my…" And now the men arrayed behind her, pointing nozzles at her back.

Miss Militia stood to the side, distant. Her hand played on the grip of a handgun. Why was Miss Militia looking at her like that?

Glory Girl and Armsmaster still argued, she watched the expressions on Glory Girl's face.

"Why did you do this?"

Glory Girl snapped to her, furious, but then the anger pulled back, staying with Armsmaster where it belonged. "Taylor, I – I'm sorry. Please just-"

"This was our fight. I thought you wanted… You said…"

Armsmaster continued. "Parahuman 'Firework,' you have heard the charges. You will now be transferred-"

Why had Glory Girl sold her out? Hadn't she agreed? Hadn't they both agreed? Why were these heroes here for her?

"This was our fight." Taylor said. Glory Girl looked at her, torn and breathless even as she did nothing to help; only standing there while Armsmaster spoke.

Fire sparked in Taylor's lungs. "This was our fight!"

Armsmaster cut the speech and pulled out his halberd, collapsed into a shaft in his hand, held just out of view. "Please calm down, or I will be forced to sedate you."

They called her out on lies, they struck from behind while she waited, and now she was stuck in the slow while they paraded their achievement in front of her, talking talking talktalktalk flapflapflap

"Is that all you are! Is that all you're good for! Another fucking liar, another fucking bird, flapping their mouth, saying nothing!"

Armsmaster sunk the tip of his halberd into her neck. Taylor gasped at the chill of steel. She felt something force into her, she felt it churn and boil as her own indignation rose, and finally she felt her neck spit it back out; a steaming mix of liquid and fire that hissed around Armsmaster's halberd.

Smoke and sloughs of skin coughed through the seal the foam left around her neck. She felt her face dribble down her chin.

"Are you worthless like themm?! Arrre you trrassh like themm?! Trash jus' like evvv'ryone else!"

Miss Militia shouldered a launcher. The men in packs hosed her down with foam, more foam, more slow slow flap flap flap talktalktalk and there was Armsmaster shouting, raving, his lying face flapping up and down up and down up and down

Taylor screamed.

The new foam blew off before it could harden, spraying across the ground in drapes and loops. Her foam shell splintered. A slab holding her right arm blew off the main shell, the force ripped the base off of the tarmac, knocking her to the ground.

Taylor's face crunched against the tarmac, her mouth filled with blood and fire. She bashed her free arm against the ground until the cast shattered.

The men with packs found their bearings and shot more foam at her, even as Armsmaster shouted at them to hold fire.

Taylor's shoulder exploded. The cast blew open like a banana peel, peeling back in curling chunks right down to her waist. Two men behind her ragdolled down the road, stopping against the curb with their limbs at odd angles.

Miss Militia took aim and fired her launcher. A pressurized stream of liquid tungsten opened a hole through Taylor's chest, even as the force of the warhead spun her across the tarmac like a hockey puck.

Armsmaster took aim with his halberd, sinking three darts into her back. The first shot back out. The second and third burst open like balloons, releasing their contents in a spray of vapor and fire.

Taylor's torso exploded. A gout of magma and smog spattered the ground. Armsmaster flew into a wall, his eyes bruised and his eardrums ruptured. Miss Militia tumbled through piles of brick and rebar. The upper half of Taylor's shell flew towards the bay, quickly vanishing into the night. The bottom half crumbled beneath her feet, spraying heavy chunks in all directions. One piece rebounded off the tarmac towards a man with a pack; his left leg vanished beneath the knee.

Taylor pushed herself up, her chest oozing and coughing as the wound closed. She saw Miss Militia stagger to her feet, a new launcher on her shoulder.

Glory Girl crashed into her. The two of them tumbled through the wreckage, coming to rest near the open water. Glory Girl backed away from Taylor, palms raised.

Taylor saw Glory Girl talking, gesturing, inching back and down, becoming small. She felt...

She felt nothing.

Taylor felt nothing but the thrill of the moment. She saw only an empty expanse stretching out before her: her final frontier. She saw her future waiting for her there, and she saw the one thing standing in her way.

Taylor howled.

Glory Girl ran.

Taylor didn't see how far they went. She didn't hear the pleas or cries. She felt only an ache, a tear in her bones, a pain she would push through, break through, and leave behind her broken.

Glory Girl tried to drag Taylor into the bay.

Taylor helped. They hit the bottom twenty feet down, Glory Girl pinned beneath, a hollowed column of white water surging around them.

Glory Girl flew backwards, out from under Taylor, heading up.

Taylor pursued. They hit the edge of a concrete loading platform.

Glory Girl elbowed Taylor across the face. Taylor slammed her against the platform. Glory Girl held up her palms.

ftoonk

Glory Girl's mouth flapped up and down.

ftoonk

Glory Gi-

ftoonk

ftoonk ftoonk

ftoonkkghk

Glory Girl screamed.

Taylor stopped. She saw Glory Girl there: sand in her hair, water in her boots, blood running down her face and blooming through her dress. Her arms hung at her sides. She couldn't support her own weight and fell, sliding down within the groove Taylor had carved with her body. Glory Girl sobbed there, at the bottom.

Taylor felt… She felt…

…

Taylor felt nothing. Nothing but the fire and the thrum of blood. Glory Girl had fucked her. Taylor would fuck her back.

Her arm drew back.

A hand the size of Taylor's torso grabbed her and hurled her through the warehouse bay door, sending her tumbling across the interior. She pushed herself up.

There was Lung. Eight feet of winding silver scales, glimmering like an oil slick in the fire that danced on him. His knuckles brushed the ground. His legs coiled like cartoon lightning bolts. His head was drawn, all jaw and nose, his eyes little black beads shining at the end of a muzzle. His mouth opened. He roared.

Taylor howled back.

They met in the middle of the warehouse. Taylor's fist turned his ribs into patty. His palm flattened her to the ground, through the concrete floor and into the dirt below, then he picked her up and reeled back for a throw.

His hand exploded, finger parts and gobbets of meat splattered the ground. A plume of molten rock swatted him off his feet and through the wall.

Lung was fists and feet: heavy getting heavier, big getting bigger, an equation of force and mass. Taylor broke his bones, she gouged his flesh, she threw him down and ground him in the dirt. And he got back up stronger, grabbing her, throwing her away, driving her like a sledge drives a nail.

Taylor was a rocket. Anger was her fuel: anger at Glory Girl for betraying her. Anger at people for being so stupid and backwards. Anger at herself for trusting. Her engine burned these things, ate them, made them small, and used their bodies to carry her forward. Every second she was faster and hotter and louder. She found no satisfaction, only pressure that built with no end in sight.

Lung backhanded her through a building.

Taylor blew off his arm at the shoulder.

Lung grappled her, wringing her with hands the size of car doors.

Taylor exploded in his hands, curling his fingers around the backs of his palms.

Lung chewed on her side, spurts of molten rock squirting around his teeth.

Taylor exploded in his mouth, opening his throat like two cabinet doors.

Lung grew wings and tried to fly.

Taylor helped him. She stuck her hands in his guts and blew open his back. She shoved them into the clouds. Lung tore and flapped. And finally Taylor's back exploded, a jet of plasma two hundred feet long carried them down, Lung trapped beneath her.

Their impact was an earthquake. Every window on the block shattered. Every car alarm within five went off, every dog within ten barked.

Taylor stood over Lung while he shrunk beneath her. His scales retreated. His legs unkinked. His face flattened, his neck shortened. Before the transformation had entirely reversed, his eyes blinked open again. His pupils dilated, recognizing her above him.

Taylor punched him into the dirt.

He blinked, raising a hand.

Taylor hit him. Blood squirted across her face.

He gurgled and coughed. His legs drew up.

Taylor hit him.

He twitched.

Taylor hit him again.

again

again again

again again again againagainagain

When Taylor finally stopped she was human. She was gasping, panting, her mouth was dry, her hands and arms were slick with blood. She saw Lung beneath her; three hundred pounds of beef patty laid out in the shape of a man. He was still alive, somehow, with the way he pulsed and oozed; a heart still beating inside the meat, somewhere. Taylor's gorge rose and she swallowed it down.

…

Was she a mallet? A tenderizer? Was she a chef, cooking up some burgers? No. No she wasn't. She wasn't. She was better than that.

…

Taylor found her breath. She felt cool night air on her shoulders. The wind was heavy with alarms and barks, shouts, crackles and crashes.

…

Lung's pants were on him, somehow. How they changed with him, where they went in the interim, how they grew back; Taylor didn't know. They were so bloodied they didn't look it anymore, instead it was the clean spots that looked strange.

…

And he wouldn't mind. Not like flappy girl had. And if he did Taylor would still be fine.

…

She would be just fine.

…

Just fine.

…..

(4)

Lung's blood was cold. Taylor felt it when the wind stirred; a sharp chill, like ice pressed to her skin. It was on her chest, on her face, her arms, her back, on all of her. Her pants – his pants – were heavy with it. She felt them slap against her calves as she walked.

It felt like glue, the way it made her arms catch her sides. And it felt like oil, the way it never seemed to really dry. She could smell it in the air; salt and copper and sharp. She could taste it.

…

No one tried to buy her, this walk home.

No one interacted with her at all, in fact.

…

She saw a druggy cross the street, around her. The beggar hid his cup as she passed. The gang-banger wannabes in the hoods and ass-pants swaggered up and then away, handguns poking out of their belts.

The cop cars sped past, lights on and sirens blazing. Their headlights seemed to linger on her, her skin dazzling white and rust-red in the highbeam glare. But they didn't stop. They never stopped.

…

And it was good that they didn't.

…

Taylor stopped by Winslow on the way home. She kicked down the fence, she busted opened doors, she tore apart locks. She used the locker room showers for the first time in nine months.

She opened a hole in the pipes and hosed off. The water was ice cold and still too hot.

She took a sweater from one of the sports lockers; big and green and full of school spirit. She didn't towel off, just pulled the hoodie on over her mop of wet hair. She would dry on her own.

…

Danny's clunker was in their driveway, big and brown; the bed was empty, the wheels and rims spattered with mud. A new ding was on the driver's side door, it probably felt right at home.

…

The lights were on; thick wooden blinds backlit the living room windows, the front door framed in gold.

…

The front door was unlocked.

…

Danny was by the stairs, collapsed in a chair. A brown bottle was by his foot; half-empty. His eyes were sunken and wet, his nose runny with snot.

…

Taylor saw a tie strung around the balcony, an empty loop hanging down.

…

Danny noticed her. "Taylor? This… This isn't… This isn't wh…" He rose and stumbled, catching himself on the wall. The bottle toppled. Whiskey stench flooded across the hardwood. "I swear, this isn't what it looks like."

Taylor didn't hear him. Her ears were ringing. She saw the noose. She saw the bottle. She saw him standing there, bags in his eyes, lines on his face; yesterday's shirt and slacks ruffled and well-oiled. Grizzle spread on his face like dirt. He stunk, she could smell him.

She saw him talk.

This about work, he said.

That about debt, he said.

Taylor felt him near her as he spoke. She felt this like she had felt fire, the way heat burned at her eyes, forcing her back, making her chest swell with alarm.

He was crying. She heard him talk.

"You don't speak to me, you don't look at me. It's like I'm not even there."

She heard herself talk. "And why would I want to watch a grown man mope around the house, wincing at every footstep?"

This about her, he said.

That about them, he said.

She was boiling. He was raging. Now they were yelling, shouting, their voices echoing in the hall, caught between walls and family photos.

Danny stepped forward. Taylor felt him there, burning her with his presence. "Please Taylor! Tell me what to do and I'll do it! Anything! I want to help you! Let me help you!"

She saw herself step forward. "And where the hell was this guy?! Where was this guy when I needed him! When I was crying myself to sleep down the goddamn hall where were you! Did you want an invitation? Were you waiting for me to run to your door, crying about nightmares, asking to sleep in your bed!"

"I can respect your privacy or I can be there for you when I think you need me, but I can't do both!

"You can't do either! So what the fuck were you waiting for? Mom to crawl out of the grave and pick up the slack!?""

"This is not about her!"

"It's always about her! She's fucking dead! She's been dead for six years and you still haven't let her go!"

"This is not about her!"

Taylor shoved him back. "Don't lie to me! If I look on your nightstand, whose picture do I see, is it mine or is it hers? And if you open up your wallet, whose face do you see first, is it mine, or is it hers? And whose name were you saying while you sat here crying, weeping like a baby! Was it mine? Or were you begging her for strength like you always do!"

He hit her. He had boxed in his youth, and it showed, the way he kept his balance even as she remained upright, unbothered. He paled and stepped back, blood and whiskey draining from his face. "T – Taylor, I… I'm sorry I-"

Taylor knocked him to the floor.

For a moment he stayed there, stunned. She heard herself breathing, panting. She heard him say:

"Taylor… Your face… What-?"

She was melting. She felt something dripping from her chin. She saw Danny on the floor, propped against the stairwell, blood dripping from his nose, looking up at her like he'd never seen her before. Taylor stepped forward, and then back. She turned and ran.

Down the hall. Out the door. It was five in the morning. The sky was indigo blue and getting brighter. Her house was far away and getting farther.

Her heart was pounding. She wasn't cooling down. She moved even when she tried to stand still, her hands clenched and unclenched, her knees shook, she was permanently gasping, always out of breath, or too much breath the wrong amount of breath

Was it summer already? This unbearable heat, making her dizzy and cold and hot, the air clogging her throat. Taylor cut through yards, turned into alleyways, jay-walked intersections; stumbling like a drunk as she put as much distance as she could between her and him, her and there, her and them. And yet she never seemed to move at all. She felt him there behind her still, bloodied on the floor, and she felt her own hand clench, her arm burning out of her sweater.

Taylor bashed her head against a brick wall. She drew back and did it again. She made a fist and ground her knuckles through the grout; the pain cold and sharp as her skin split.

She was going going to break. She could feel herself stretching, bulging, like her ribs were popping open, snapping back one at a time. She smashed her face against the brick. She ground her forehead until blood dripped down her neck, slick and hot in the morning air.

"Hey!" A man in a ballcap approached from around the corner. "Hey crazy, the fuck you think you're doin? You gotta leave now." A handgun poked out of his pants pocket. She saw his hand rest near there from the corner of her eye, his thumb hooked on his belt. She wanted to, she needed-

Taylor pulled her head from the wall, gooey blood tethering her there for a moment before the strands thinned and separated. She smashed her forehead again. Something cracked; her blood sizzled.

The man cackled. "Hey, crazy! Come back later, we're closed. Leave or I make you leave, understand?"

Taylor beat her fist into the wall.

He laughed and called out something. Two more men came around the corner. He pointed. They laughed. They were all laughing at her. Laughing, laughing… So funny, so funny, right?

One of them pulled out a gun. The crack of gunfire sent a tremor down her spine. She felt a whine slip out of her throat, loud and keening; an animal sound. She could hear them laughing, pointing their guns at her, pointing laughing laughing

He shoved her off the wall, away from the brick, pointing the gun in her face, telling her to go or he'd shoot. She saw his sportscap, brown eyes gleaming under the brim, a sharp jaw lined with pencil thin beard. He saw her insides, streaks of slate black and molten orange where her skin parted and sagged. He fired. The bullet ricocheted off her cheekbone

Taylor wrapped her hand around his face, her fingers twitching, begging to close, his skin sizzling in her palm.

He shot her again. Again. Again.

She gasped. "Sto…"

He kicked her, grabbing at her. He shot her again. She felt the bullet tease her gut. Taylor slammed his head into the wall. The gun fell out of his hand. He was screaming, thrashing.

Bullets peppered her side. She pulled him away from the wall and slammed him again. His skull pulped around her fingers; red and grey pushed out, spattering the wall, spraying across her face. She pulled him back again, his body hanging limp from the meat in her hand. She slammed him into the wall again, her back carrying them through, into the interior.

The inside was alive: big tables and chairs, duffle bags and backpacks and beerbottles, pool ques and playing cards; a man per chair and more, the air heavy with their smoke. They were already standing, flipping tables, pulling out guns.

Taylor didn't feel the bullets. She didn't hear them shouting, bellowing, crying, begging. She didn't see them breaking over her like waves over rock.

Someone threw a bottle. It shattered on her collarbone; a curtain of vodka and flames ran down her chest.

Taylor slammed into him, showering the back wall in a cloud of tumbling limbs.

Flipping tables, breaking glass.

A man stumbled to his feet, shell-shocked and bloodied.

Taylor shouldered him against the wall, blowing him open like a can of fruit. His arm landed in the stairwell.

Cracking wood, wet slaps and smacks.

The men were on the floor, groaning and bleeding, ears ringing, eyes rolling. The windows were broken, the walls dented and busted.

One man lurched to his feet, stumbling up the stairs at the back. He slipped on something, cracking his head on the railing.

Taylor smashed him against the stairs - through the stairs – her back coughed twice, bulging the stairwell walls like a funhouse mirror.

A man ran in through the doorway. He slipped, careening into a broken table. His gun went off, spinning out of his hand. Taylor saw him on the ground, looking up at her.

Taylor smashed him down, kneeling over him, beating her fists against him until he went still. And even after, she kept hitting, burying her knuckles in him, again, again. She heard herself screaming, howling, wailing. She was soaked, she was covered in them. She was wearing them like clothing. And still she hit him, again, again, until there was nothing that could be identified as having been him once, just a puddle of red and pink and white; a mulch, a spilled glass, an overripe fruit crushed beneath a boot.

She saw her hands on the floor, fingers splayed in the mess.

She smelled… She smelled-

She tasted

"Oh god…" There was someone behind her, at the door. A blond in a catsuit. Behind her, further still, were four more people, riding on the backs of big things. Taylor looked at her. "H - hey."

The girl raised her hands, palms up. "Woah, hey, hey. Just talking, just – on the ground, everyone on the ground, right now, right now. We just – down, down now, on the ground."

Shapes shifted. Big things, moving lines. It was just her and the blond now. Taylor saw a an endless road beneath her, stretching out-

"Hey." The blond said again, voice soft and low, so soft Taylor could barely hear her. "I – I don't want to fight. I'm soft. I can't fight you. I just want to talk. Just to talk. Hey, hey hey hey…. Just…" The girl was backing away, crouching down, making herself small.

"Just here to talk. You – come on, come on you can do it. I know, I know it hurts, I know. I know you can, just… take a breath. Come on… Hey, hey hey..." And now she was on her knees, hands on her head, bowing her head down as she spoke. "I know you're in there. You do too. You can come back. You want to come back. Breathe. Just breathe. Please. Please – please I'm not I'm not-"

Taylor was standing in front of her, hovering over her. And the girl was shivering, on her knees, her shoulders shaking. Taylor felt early morning air on her back.

"S… S – see? I knew… I knew you could…"

Taylor didn't understand.

"It's alright. It's alright, it's okay. It's fine. I - I'm going to s-stand up, okay?"

Did they need her permission?

"Okay. Okay, everything is fine, right? Quiet. Everyone, no talking, no talking. Hi. Hi there… How – how are you doing?"

...What?

"Oh... Okay. Okay… That's – that's good. Alright? But we can't… stay here. We need to… You. You need to go. Do you understand? We need to go. But you can come with us. Somewhere quiet. Okay? Is that okay? For us to take you somewhere quiet?"

The girl reached out and took her hand, Taylor's squelching against the fabric of her gloves. Taylor looked down at their hands, watching as she closed her thumb over the back of the girl's hand.

"Come on." The girl said, ushering her forward, gently pulling at her hand. "We need to go."

"Come on…"

"Come on, we need to go."

"Come on. Come on… Somewhere quiet… Come on…"

Taylor saw her own hand, red with blood. She saw the same spilled down her chest. And she saw the girl; blond in a catsuit, pulling at her hand, the smile on her face stretching and cracking, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was small. So small. Taylor looked down at her hand again.

...

"G - good. Good, this way. Come on, come on. Up. Time to go."

…..

(5)

They rode to a house in the slums, keeping to the backroads, the alleyways, scaling walls and cresting buildings.

The sun was rising. When they hit rooftops Taylor felt it on her shoulders, spreading warmth like a blanket. She saw the light catch and spin in the blonde's hair, tossed by the air streaming by and the world racing past.

"I'm Lisa," the girl said. "We're almost there."

Time passed. The ride stopped.

...

Taylor sat on a wood stool, her elbows on her knees, watching water spin between her legs. It was red. Smokey, swirly red.

She felt Lisa's hands on her, Lisa's fingers in her hair. Suds dripped down her shoulders and thighs. Bubbles of pearlescent pink, gleaming. The water spun red.

Red, still.

Red…

Taylor offered her arms when prompted. She saw Lisa work; one hand supporting hers, the other in a brush, bristles peeling back flakes like she was sanding paint. The water was red.

Red, still…

Blond hair hung over Lisa's shoulders, dark and heavy with water. Her eyes gleamed vibrant green in the haze. Her hands were red now, too. The color sunk in around her nailbeds, deep and irritated.

"Don't worry..." Lisa said, her voice soft in the white noise. She had freckles, too, Taylor could see them. Peppered across the bridge of her nose, across her shoulders, across her chest and collarbones.

"You aren't stupid… I know… I know…"

Lisa was on her knees, washing the blood between Taylor's toes. The water spun red, still. Sediment collected round the drain, thick particulate like coffee grounds.

"It's alright," she said. "It's alright… Let me do this... "

It was under Lisa's nails now. Taylor could see it. Red.. Red…. Was it all coming from her? Just from her?

"It's alright. Everything's alright… It's over now… "

Steam haze. Shafts of light in the gloom. Flower shampoo and ocean-salt bodywash. Lisa there, over her, gleaming, bright and soft and gold. The water wasn't red anymore. It was clear now.

The shower cut off. Lisa dried her and tossed a robe over her. She led Taylor to the couch downstairs, then sat her down and eased her onto the armrest.

"What's your favorite food…? Mm? I can do that. Tomorrow… Tomorrow. Or… well… Today. Later… Mm… Easy, just there, just rest... It's fine. Sleep… I'll be here when you're up… Go on…"

Taylor felt the robe on her skin. She felt the plush of the armrest on her cheek, in some places pressing her hair - still damp and flowery - to her cheek. She felt the air on her nape, cool and quiet. It was just her and Lisa. The rest was quiet. So quiet.

A glass of water clacked on the coffee table. A blanket settled on her side.

The lights shut off. Shapes in the gloom: a flatscreen against the wall, glinting. Quiet noises in the distance, above her. Footsteps and creaks.

…

…

Crackling… Hissing…

…

That smell…

…

Taylor pushed herself up, eyes on the kitchen. Her feet were heavy. She felt like she was on stilts, the way her eyes seemed to sway as she walked. She fell into a chair at the table.

Lisa was at the stove, one shoulder poking out of a too-big tee. Her hair was back in a ponytail and it swished as she cooked, back and forth, swish, swish. It felt nostalgic, somehow, as Taylor watched her work.

"Good morning," Lisa said. She shot a glance at the microwave. The display flashed. "Or… Well… Afternoon, I suppose..."

It was quiet. Taylor heard her talk, her and the crackle-hiss of fat dancing in a pan; beyond that, an airy silence that seemed to radiate from the walls, filling her ears with cotton. The silence of a big empty space.

Swish. Swish.

Crackle.

A plate of half-burnt bacon set on the table, a glass of water beside. Taylor looked at the water. Lisa nibbled the bacon.

"It's not great." Lisa said. Her nose crinkled. "I didn't do a good job. There's some food in the fridge. Whenever you're up to eat… Grab some. Anything you want, okay?"

Taylor nudged the glass. Clinking ice. Dazzling lights. Swish swish swish.

…

Taylor sat on the couch, chasing wood grains across the coffee table with her eyes. The cushions shifted. Taylor glanced over. The boy from before was there; black hair and a prettyboy face. He looked at her.

"I was told to be on my most bestest behavior."

Taylor blinked.

He blinked.

Taylor blinked again.

"… Do you play any games?"

The TV flicked on. He handed her a controller – he tried to. He poked her hands with the grips. "No? Is it-?" He tried again. "Uh." He balanced the controller on her thigh. "There you go." The controller slid off her thigh and onto the couch. "Perfect."

The television flashed, the speakers boomed and cracked. The controller rumbled up against her leg, dancing on the cushion.

Lisa poked her head in. "…Really, Alec?"

"Tell it to my win-loss."

"Just do one-player."

"What manner of host excludes their guest?"

Lisa sighed.

…

A severe looking girl stopped by. She uncapped a beer and set it on the coffee table near Taylor.

For a moment that was it: Taylor on the couch, beer on the table, the girl standing there, unmoving.

…

The girl turned and left.

…

…

Quiet and still. No crackles from the kitchen. No patters from upstairs.

…

Taylor pulled up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. It was cold. She was cold.

…

Red beneath her nails. On her face. On her skin. Thick and gooey, stretchy, holding, clinging to her. She could see it still, the pall hanging over her.

…

…

A lamp clicked on. Lisa sat down next to her. The cushions shifted. Taylor tipped, her head fell onto Lisa's shoulder. Taylor felt something on her face, wet and cold running down her cheeks.

"You know…" Lisa said, her voice painfully soft in the near dark. "All it really takes is a day. A really, truly bad day, to… ruin, a good person. You've seen it before. Even if you don't remember."

Lisa pulled her knees to her chest. They matched now. Taylor sniffled. "Sphere, have you heard of him? Yes? Or… Nilbog? Mm. Dr. Manton? Hm? Well. Poster childs all. But it's not rare, not nearly. Sad, isn't it?

"Losing someone you love… being denied your dream… your aspirations; crushed, flaunted in front of you… Is it any wonder? No… Not really, no… But they didn't come back. None of them. And that was it, for them. Them and the day that changed them.

"You think you're… weak? You came back, you know? You came back from your worst day, the day that broke you… And then you did it again, yesterday."

Taylor dried her cheek on Lisa's shoulder. Lisa choked off a ticklish laugh. "There are even laws for it, you know? Temporary insanity, after trigger events... It's a common ruling. They would have forgiven you, you know? If you had… Ha… Ah… I'm sorry… I know…

"Do you have anywhere you can… No… Anyone you… Okay…Okay. You can stay here… It's fine… It really is. We have an extra room… It's not much… just while you figure things out…"

Taylor looked at her. Lisa grinned crookedly. "You really wear your heart on your sleeve, you know? It's not hard to see what you mean."

Lisa tossed arm over her shoulder and hugged her once, very briefly. Then she stood. Taylor flopped over onto her side.

"Go to sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

Taylor's mouth opened. She watched Lisa's back fall away, through the door, swish swish patter patter, her shoulder sparkling. The lights flicked off. Taylor's mouth closed.

…

…

Light from under the front door lit the room. Taylor sucked a breath through her nose and sat up. She heard noise from the kitchen. Hushed conversations, gently clacking plates and glasses.

Lisa and Alec were there. Him at the table, leaning back in his chair. Lisa hovering over hers, elbows resting on the table. A third person: the man from the day before, the one with the riding leathers and motorcycle helmet. But there was no gear now, just plainclothes and his backpack on the counter.

The conversation cut as she sat. Lisa sighed and adjusted Taylor's robe. Alec cleared his throat. The man looked at her, frowning. He met Lisa's eyes over her shoulder.

"Name's Brian," he said, polite and strained. Then he turned and left the room. Alec watched him go, then followed the sounds of his fading footsteps, and once the front door had opened and closed he turned back to Taylor, amused.

"He's mad about our ratio."

Taylor blinked. Lisa shook her head over Taylor's shoulder.

"The 'one known murderer per group' rule. We're over budget."

Taylor looked at the table.

Lisa sighed. She patted Taylor's shoulder. "… Night and Fog, then?"

Alec's nose crinkled. "They're basically one person."

"Hookwolf?"

"Bet he thinks they go to a farm somewhere."

"Krieg? Kaiser?"

Alec shrugged. "White privilege? By their count it's only three-fifths of a crime anyways."

"Kaiser killed Allfather too, remember?"

"Allfather wasn't black?"

"Also ignoring every parahuman of the ABB?

"Yeah all two of them. Are you saying I should kill someone too? It has seemed to work out pretty well for them."

Lisa let out a breath through her nose. She rested her hands on Taylor's shoulders. "Don't worry about it too much… alright?"

Alec nodded. "They'll just pin it on Hookwolf anyways."

"Alec."

"What? More people for the farm upstate, he won't mind."

Lisa brushed her hair back. "I gotta… wow." She squeezed Taylor's shoulders. "I'm going to go get you some clothes that will actually fit. Be back soon, okay? Don't mind Alec, he's the Lennie of conversationalists."

"Now who's being childish."

"Ta."

Lisa left. Taylor swayed back to the couch and fell into it.

…..

Lisa shook her awake. Taylor sat up. Lisa grabbed her hand, helping her to her feet. In her other hand was a big lumpy bag, half on the floor.

"Clothes and hair dye. Come on. It'll be fun. An adventure. Up. Come on… up, up."

Two hours later Taylor was wearing them; snug jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, black hair tied back, fed through the clasp of a cap. She didn't recognize herself in the mirror. She didn't recognize herself in clothes that fit, sleeves that stopped at her wrists, pants that stopped at her ankles, not too tight or too lose or too short or too long. They were soft.

Back in the living room Alec greeted her. "You look like a soccer mom ate another soccer mom."

Was that a compliment? Taylor looked at Lisa, but Lisa was looking at Alec. Taylor looked back at Alec, but Alec wasn't looking at either of them. The TV flickered on. He picked up a controller.

Lisa conga-lined Taylor to the couch and sat her down. "It probably doesn't seem like much, but you are now invisible to law enforcement." Lisa squeezed down next to her.

"Three's a crowd, boss." Alec said. Bang bang. Grenade!

"Brian's the boss."

Alec snorted. "Yer boss."

For a minute or two that was it. Them on the couch. Alec running and gunning his way to victo – ah, he died. "Shit."

Taylor felt her chest expand, filling with air for what felt like the first time in days. A fog cleared. She felt the ballcap on her head, the swish swish of her own hair as her head flicked left and right. She put her arm around Lisa's shoulders, squeezed her once and then pulled back, her hands in her lap. Lisa smiled.

Bang bang – grenade!

Alec died.

"Shit."

…..

(6)

Lisa left. Taylor's eyes followed her while they could.

It was her, Alec and the television, now. The controller rattled, his thumbs clicked this, clacked that, the speakers barked, the screen flashed. He wasn't doing very well.

Bang bang.

"Again? Where even is this guy."

The screen shifted, crags of rock and palm trees whipped by, sunlight beat down. The muzzle of a long gun gleamed and swayed. Crack – the barrel lit up like a firecracker.

Bang bang.

The screen turned red and fell to the sand. "These people have no passion in their lives. It's shameful, really."

The other person was.. what was the word? Taylor could see it in her head.

Clickety clack bang bang

Dead.

"It's the same guy every time."

The other character was… behind a high rock, crouching so he couldn't be seen. Taylor knew the word. It was…

"Squatting."

Alec glanced at her, then back to the screen. "Camping. Is the word. And yeah. It's not… "

Bang bang bang.

Dead.

Alec dropped the controller in his lap. "It offends me how effective that is."

The screen wasn't moving much anymore. It was stuck circling around his corpse in the sand, flashing letters on a black bar. Taylor's arms were around her legs. She felt her hair on her nape; tickly ends and thick curls.

Alec offered her the controller, still reeling from his emotional loss. "You want to try?"

He glanced at her. "Hm?"

..

"Are you uh…"

...

"How about something else?" Alec got off the couch and rummaged around the cabinet beneath the television; opening doors, sliding out drawers, fiddling with plugs. He pulled on a long, thin cord. "The hell is this."

Swish tickle.

Swish.

Alec was being eaten by the display cabinet. His legs poked out, wiggling as he fumbled in the dark. He grunted. The television shut off. "Did that do anything?

Lisa appeared from the hall. "Hide all you want, you'll never escape the shame of defeat."

Alec's foot kicked. "Fuck you."

But she was already gone.

The television flicked back on, the screen grey with static. It hissed at her.

Then black. Company logos and jingles.

The couch shifted. "Family friendly in the same way Monopoly is; spoilers."

A match started. Alec ended it.

That was it, for a while. Taylor watched the television. The moving shapes: one him, one them. Smash, bang, zoom – straight to the moon. No rocks to hide behind.

"No squatting now," she said.

He glanced at her, and after a moment of silence, held out the controller, grips first. Taylor looked at him, at it. Swish, her hair shifted as her head turned. Her hand reached out and closed around it. He let go. The controller slipped out of her hand and fell on the couch.

Alec cleared his throat. "You gotta grab it a little harder. Here."

The controller pointed at her again. Taylor put her feet on the floor and reached out. Her fingers curled around the grip. He let go. It stayed.

Taylor held the controller. It felt strange. Light and fragile. Hollow. Where did her fingers go? Alec scooted over and pointed at the wigglesticks.

"Thumbs here."

"… Good."

"This one moves you. Click these while moving."

"Or not. Both. Mix it up."

"Don't drop the controller."

"Use this button too."

"Don't drop the controller."

"What is that. What did you do."

"Was that a super? Did you just…?"

"Is that Side-B? You can't just-"

"Why is that working."

"Jesus there's no answer."

"An impenetrable wall of Side-B."

Taylor shushed him.

SideB.

SideB.

SideB SideB SideB.

Alec hissed. "That's gotta sting."

Taylor felt strange. Warm. Not hot. Just warmth in her chest, blooming into her fingers and toes, filling her with air and making her light. The other person respawned. Taylor didn't move. Alec took the controller.

The other character walked off screen. The match ended. The screen flashed victory.

Alec relaxed into the couch. "Nothing quite like crushing the spirit of a child." A message appeared. Alec opened it. "He's not thrilled."

A little longer there. Him playing, her watching. Alec got bored and left.

Just Taylor and the coffee table now. And the Television, still on. Quiet, tuned to a channel she didn't recognize. Some lady talking, talking, banners every which way, heavy with text. It left a bad taste in her mouth.

The remote was on the coffee table. She could see it.

Taylor grabbed the remote.

….

The severe looking girl stopped by again, a beer in her hand. Cksht – the cap popped. She set the beer on the table in front of Taylor and took the other end of the couch.

…

Taylor had never had a beer before.

…

She could see the bottle. The brown unassuming glass, the label not quite meeting in the back, the bared neck tan with frost.

…

Taylor grabbed it. It was cold. Slippery. She took a sip.

…

Bitter…

…

Warm, somehow, even as it was cold.

…

Taylor shuddered.

…

It wasn't bad.

…

The other girl made a small noise, then stood and left, gently clapping the back of the couch as she did. In her absence, Taylor pulled her legs up on the couch and held the beer in both hands, hiding it between her knees. Secret sips. No one must know.

Onscreen, lines and colors interacted with each other. A cartoon family, a quirky quartet, a dastardly villain, a slab of pizza cut in four slices, like that wouldn't be an unreasonably large slice to handle. But no, the slices just planked in tiny cartoon hands, rigid as cardboard.

Sip.

…..

The beer was gone. The empty bottle was still in her hand, warm in her palm.

Lisa stopped by past dark, sitting down next to her and resting a glass of water on the table.

"Hey," Taylor said.

"Hey," Lisa said.

For a moment that was it. Them in the gloom. Taylor slowly tipped over until her head fell on Lisa's shoulder.

Lisa, unprepared for the weight, toppled over like a domino, grunting softly as she hit the cushion. She chuckled and unwedged herself. She patted Taylor's shoulder. "Go to sleep." Then she left. Taylor watched her go.

"... Th..."

The lights flicked off.

…..

Lisa entered the kitchen. Taylor was at the stove, black hair swishing as she clacked tongs over a pan.

"Morning," Lisa said.

Taylor was a clacky crab. "Mm."

Lisa sat at the table.

Taylor set a plate of bacon on the table and sat down beside Lisa.

Lisa grabbed a strip and took a bite, sucking air through her teeth as she chewed. "Hot."

"Yeah."

Lisa swallowed, chasing the mouthful with water. "Not burnt."

"No."

"How did you do such a thing."

Alec staggered in, bags under his eyes. He snagged a strip on on the way to the fridge. "Why isn't this burnt." He sounded like a frog. "Is Brian back? Is he in here somewhere? Brian?" Alec planted a hand on the lip of the sink, filling a glass at the tap. "Brian honk twice if you're here."

"Still gone," Lisa said.

Alec made a noncommittal noise. "Back to bed." Away he went, his footsteps clunk-dragging up the stairs.

"You're up early," Lisa said once he'd gone. "Just me and Brian, usually."

Lisa ate the bacon. Taylor poked Lisa's glass. The ice clinked.

"It's going to be a nice day today," Lisa said. "That pack of bacon was maybe literally the only food we had, so I'm going to the grocery store in a while. Do you want to come?"

Taylor did.

Two hours came and went. Taylor lounged on the couch, flicked through channels, gave a curt hey as Alec appeared once again from the stairs, filled his water and stumbled back to bed again.

Lisa appeared at noon. "You ready?"

Taylor stood.

The trip was by foot and bus. When they walked, Lisa led her by the hand. Taylor could manage on her own. But she didn't mind.

When they sat, Lisa was there next to her, jostled by the same bumps and turns, not shying away, not leaning in; their side of the bus a bit heavier on the shocks than expected.

They reached the store. Lisa grabbed a cart, eyes twinkling. "You wanna ride?"

Taylor shook her head. She wouldn't fit. Even if she did Lisa wouldn't be able to push her.

The sliding doors opened. Air whooshed through her hair, tugging her cap. Taylor had never been to this store before. This store was for well off folk. The floor was polished. The corners were lit. There was an in-store bakery, she could smell it, the bread hanging in the air.

"Oh? Do you want one?"

One what? "Yes."

Lisa pushed. The cart didn't rattle. The wheels all made contact with the tile.

They passed an entire isle devoted to bins of things. Taylor frowned. Had Wiley Coyote been here? Lisa walked into the mirage, but Roadrunner could do that shit too when it suited him. Lisa shot a look over her shoulder.

"Hm? Oh. Well we're not getting any, don't worry."

The cart filled with green things, boxes and cans. "We're stockpiling," Lisa said. "It's a five kids one house thing."

The end of the cart almost clipped a shelf on a turn, but Taylor stopped it cold. The contents jostled against the side, Lisa oofed against the handlebar. "I'll push."

They passed the alcohol. Lisa snagged Taylor's arm. "Lifejuice. Ha. Joking. Kinda."

A box and two bottles. The cart was well and truly full.

"One more thing."

Four more things and a bus ride later the front door kicked open. Lisa dropped a sack by the door and set two bags on the table, a thin sheet of sweat on her forehead. Taylor shuffled in loaded up like a Christmas tree. A chair toppled. Dogs barked. Footsteps on the stairs. Lisa started unloading her.

"I couldn't have done it without you. Or with Alec. So, thank you. You were a big help." She took a twelve pack from Taylor's outstretched hand. "And solid as a rock." Her nose crinkled cutely. "Yowza."

Alec came in. "Food? Cool, I'll help eat it."

"Help unpack it."

"What was that I'm too busy bla bla bla-" Alec left. Distantly, the sound of the television turning on.

The severe girl entered, helping them unpack Lisa's horde.

"It's by the door," Lisa said.

"Mm," the girl said.

Taylor designated the counter by the stove as the vegetable area.

"You should introduce yourself," Lisa said to the girl.

The girl looked at Taylor, holding her eyes for a brief moment before turning back to the groceries. "Rachel."

Taylor nodded at her. She picked up a carton of salt, looked around for a clear spot, then put it back down right where she found it.

"Cans and dry food in the cupboard," Lisa said. "Just toss 'em anyplace."

Food moved. The table and counters cleared. Alec wandered back in. "Good work team."

Rachel frowned at him. She grunted and left the room.

He shrugged and rummaged around the fridge. "You forgot my juice boxes."

"It was a conscious decision."

"I'm going to cry."

"They're in the cupboard you dork. We're making dinner tonight, got it?"

"Hide in my room 'till you're done, gotcha."

...

'We' meant Lisa and Taylor, as it turned out. Lisa hadn't asked. But then it didn't seem like she needed to, to know.

Clanking pots and pans, boiling water, sizzling things. Taylor knew how to cook. Lisa kind of did. It showed.

"Boiling," Taylor said.

"Shit," Lisa said.

"I'll do it."

Lisa bowed out with grace. "I'll do the greens, then."

"I believe you."

Around midway Alec wandered back in, standing on his toes to look over their shoulders. "What is that, kelp?"

"It's kale," Lisa said.

"I keep forgetting you're a health nut."

"Brian too."

"Well enjoy your seaweed you weird crab person."

Lisa shot him a look. "Set the table."

"Alright. Set it where?"

"Alec."

"Yeah alright."

Mournfully clattering plates and forks, Alec sighing heavily now and then. Taylor and Lisa set up the platters. It wasn't a five star meal in any respect, but there was a quiet dignity to it. It wouldn't take home silver, or even bronze, but it would earn its participation trophy.

There were no seating arrangements. Or really any arrangements. The first thing Alec did after assembling his plate was to escape to the television with it. Rachel showed up and took hers to wherever she went. Brian was still gone. "Off pouting," Alec explained from the living room, apropos of nothing.

Taylor looked at her plate, loaded light and thin. She poked it with a fork.

"Try and make a good gesture and look what happens," Lisa said around a bite of kale. "Sorry we're such classless boors."

"No," Taylor said.

Quiet clatters of Lisa's fork and knife. Cracks and booms from the living room where Alec played, plate in his lap. Rachel, somewhere in the house, as evidenced by the dog that wandered in once and was called away.

Lisa looked at her, waiting.

Taylor continued. "You're not…"

It felt like home after a long trip. Warm and cold. Calm and quiet. A welcoming sanctuary she'd done nothing to merit and yet still found herself caught wihin. The introspection left her blindsided. Taylor set down the fork.

"You… you don't even know my name, do you."

Lisa froze for a moment. She put down her utensils. "No."

"I never told you… I never told you anything, did I."

"It didn't matter. It doesn't matter."

Taylor looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time. Her mouth was dry.

"After I-"

"I haven't lied to you," Lisa said. Taylor bit off the rest of her sentence. "Not once."

Taylor chewed her bottom lip. She nodded. Her hair swished on her neck. Dinner came and went.

Taylor crashed on the couch.

"Goodnight," Lisa said. The lights flicked off.

"Goodnight," Taylor said. She was gone in the morning.

...

(7)

Danny's car was in the driveway when Taylor got home.

It had moved since she'd been there last. It looked cleaner now. The rims had gotten a rinse, there was less mud on the body and tires. Not spotless in any regard, but better. Noticeably better.

The house was clear. No police tape or gawkers. The blinds were down, the kitchen window faintly lit. The sky was deep blue and getting brighter. Taylor stood in the driveway, dreading the notion of seeing his face in the glass.

She didn't wonder in terms of words. No thoughts of what will he say, or what will I say. She didn't think much at all, only stood there, looking at the house that used to be hers. Maybe it still was. She didn't want to see him. She wasn't ready to see him yet.

With a parting glance at Danny's truck, Taylor turned and headed for school. The walk passed in silence. The sky got brighter. Cloudfronts rolled in from the bay. Sunlight spilled over the opposite horizon, catching on buildings and cars, sparkling on glass and tracing white lines over metal.

The campus wasn't open yet, the little waist-high baby-gate being locked told her as much. Taylor toyed with the concept of kicking it open as she waited at the bus-stop. She passed time counting clouds. There were three of them, big and sprawling, bedsheets and anvils tossed down over the sky.

The campus opened. Her, some faculty and the janitor walked in. Taylor checked the time on a hallway clock. There was still a half hour until classes started. She loitered around an entrance-facing window, watching students emerge from passing cars.

There were two clouds now; a merger. It was going to rain later. Taylor wouldn't mind rain. She pressed her cheek to the glass, fog spreading around the contact.

A bell rang. There were people roaming the halls, the air thick with their voices. Taylor wasn't sure how long they'd been there. She pushed away from the window and went to her locker.

Green door, check.

Remembered the combination, check.

Her things were still there, where she'd left them however many days ago.

Her backpack spilled out onto the floor. Backpack, check.

Her science book was still stuck in the wall – check - and good on it, reach for the stars science-textbook, you can do it. Taylor rifled around the other odds and ends. She shouldered her backpack.

"Hey! What the hell you think you're doing!" a familiar voice said. "You shouldn't be going-" Taylor shut the locker door. Sophia approached from down the hall, growling up a storm. Their eyes met. "-through her…"

…

And then Sophia stopped.

…

Taylor had never seen her make a face quite like that.

"H - Hebert." Sophia said. Said. Like a human would say things with their human voice. She cleared her throat. "I uh… I didn't recognize you."

Well good, they were one for one. Taylor waited for the other shoe to drop.

Sophia took a step back. "Uh."

Uh?

"See you later." Then Sophia turned and walked away, a slight hurry in her step, carrying her down the hall and out of sight.

…

Taylor didn't know how to feel. She watched Sophia's back until the girl vanished around the corner, waiting for the about-face knife throw - gotcha bitch! You thought we were done? Well now you're stabbed, BAM! - but it never came.

…

Taylor went to class.

…

She saw Gladly's mouth move: up down up down; the hardest working part of his body.

She saw Madison, looking prim and cute in her seat, not acknowledging Taylor at all.

The hangers-on, too; the flap brigade members, the stealth bombers, the paratroopers, the spitball-snipers, it was all quiet on the western front. Taylor had seen this before, this calm before the storm, but this didn't feel like that had. There was no tension, no electricity in the air. No stage-whispers where she could barely hear them, no notes passing by, read with a sneer. It was quiet. Just quiet.

…

So why…

Taylor shook herself and tried to focus. She watched Gladly talk. She heard the sounds he made, that hardworking lying mouth fanning her earholes, the owner looking nice and approachable in his slacks-sweatervest combo. No matter how intently she stared she couldn't hear him. As she thought on it she didn't really mind; he'd never said anything of value anyways. She settled for writing down the homework on the board.

The bell rang. A stealth-bomber waited by the door, a plain girl, thin and three-quarters pretty. Taylor was going to ignore her like she always had, but then Madison pulled the girl away, her hand on the girl's shoulder, leading her down the hall.

Taylor froze for a moment, acutely aware of the sounds of the clock above the door. Tick. Tick. Tick.

…

Taylor tried to focus.

She walked to her next class. No one stopped her. No one tried to trip her, no ill-advised shoulderchecks, no name-calls.

Taylor saw the professor's mouth move. She heard the sounds. She wanted them to stop for a second, just for a second. Just real quick I'ma let you finish – but could you shut the hell up for a sec, could you do that for me just real quick?

The far window beckoned her, the rolling cloudfront called her through the glass. Count me Taylor, it said. Am I two? Or am I three? Answer mine riddle and I will grant upon thee that most coveted Boon of Cumulonimbus. Wow, that shit is an honor, thank you clouds.

…

Taylor shook herself and tried to take notes. She wrote things down. She made the proper shapes with her pen. She doodled. No one interrupted her. No one poked her or prodded her. No one walked by and swiped her paper. As the class dragged on her foot started to tap on the linoleum, up down up down

taptaptaptaptaptap

Speaking of taps, one came at her shoulder. Taylor sucked in some air, trapping it in her chest as she turned in her seat. The girl behind her shrank at her observation. "Um," the girl said, "Could you stop tapping?"

Taylor heard the clock above the door, tick, tick, tick.

...

I remember your face you dumb bitch, you think that shit's just water under the bridge? Her face must have somehow conveyed these feelings because as Taylor's eyes bore down on her, the girl shrunk in her seat and focused on her desk.

"Sorry, nevermind."

Said the dumb bitch, eighteen months too late.

Someone knocked on the classroom door. Taylor startled, her pencil snapping in her hand. One of the faculty poked their head in, asking to borrow a whiteboard marker. A fucking marker. Leave, guy. Keep leaving. Keep going, yep, out the room, off the campus, yep little more… aaaaaand die.

…

Taylor wrote down the homework with the top half of her pencil.

The bell rang.

Taylor went to her locker. She pulled her science textbook out of the wall and shoved it in her backpack. Then she closed the door and pressed her forehead to the cool metal, easing her weight off of her heels and into the pressure. It was strange how much it helped center her, considering. Thank you cool metal, you're always there for me except for that one time.

The bell rang. Taylor was late. She walked to her next class.

Emma waited for her in the hall. Alone. It would have made just as much sense if Emma turned out to actually be a cardboard cutout, but Taylor saw her hair move as she shifted weight from foot to foot.

…

Taylor stepped around her; utilizing a pretty slick slide maneuver, the same one that she used to get around vomit and litter and other piles of standing garbage.

Emma stepped with her.

Things got fuzzy. Taylor felt arms around her waist. She looked down and saw the top of Emma's head, the red of Emma's hair. She smelled her perfume. It was sweet.

"I'm so proud of you," Emma said. Taylor blinked. The hug tightened. "I always knew you had it in you."

…

what.

Then Emma let her go. She stepped back to arm's length, her hands up on Taylor's shoulders, smiling all the while. Taylor had forgotten what that face looked like. Taylor blinked again, and Emma was walking away, down the hall.

…

For a moment she was completely frozen, her breath trapped in her chest. Then she turned, her eyes following Emma's back as the girl clacked away. And then Emma was gone.

Taylor felt something squirming in her chest, something alive. She felt it chew through her insides, eat into her gullet and up her throat, and now it was in her mouth, scraping out the backs of her teeth. If she opened her mouth it would escape, and it would find Emma, and it would paint the walls, it would use her like a crayon, it would spell out in so many words exactly where Emma could send her congratulations.

Then the bell rang.

Taylor startled, her eyes snapped to a hallway clock. She'd missed class. The whole class.

…

Taylor shook herself and swallowed something down. She just needed to get to her next class. She just needed to keep going. She could do one more, just one more. It was like exercise. A strength-building exercise where pain was the cost of growth. Taylor was strong, right? So she would push through like she always had.

Ms. Knott was one of the few instructors she could stand. Taylor took her seat, hopeful.

She watched Knott talk, saw her mouth move, heard sounds being made.

Taylor couldn't even remember what subject it was. Was it math? Was Ms. Knott math?

She took deep breaths. She massaged her temples. She ran her hands through her hair.

Flap flap flap flap – look at her go, it's amazing how much she can say if she bothers.

Taylor wrote down the homework.

The bell rang.

Taylor left classroom and kept leaving. She left the building. She left the campus. No one stopped her, none of the faculty even tried. No unmarked vans waited for her at the parking lot or the drop-off strip. No patrolling officers flagged her down.

Taylor walked home. The cloudfront rolled ever onwards. It was getting dark.

Danny's truck was gone. Taylor checked under the doormat. The spare key was still there, she fished it out.

The mess in the hall was gone. The tie; taken down. The whisky; cleaned. As if nothing had never happened.

Taylor went upstairs to her room.

There was a note taped to her door; a sheet of paper folded in half, her name written across the front. Taylor looked at it, taking in every detail. Her jaw clenched. She opened the door and shut it behind her her. She heard the note come loose and flutter to the floor.

Her room was as she'd left it. Taylor sat at her desk. She laid out the work she had to do; a diorama of sheets of paper, books and pencils, a planner full of bracketed page and problem numbers. She clicked on the desklamp, aware of how strange the motion felt. It seemed like it had been ages. It probably had.

Taylor tried to do her work. She read, and re-read, and re-re-read the same page, the same line, her eyes flicking back and forth, over and over. Her foot tapped. She threaded her fingers through her hair.

Danny's truck pulled into the driveway. She heard the thrum of its engine chugging, and then sputter out. She heard the car door open and close. She heard the front door open, Danny's footsteps audible as he clunked inside, into the kitchen. She heard his keys clatter on the table.

She heard him rummage around in there for a moment. And then she heard him walk up the stairs, to her room, each thump of his boots hitting her like a physical blow. He stood outside her door. She could feel him there, just like she knew he could feel her inside.

…

She heard him pick up the note and stick it to her door again. She heard his hand rub against the paper, smoothing the tape down, the sound tearing into her, raising her hackles like nails on a chalkboard. And finally she heard him turn and walk away.

Taylor gasped, breathless. Her pen was broken, the ink spattered across the back of her hand. Her science textbook was charred black, gently smoldering where her hand had rested. She could feel Danny downstairs in the kitchen, she could hear him walking, breathing. She could feel his presence burning her, searing her like a brand.

School was quiet. She'd had a good day. Their fight had never happened. She just needed to do her homework. That's all she needed to do. She just-

-heard him pick up the phone. He was talking to someone, a friend. She heard his voice. He sounded tired.

Just needed to-

He mentioned her name, mumbled, the way a parent says their kid's name when they don't want them to hear; low in the throat, thrumming, but Taylor knew the sound.

Go.

Taylor hopped out of her window and onto the edge of the driveway. Her hands were shaking. She was walking, her legs were moving.

The sky was dark and getting darker. Slate clouds took over the sky, making it grey and black. Wind was picking up. She smelled rain in the air, felt the humidity on her face. Taylor needed to move. She needed more distance.

Taylor walked. She found herself in a familiar place: that part of the docks she'd ruined days prior. Glory Girl… and then her old heroes, and Lung and her father, and those men, and it was amazing how fast it had all happened and how distant it all seemed, how it all came and passed and left her behind, caught in their wake, covered in dust. Taylor was not on fire. She wasn't angry now. There was no reason for her to be angry.

So why, then…

"Hey."

Taylor gasped at the familiar voice. She turned.

Lisa was there behind her, not quite dressed for the weather, looking chilly. "It's going to rain soon," she said, smiling faintly even as Taylor's jaw hardened. "Come on."

What are you doing here. How did you find me. Good questions, but what Taylor actually said was, "You need to go."

Lisa nodded, unbothered. "Yeah. You're coming with me."

Taylor's eyes narrowed. "I almost killed you. Did you forget that?"

Lisa shook her head. "No."

Taylor ran a hand through her hair. "After I did kill…. I don't even know. I don't even know how many people."

"Twenty-eight," Lisa offered. "Is the current figure."

Taylor bit a laugh. "Twenty-fucking-eight…" And then she laughed again, harder and higher, no trace of humor in her voice. "I – you know... I'm supposed to be better than them, right? But what's… what's the first thing… that I do… I go and – I go and take out my shit on other people. People smaller and weaker than me, just like them."

Lisa waited. Taylor continued.

"And I kill… all of them. And I just get away with it. I just…" Taylor took off her cap and looked at it, turning it in her hands. "I put on a… a hat... I dye my hair, and I get away with it! I get away with everything! Just like they do! Just like they always do!"

Taylor started calm, wound tight like a spring, and then something broke and she was shouting, raving, pacing and gesturing, unaware of the motions of her body and her rising voice. "And I tried, I tried so fucking hard to – brush them off, to study, to be better than them, but I can't do it! I can't fucking do it! Even without them, even if they leave me alone, even on a good day I can't do it! Why can't I do this?!

"I can't talk to my dad! I can't read a fucking book! And even now, even if they leave me alone I want to kill them! Right now I want to kill them for the shit they did to me, and it would be easy, and I would get away with it!

"Am I fucking insane? I need you to tell me! Is it them, or is it me? Is there justice? Was there ever justice, because I can't tell! I need you to tell me! Why can't I do this! Why can't I-"

Lisa spoke, her voice cutting through the noise somehow. "Taylor."

Taylor stopped, the momentum of her words still spinning in her chest, urging her forward. She heard herself gasping, she felt her heart pounding.

"Why did you go back?"

Taylor's eyes narrowed. "Because – Because I-"

"You felt like you had to? Like it was a promise you'd made? To stick it out?"

"That's not-"

"Do you even care anymore?"

Taylor's mouth opened.

"Maybe you did, once. Maybe it was important. Why did you go back? Why do you keep going back even though it does this to you? Even though you're surrounded by people you simply cannot stand?"

"Because! B-"

"You don't even know, do you?"

"That's not…"

"It mattered once, didn't it? Maybe it mattered the most, more than anything else. Maybe it was what got you through those tough times, what got you out of bed when you thought you couldn't. Maybe… maybe it was all that you had. Just that, that one single thought, that drive, that compulsion to win, to prove yourself. To be better than them, to become something and leave them behind you.

"But it doesn't anymore, does it? Did it ever matter? Did it ever really matter? Or was it just something you told yourself? Something you convinced yourself of? Why did you go back, Taylor. Ask yourself."

Taylor made a quiet sound.

Lisa bit her lip, and continued a moment later, so softly Taylor had to strain to hear her. "If you did all of those things... If you kept going, if you turned the other cheek every time without fail, if you kept your dad happy, kept smiling and working. If you did all of that, just like before... Taylor… Would that feel like victory to you? Did it ever feel like victory to you? Did it really?"

Taylor stood there in a daze, ears full of cotton, hands limp at her sides, unaware of her body beyond what she saw with her eyes.

"There's no such thing as justice," Lisa said. "Whoever these people are that treated you so badly, they'll probably go on to lead great happy lives with great happy families, rich doctor dad, doting housewife mom, spoiled kids; never paying for anything they own or anything they've done. That's how the world works sometimes."

They were heading back to Lisa's now. It was going to rain soon. Taylor could hear it.

"And as for the rest. It's… like a game."

There were padding through alleyways, crossing intersections.

"A game of pretend. If you see someone out of costume, and they haven't done anything too bad… you pretend you don't see them."

Lisa sat her down on the couch.

"Some people have big guns now. Invisible, weightless guns attached to their bodies. It's not about justice or injustice anymore. It's about damages. And so they play pretend. It's like a game, you see? And it's horrible. It's horrible. But that's life; things are horrible and then you die, and in the meantime between now and dead you try to make the best."

"That's-"

"That's fucking stupid," Lisa agreed. She sat down next to Taylor, turning the television to some quiet channel. "I know it's stupid. They know it's stupid. They know you. They know where you live, they know where you go to school. But you put on a hat, Taylor. You didn't kill anyone that mattered. So you're not Taylor anymore. It's like math, see? Nice, soulless math. And that's what justice really is."

Lisa grabbed a bottle and two shot glasses from the kitchen. She poured them each a shot and held out a glass, prodding Taylor. Taylor pulled her head off of her hands to take it. Their eyes met. Lisa offered a reassuring smile. Taylor's face was almost completely slack.

Lisa tossed her drink back and let out a shuddering sigh. "And really… as an aside… you know what the stupidest thing about underage drinking being illegal is?"

Taylor looked at the glass in her palm.

"Never in my life would a stiff drink have done me more good."

Taylor sniffed it. It smelled like chemicals.

"Course I… still am underage, technically."

Taylor tossed her drink back, then smacked the glass down on the table. She felt like she'd swallowed a lit incense stick. "What did I just drink?"

Lisa poured them both another shot. "Basically pure ethanol."

"It tastes like a grease fire."

"Mm, really roughs up the palette, huh?"

"Why are we doing this."

"It's a rite of passage. A secret technique. When life is truly, truly shit, you sit down and have a drink with a friend, and the next day things are different."

Taylor looked over at Lisa. She accepted the glass Lisa handed her without comment, still watching her, hearing what she'd said replay in her head, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Acquaintance then?"

Taylor maintained that disbelief for a moment longer, then turned away.

"Morning will be better," Lisa said. "Not all better. Not by any measure. There's no magic answer. The world will still suck tomorrow. Those shitheads will still be alive tomorrow. But you know what? So will I. And Alec and Rachel. And you like us."

Taylor looked at her again.

Lisa's mouth quirked up.

...

Taylor's mouth opened and shut. She took a breath and hissed it out. And then she shook her head, turning away, eyes misting. She tossed back her shot. Lisa did the same.

Lisa shuddered and smacked her tongue, making Tyrannosaurus arms. "Eulgh. Not good."

Taylor grimaced. Her nose crinkled. "It's really..."

"Really not..."

"No."

(Victoria)

They asked her later just what the hell had happened. After Amy had fixed the whole… coughing up blood, full-body bruise thing. 'What happened? What happened here? Can you tell us?'

What the hell do you think happened.

'Can you describe the assailant?'

Yeah okay, click your pen again guy, get ready to write, I'm answering both of those in one.

Step one: get a female medical display mannequin, one with the skin peeled off so it's just muscle and connective tissue and shit.

Step two: make it six feet tall and paint it black.

Step three: take that mannequin – now fuck it up. Bend it. Dent it. Bash it full of holes, fill it with fire and make it scream, and hey, you're almost there.

Step four: get another mannequin – this one's me.

Step five: smash the mannequins together like kids fighting with shitty action figures. Put one on the ground and just fucking nail it there. The kid's too into it, his friend's like what the fuck man calm down, but keep going.

Oh shit, he knocked over some Legos, but who cares he's on a roll! Bam! Bam! Bam! Oh shit he broke the other action figure, better take his little snap on coat and run away – and voila, the illusion is complete.

In retrospect the conversation hadn't gone like that at all. The first responders were nice and helpful. She was polite. Everyone was fine. But getting in bed at five in the morning and lying there, tasting blood in her mouth no matter how many times she gargled, Victoria was presented with one of two options:

(1) Cry
(2) Sass

Victoria went with sass. The first time. And it worked the first time. Even when the crazy bitch... well. Girl. Well. When they messaged her later that day.

The second time… not so much the second time.

"What was it like?" Asked someone at school some days later. How word of the debacle had gotten out, Victoria didn't question.

She shook her head, reaching for an apt description even as Amy, sitting next to her at the lunch table, fired off an appalled glare at the offending questioner. Victoria chomped a baby carrot, eyes on the distance.

"It was like… like riding a really fast roller coaster. The ones where you get on this… hanging trolley, you know, your legs and arms just… hang. And then… off it goes and – you know, you just fly all over the place, jerking around, legs flopping, things flying by, just shapes and colors, an'… an' then it stops."

Victoria's voice trailed off. Conversation at hers and adjacent lunch tables were well and truly dead. 'Roller Coaster' didn't quite convey the power, how things crumbled around her, or the sounds she'd made. As Victoria dwelled on this, she mentioned as an addendum, "Also this one breaks your arms at the end."

Amy looked at Victoria. Her hand settled on her knee beneath the table. "That was a really stupid question."

Victoria shook her head. "No, no. It's…" All attention was on her, independent of her aura or what clothes she was wearing. Subdued Glory Girl was a strange sight, she guessed. "It was scary. Probably the scariest shit that's ever happened to me, but I'm not gonna pretend it didn't happen. It's fine."

The tension hanging in the air eased. People exhaled. Victoria crunched another carrot. "That said it actually was a pretty dumb question."

The kid winced. "Sorry."

Victoria waved him off, "'sfine." She had a whole new appreciation for people. Just, people, who weren't her, who would have been paste had they been in her shoes. The world was pretty dangerous without a forcefield, huh?

Also she may or may not owe Lung of all people her life. Better him than Kaiser, she figured. She tossed an arm over Amy's shoulders. "Besides, I got Amy here to put me back together."

"Not funny."

"Not joking."

...

(Sophia)

Armsmaster put up a picture on the display. A picture of a tall girl in a puffy sweater.

"Taylor Hebert, working name: 'Firework.'"

Ha, ha. Funny. Sophia glanced around the room, eyes flicking over the other wards.

"Yesterday at two-oh-three I and Miss Militia cond-"

Yes, good joke. Why are we here?

Armsmaster went on. The more he talked the less she believed him.

Taylor 'the human stick' Hebert? Former stick, at least, until she started taking growth hormones or some shit – and even then she didn't do anything. Once a coward always a coward.

And then Armsmaster played a clip. The lights were still up. The volume was low, just loud enough to be heard without leaning in.

Sophia held in a snort.

Look at that dork in her puffy sweater. Why the hell - foam? Really, Armsy? Just walk up and-

The camera walked forward.

Yep, that's Taylor. Wow, does she actually sell drugs now? We were just bullshitting, but-

She's really losing her shit. Ha, oh woooow, I mean I knew she was crazy but…

On screen, Armsmaster jabbed Taylor with his halberd. Sophia felt this was unnecessary, even bull hormones weren't getting her out of that shit.

And then Taylor's skin fired out of the containment foam and her face melted off and things started being less funny.

The clip played on. The volume started low, so why was it suddenly so loud? She heard Armsmaster's shouting. She heard Glory Girl's shouting. But really what she heard the most was Taylor's shouting.

Although it couldn't really be called shouting, because shouting was what humans did. Animals don't shout, machines don't shout, they make noise, and that's what it was. This keening, wailing sound; the voice an on-fire bandsaw might have.

And then she heard the booms. And Taylor kept on screaming, louder somehow, the speakers shrieking with her sound. Miss Militia fired off something off – 'was that a warhead,' thought Sophia distantly – and all it did was knock her down. Armsmaster was yelling the whole while, drowned out by the howling; she could only barely pick up his voice, even with it coming from inside the helmet. And then –

BOOM

Sophia startled in her seat, snapping out of a daze. The screen cut to black.

Armsmaster - Colin, he wasn't in his suit at the moment, started talking again.

Awaiting direction from higher-ups, he said. Awaiting S-class authorization, he said. Awaiting Triumvirate response, he said. Sophia didn't hear him, she was at the bottom of a well, and his voice was at the top, above ground, echoing down.

Her thought process went something like this:

shit - oh fuck - shit shit shit - what the fuck - I'm fucked fuck fuck -FUCK

Thankfully everyone else was silent as well. No jokes from Clock, Vista limp in her seat, looking bled-out comparable to Sophia herself, whom had actually felt the color drain from her face.

"Taylor Hebert attends Winslow," Colin said, looking at Sophia. "Do you have any information to share?"

Sophia's mouth opened. She had to work to make sounds. "S – she's-"

Sophia and Emma cornering Taylor.

"Just some…"

Talking shit, any shit, anything to hurt her.

"Some nobody…."

And it worked, it always worked. Taylor's face – her fucking face… Taylor running away, shoving through them.

"Never… talks to anyone. She just…"

Spitballs and stolen notes. Taylor running hands through her hair, shuddering while they laughed.
Sophia trailed off, her mouth dry.
Colin paused a beat and then nodded. "I understand. Thank you."

He addressed them all, now. "This was not meant to frighten you, only to warn you. I underestimated her, it did not end well. If you happen upon her in her civilian guise, do not antagonize her. I don't care what she is doing, do not antagonize her. Report her presence and calmly vacate the area.

"If you happen upon her in her cape persona, do not be brave, your sacrifice will do nothing. Do not approach her, do not try to hinder her, do not engage her in any manner. I do not care what she is doing, do not engage her in any manner. Am I understood?"

Response came from the other wards, junior and senior, a chorus of yes in many tones and voices, and shortly after theirs came Sophia's.

Colin nodded firmly. "Good. Dismissed. Sophia, a moment."

...

She couldn't have stood just yet anyways.

...

(8)

It started raining outside. Their conversation consisted largely of clinking glass. Taylor was unmoving save when she drank; recovering from having her life taken and effectively snapped over Lisa's knee. The fire left her. The frustration left her too. She sat there on the couch, glass in hand, her head full of white noise.

Around Lisa's third shot the girl switched to water and turned the television to some stupid movie. "I like this one," she said, voice carefully low, as though she were at a theater, "its production process reads like a gypsy curse."

The movie played. Taylor sipped at her glass. Lisa refilled it when it emptied.

"I wasn't sure if you could get drunk," Lisa said, the bottle upended over Taylor's shotglass and the last of it dripping out. "Do you feel any different?"

Taylor tossed back her shot and waited for some magic to happen. It didn't.

"No." She cast a last glance at her shotglass and then set it down on the table, faintly disappointed. "I don't really… Eat things. Like I used to. Makes sense."

Lisa quirked an eyebrow at her. "Wait, so you could just – eat a whole pizza and be fine? Jealous."

"Don't be. It's not…" Taylor paused, reaching for the word. "Satisfying. It doesn't go to my stomach. I don't know where it goes. I don't bother."

Lisa pursed her lips. "Well. Sorry. But hey, the point isn't to get blasted, anyways, so… Well. You're not missing out on anything. Trust me."

Taylor managed a small shrug. Lisa sighed. The movie cut to commercials.

"I need to lie down," Lisa said, "head or tails?"

"What?"

Lisa's feet plopped onto Taylor's lap as she stretched out on the couch, toes wiggling in tacky rainbow socks. Her head kneaded the armrest, looking for that perfect groove. The television shouted at them about two-for-one tacos.

Lisa settled. "Alright. Now that you can't escape, I'm going to say something. I'd like you to listen until I'm done, okay?"

Taylor peeled her attention away from the tacos, somehow.

"You really scared me when we met. That was probably the most frightened I've ever been in my life. After I got you settled here on the couch I went to my room and cried. I was afraid of you. I still am afraid of you. But just a little, tiny bit, and it's going away."

Lisa took a breath. Taylor was a stone statue, shapes and colors from the television lighting her face in the dark.

"That said, I don't hate you. I never hated you. I don't think you're a bad person. In fact, far from not disliking you, I actively like you. You're honest. You're strong. You're helpful. You're as much a victim of circumstance as any of us. I wasn't lying. There's a room for you here for however long you need it. You'll figure things out. And I'll help. And you'll cook."

Lisa lifted her head up for a moment, "you'll cook, right?"

Taylor's silhouette nodded. Lisa let her head rest again. She waggled her feet in Taylor's lap. "So stop worrying."

Taylor squeezed Lisa's feet. Lisa startled. Commercials ended. They watched the movie in silence, Taylor absently fiddling with Lisa's toes.

Alec appeared from the hall, taking care to walk directly in front of the screen as he passed.

"Down," Lisa said.

"You're not even looking at it." Alec vanishing into the kitchen.

"I'm listening to it."

"Also is that whole bottle gone? Are you not watching because you've gone blind?"

"Yes and shut up."

"Wow, well you can forget me playing with your toes while we watch tv."

"Oh nooooooo"

"I'm gonna play with Brian's instead, and you're gonna feel real left out and sad." Alec wandered back in, nibbling on a slice of bread he'd folded in half. "Oh I know this one," he leaned on the back of the couch, "this is the one with that intense argument and then she just slips on a banana peel."

True to Alec's word, a few minutes later the shouting match between Shelby and her former husband cumulated with a startlingly abrupt pratfall. Alec snickered around a mouthful of sourdough. "Move over I'm sitting down."

Lisa said, "No."

"Well I can't ask the guest to move over."

"Neither of us is moving, this is the most comfortable I've been in weeks."

Alec put his hands on his hips, looking between the ongoing movie and the occupied couch. "Well what if you were to crazily flail off of the couch for like, no reason."

"Don't you dare."

"The chair is empty," Taylor said.

Alec looked at the empty sofa chair next to the couch, then back to Lisa. "Too easy."

Their petty argument over nothing continued until the commercial break. He became bored and fell into the sofa chair, huffing. "This viewing angle is weird."

Lisa made a noise.

"No one's playing with my feet."

Lisa made the same noise again.

Alec slouched in his chair, poking the crown of Lisa's head with his toes. "Do me."

Lisa slapped his feet away, then shook out her hand. "Socks!"

"If you think about it you're always wearing socks. Toesie socks. Made of skin."

"How am I the only drunk person here."

The commercial break ended. Shelby went on a disastrous outing with her new romantic interest.

"Oh, this is the best part." Alec jabbed a finger at the television.

On screen, Shelby snarled at her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, "You don't get to talk to me like that! It was your idea to come here in the first pl - acklgh" a bird flew into her face from out of shot, flapping and squawking wildly.

Alec nodded, stroking his chin like he was appreciating fine art. "I remember from the director's commentary - one shot this bird came out of nowhere and they just went with it."

Onscreen, Shelby wrestled the ornery bird away from her face, hurling it aside, her expression a very real mix of confusion and frustration, starkly so compared to the sub-par acting displayed prior. Jeff was baffled. The camera panned back, a boom mike drifted into shot, an extra walked onscreen and stumbled over a wire. The previous scene resumed with a jumpcut.

"It was genuinely their best take, I think." Alec pointed at Shelby. "See how she's genuinely upset now? It's right after that happened. I don't know why they kept the bird part, that being the case. Never really made sense to me."

Commentary from Alec interspersed with Lisa telling him to stop continued for the rest of the movie. Taylor found herself relaxing more and more, something tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The credits rolled. Alec wandered off. Lisa stretched like a cat, sat up and stood. "I'm off to bed. Up the stairs, first door on the left - that's your room. More accurately the guest room, but... Semantics."

Lisa left, shooting back a parting goodnight over her shoulder.

Taylor slept on the couch, television off, eyes on the ceiling, waiting for the epiphany that never came.

Taylor got up around six. She went to the kitchen and cooked breakfast. The fridge was still stocked from their last outing. She made a platter; filled a big mixing bowl with odds and ends, and covered it with a lid to trap in the heat.

She sat at the table, bowl in the middle, waiting in silence until the others woke up. The kitchen was quiet. There were very few windows. Made sense, they weren't in a good neighborhood. Still Taylor could feel morning outside. Slow and easygoing, like a lazy Saturday. It was maybe actually Saturday.

Lisa came in around seven, looking three-quarters awake in a big Tee and shorts. She spied the mixing bowl. "You made breakfast?"

Taylor nodded. "Dunno how many people are here… made extra."

Lisa lifted the lid. The ingredients for a horribly lumpy breakfast shake peered out; bacon and sausage and eggs with peppers and other colorful breakfast things. Lisa looked at the sink, eyes raking over the pans in the drying rack. "You even cleaned up afterward."

Taylor nodded.

Lisa shook her head, dazed. "It's like I'm living with an actual adult." She started some coffee and loaded up a plate.

Alec stumbled in looking three-quarters dead, empty waterglass in hand.

"You're up early," Lisa said.

Alec made a noise. He went over to the sink, filling his glass at the tap. He noticed the pans in the drying rack, and the bacon-smell in the air, and shot a glance over his shoulder as his glass overflowed, looking thought little slats of eyelid. "Is that bowl… of food?"

It was. Alec loaded up a plate of his own and ate with his head propped on one hand, looking only half-dead now. In a moment of near-consciousness he lifted his head and nodded in Taylor's general direction.

Breakfast passed without incident. Lisa had her coffee. Alec became only one-fourth dead. She and Lisa took care of the dishes as he stumbled away to the couch.

"What do you want to do today?" Lisa asked as she dried a plate.

"I…" Taylor stared ahead, waited for an answer to jump out at her, but nothing did. "I don't know." She handed Lisa a plate.

Lisa dried and shelved it. "Walk around?"

"… Okay."

They left at noon, caught a bus to a better part of town. The roads were still slick from the night's rain, the road gleamed when the sun caught it right. The air was cleaner now, Taylor could smell it. She cracked her window and felt the wind in her hair.

"Lisa," Taylor said, "what do you do?"

Lisa hummed to show she'd heard the question, replying a moment later. "For fun?"

"No… Just." Taylor didn't know how to complete her question.

Lisa saw what she was getting at. "Well… I've got a boss. Me and the crew do some odd jobs for him, now and then. Pays the bills. And in between… Well. I mess around on the internet. Lounge. Exercise. Buy things I don't need..."

Taylor waited for any last minute additions, but none came, and she nodded to herself without comment. They got off near the boardwalk.

The sun was up, the air was cool, throngs of people passed by and milled around, leaning on railings, loitering in groups, carrying drinks and snacks from the many food carts and stalls. Lisa bought some sort of pancake contraption, nibbling as they walked; the thing hell-bent on falling apart in her hands.

"Hllp meh," said Lisa at one point, mouth full, pancake-contraption exploding in its wrapper. Taylor took it from her and ate the rest; crushing it into a wad and cramming the whole thing in her mouth.

Lisa snickered, half-choking.

Taylor's eyes narrowed. "Whuh?"

"Yuu ae th'oll thing."

"Shood I naht haff?"

Lisa covered her mouth with a hand, "Mnoooo – jus hol' et for me."

Taylor glanced down at the now-empty slip of wax paper. Lisa hurriedly gulped down her mouthful and stepped forward, pressing her hand hand to Taylor's mouth. "No - just eat it."

Taylor leaned away from Lisa's hand, raising the wax paper. Lisa leaned after her. "Deres noh germs I don' evehn haff-"

Lisa was grinning as she clamoring over her. Taylor stopped leaning away, and Lisa closed, a hand firmly across Taylor's mouth. "Eat the food, Taylor."

The pancake contraption was sickeningly sweet, she didn't want to.

…

Taylor forced the mouthful down.

Lisa pulled away.

Taylor grimaced.

"No good?"

"No."

The day passed as they wandered. Lisa acquired a strange collection of things, a bag swinging from her shoulder as she walked. Taylor was silent. There was nothing she wanted.

And then a rare sight snapped her from a daze. Two wards were on patrol, Vista and Gallant. They walked along the boardwalk, a publicity stunt of sorts, perhaps; they greeted whoever had the nerve to approach.

…

Vista looked especially small today.

Taylor walked over. Vista and Gallant finished up a talk with a fan. Taylor waited quietly while the pleasantries finished, politely distant, thumbs hooked in her pockets.

The fan left with an autograph. It was just Taylor and the two wards now. Taylor didn't know how to broach the subject, so in lieu of words she walked forward and stuck out her hand. The visible portion of Vista's face cracked a grin. She grabbed Taylor's hand, looking up at her, getting a closer look.

"Always nice to meet a… ffffan." Vista went very still, and then Gallant went still beside her.

…

Vista was so small.

With her little braids.

She probably hated being treated like a kid.

Taylor completed the handshake when Vista went limp. "You're my favorite ward," she said, barely aware of Gallant's presence beside her.

"… Uh." Vista said, higher than intended. She cleared her throat. "Th - thanks?"

…

She's so small oh my god

Lisa approached, smiling maybe a little wider than merited. "Taylor, was wondering where you were." She addressed Vista next, remarking, "She's a big fan."

Vista had no response.

"Say Taylor," Lisa said, smiling wider still, "I could take a picture for you? I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Would you, Vista?"

Vista said, "No?"

Lisa pulled out her phone. Taylor stood next to Vista, thumbs back in her pockets.

"Put your hand on her shoulder," Lisa said. Taylor did. "Her other shoulder, she won't mind." Taylor wrapped an arm around Vista's back, hand on her opposite shoulder. "There ya go. Ready? Three – two – one -"

Click.

Lisa inspected the picture. Her screen showed Taylor and Vista standing in front of some railing, the ocean spreading behind them. Gallant stood off to the side, half in the shot. Taylor was faintly smiling. Vista looked remarkably uncomfortable.

Lisa sighed contentedly. "Perfect."

They headed home not long after.

Alec was in the living room, taking up one half of the couch, game controller in hand. Rachel was in the house somewhere too, as evidenced by the one-eyed dog lounging near the front door.

Taylor crashed on the couch. Lisa vanished upstairs. Alec shot a nod of acknowledgment in their direction.

Bang bang.

The other guy died.

Alec preened, "Oh but I have learned well, scrublord."

Taylor's face hinted at a smile. He kept playing. Taylor watched, sprawled over the armrest, head in the clouds.

"What do you do?" she asked.

Alec glanced at her. "Hm?"

"What do you do? Just…" Taylor waited for the word, the best word, the most accurate word. Her head provided none of any variety.

Alec responded after a long pause, speaking mildly over the crackling television. "If you're waiting for me to say something profound you're gonna be waiting a long time."

"I'm not."

"Immediate reply. Ow."

"How… What do you do? To… Live?"

He paused the game. Or he tried to, but it was a live game. He died and the screen panned around his corpse. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"... I don't know."

A moment passed in silence. Alec nodded, turning back to the game as he respawned. "Alright. Uh."

He played and thought.

"Do you like money?"

He played and thought some more.

"I like money. I like playing video games. I like being lazy. So I… do. Those things. In the easiest, least-effort way I can. Yeah?"

Taylor nodded.

"Well there ya go. Bam. Life lessons from Alec."

He said nothing else, focusing all of his concentration on destroying the enjoyment of a child across the internet.

Alec got bored and left some time later. Taylor took over the television, turning the channel to some show she didn't recognize and lowering the volume. She laid down, head on the armrest, hoping that her subconscious was mulling things over because she sure as hell wasn't. The running episode ended and the next started. Rachel appeared from the hall, two dogs trailing behind her.

Taylor heard her. "Hey."

Rachel grunted in response. She went to the kitchen without another word, but Taylor felt that she was listening still.

"I… want to make some money."

A moment passed, and Rachel replied, "Help me with something."

…..

(9)

"We leave at eight tomorrow night," Rachel said. That was the end of their conversation.

Time passed simply until then.

Alec came and went.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Bang bang – dead.

"You're helping Rachel later then, eh?"

Taylor nodded.

"I think she's just glad to have found someone who doesn't piss her off."

"I'm not doing anything special."

"Yeah exactly."

Lisa came and went.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Tomorrow night?"

Taylor nodded.

"Mm. Well." Lisa trailed off. Her introspection lasted until a commercial break, only then flashing a small grin at Taylor – was it worry? Was it pride? Taylor couldn't tell. "I'll leave the door unlocked for you."

Taylor cooked dinner. She and Lisa followed Alec to the television this time, filling the couch and coffee table to capacity; butts and plates and feet in every configuration, chattering as a stupid movie played in the background.

Morning came. Taylor cooked breakfast. Lisa made her a cup of coffee. Taylor toyed with the idea of actually drinking it as Alec sleepwalked about the kitchen.

Hours came and went.

Taylor dozed on the couch.

And then, suddenly, it was eight.

Taylor waited by the door, wearing her most-worn-down clothes and sneakers. Rachel appeared not long after, dressed warm with a dollar-store dog mask strapped to her face. The grip of a pistol poked out of her unzipped jacket, snug in a shoulder-holster.

Rachel opened the front door and nodded for Taylor to join her.

They walked to a van parked a block down, Rachel's three dogs keeping pace behind them. The dogs loaded in the back of the van. Taylor took passenger. Rachel hopped in the driver's seat, and they were off.

"E88 runs a dogfighting ring near the Trainyard," Rachel said at a red light.

Taylor nodded to show she was listening, but she hadn't needed to. Rachel was focused on driving, not looking away from the road, and it was probably a good thing that she didn't because her driving was rough.

Rachel continued. "I break them up and keep them down. You take care of the guns and capes. Try not to kill anyone. Don't hurt the dogs unless you have to."

Taylor nodded again.

The rest of the trip passed largely in silence. The thrum of the engine, the hiss of passing cars. And through the pull-open window that lead to the back of the van, Taylor heard wet clicks and pops; when she chanced a look through the slide she saw sharp-edged forms shifting in the dark.

The drive was not long. A half-hour at most; the last ten minute stretch spent off-road, the van shuddering across loose gravel as Rachel drove parallel to some railroad tracks. They parked alongside some strange looking office building, three stories with glass windows.

Rachel gestured to a condemned terminal further down the way, that building's windows faintly lit, the grounds near it cluttered with parked trucks and vans, more than twenty of them. They got out of the car.

Even at their distance Taylor could hear sounds emanating from down the way; shouts and barks, barely audible. Rachel opened the back of their van and three things hopped out. The van noticeably rose on its shocks.

Taylor could have called them dogs, or lizards, or alligators, and been correct every time. They obediently lined up around Rachel, growing larger still.

The dogs came up to Rachel's shoulder now, their bodies like narrow cars, their feet like garden rakes. Rachel gestured, and she and Taylor approached the distant terminal.

The noise grew louder. Barely audible at first, but with every step a new detail clarified. First, the barking dogs. Second, the shouting men. The voices separated into threads: arguments, hollers, hoots and jeers. Taylor felt her heart pounding, she felt the thrill, the blood drumming in her ears. She felt –

Rachel's hand grasped her shoulder. She stopped and looked over at Rachel. Their eyes met through the slits of Rachel's mask, the girl's brown eyes narrowed and stern. Taylor shook out her head and forcefully blew out a long breath.

Don't hurt the dogs. Try not to kill anyone.

Taylor nodded.

They walked. Taylor heard the cries, the howls, the crunch of gravel beneath her feet, the rumbling beasts that followed them, massive shoulders shifting like a panthers in the dark. Don't hurt the dogs. Try not to kill anyone.

Taylor saw the terminal up close now. Big, twenty feet tall with high glass windows. They stood in front of double-doors, an emergency exit, on one side, the rough gravel of the trainyard, on the other, the tile floor of an old waiting room.

"Ready?" Rachel asked.

Taylor kicked the doors down.

The sound burst out, crashing over them like a wave, taking with it the stink of sweat and booze and smoke. Inside a crowd roiled, shifted, raised hands clenching green bills, people fighting and drinking, spilling out of the crowd to the hard ground only to gather a crowd of their own. A chalkboard was against a wall, a table of odds and bets written out in white chalk.

And in the middle of the thickest crowd, Taylor saw a plywood ring, fifteen feet across, and from there she heard that barking and tearing, the actual event hidden behind walls of moving shoulders.

The closest men noticed them, they turned and spread. Some went for their guns, others shoved into the crowd to run, and still others started bellowing, raising their voices over the din.

Taylor froze, overwhelmed.

Rachel grabbed her shoulder and shook her awake, then jabbed a finger at the crowd. "Hurt!"

Her dogs lunged forward into the spreading crowd, sending men flying left and right. Rachel took cover outside as the first gunshots rang out. Time slowed for Taylor. Shifting shapes, men flailing, flipping, guns raising, the chalkboard falling off its nails, the bookie tipping off his ladder, and among them all Rachel's dogs tore around, broad and low like cow-catchers.

Guns.

Get the guns.

Don't hurt the dogs.

Taylor entered the fray.

The crowd had broken up now, trying to escape even as the dogs attempted to corral them in. A few went for the windows, some went for the far door, some even tried to run past Taylor.

A man shot her.

She grabbed the barrel, crushing it in her palm. She bashed him to the ground, flattening his nose to his face.

Another man shot her, a third hit her with a bat. Taylor slammed them to the ground, taking up the gun and bending it.

Taylor stormed the room now, her chest drumming, rattling, urging her, begging her to move. She knocked them down, anything and everything human and not Rachel she took and hurled to the ground; trigger guards and smoking muzzles warped in her palms.

Something leaped out of her peripheral. It started as a man, but with every foot he closed more and more metal burst out of his skin, spinning, swirling; cruel fishhooks and serrated knives, and on his third step there didn't seem to be man there at all, just a shifting mass of edges, glittering in the overhead light. It fell onto four limbs, galloping at her.

Rachel shouted behind her, "Get him out of here!"

Taylor barely heard her. She lunged to meet the metal beast. Her hands sunk into him, his momentum sliding her back a pace before she caught her bearings and stopped them cold. She turned and tossed him aside. Her back burst, a thunderous crack carried her into him, taking them through the wall, away from the dogs and the people.

They tumbled into a large ticket booth, a line of desks and glass. He crashed against the desks. Taylor crashed against him.

He slammed a limb into her side, jostling her a foot, tearing her clothes and reducing what skin remained to tatters. Taylor exploded him down, blowing a hole through the ceiling and nailing him into the floor.

Another limb, amorphous and smooth boiled out of his middle, snaking up and carving the flesh off her face, scratching helplessly against the black that was underneath.

Taylor slammed him down, through the floor and into the dirt crawlspace below. Knives and hooks blew off of him like shrapnel from a grenade, littering the walls. Taylor pulled her fist back again-

And the metal man seemed to bleed away, vanishing into the dark of the crawlspace beneath the terminal, flowing like liquid, away from her. Taylor-

Froze.

Then she stood, walked through the ruined ticket booth to the far window. Taylor saw his flowing shape outside, glittery cruel metal, skittering across the gravel, running away from her.

Taylor felt the fire, the thrill, the rush of blood pounding in her ears.

She saw the ground stretching out before her, her endless road, the solitary path built just for her. She felt the pressure in her chest, building still, crying out, screaming at her; the heat to carry her forward, unbothered and unhindered, and leave everything behind her, burned and used. Taylor would feel nothing but the heat of the moment. Hear nothing but the howl of the wind in her ears.

…

…

Only…

…

Taylor took a step back.

…

She saw him run.

…

She watched him run.

…

Further and further, smaller and smaller, now just a suggestion in the dark, and then, like a light snuffed out: gone.

Taylor let out a shuddering breath. She took another step back, and another, and another. She stood there for some time, how long exactly, she didn't know. Then she turned and walked into the terminal's main hall, through the holes they'd made.

The main room's decorations matched the inside of the dog's fighting ring now. Lines and spatters of blood colored the floor. The men were down, all of them that didn't escape. Broken arms, broken legs, shattered and torn, a few bleeding from their ears. Rachel's beasts prowled around them, rumbling at any movements and sounds.

Only one of the dogs in the fighting ring had survived the chaos, Rachel was working with it, crouched down, looking it over as Taylor approached. A bag splayed on the ground beside her, bulging with wallets and phones.

"Cage, over there." Rachel nodded at an empty cage off to the side, her voice carefully low. "Bring it here."

Taylor did.

Rachel coaxed the dog in. "Put him by the door, against the wall."

Taylor lifted the cage by the handle and did as she was asked. She returned to Rachel.

Rachel took off her jacket and handed it over. Taylor shrugged it on. It was snug.

Rachel led Taylor to a back room. She tried the doorknob, but it didn't budge. Taylor grabbed it and snapped it off, and the door drifted open.

The room was a broom closet once; odds and ends loaded up on free standing shelves. Now it was full of cages. Seven of them. They spread among the room, spaced with no real rhyme or reason. The dogs inside whined, snarled, whimpered, paced and spun in their cages, every broken mannerism on full display. An eye was missing here, and ear gone there, front teeth pulled, legs wobbling.

Rachel paced around the room, inspecting each cage. When she had seen them all, she returned to one of the cages in particular, the dog inside snarling and nipping. "Take them out," she said, "Put them near the door, spread against the wall."

Taylor grabbed the nearest cage. A Pitbull curled up inside, its back torn.

"Gently," Rachel said.

Taylor walked carefully, keeping the cage from jostling. She put it down a fair way from the first and went back for the next.

Rachel was still working with that barking, snarling dog when Taylor returned, looking him over more closely now. His ears were gone, Taylor saw. He was the type with the big triangular ears, poking up, always alert, but they were just holes now.

Taylor grabbed another cage. And another. And another. Always careful of where she stepped and how she shifted her weight. She spread them against the wall, near the door, far apart. She went back for the next.

Now Rachel was on the ground, her head bowed down, making soft noises and sounds. The dog bayed and lunged still, possessed with that same wild ferocity, bloodshot eyes bulging out of his skull.

For a moment Taylor watched, trapped somehow, then she shook herself and grabbed the last cage, and put it with the rest.

When she returned Rachel was standing, her arms spread, her teeth bared, looming over the cage. She shouted, she rattled the grates, she took off her dog mask and stared it down with widened eyes. But no matter what she tried the dog still snarled and lunged, gnawing and keening.

Rachel's arms fell to her sides and she stepped away, her face going slack. She pulled the pistol from her holster.

For a moment the room froze. Rachel with a gun in her hand, her arms limp, the only sounds those of the dog in his cage.

Rachel lifted her gun and fired.

Crack

The barking stopped.

Taylor blinked. The room bled into focus around her.

Rachel's hand fell to her side again. She blinked, her jaw worked, her breath rose. Then she shook herself, her face curling into a snarl as she went back into the main room. She yanked on the bookie, forced him up and dragged him back to the cage. The man whimpered as he tried to limp along on his one good leg. She shoved him down against the wall.

"Whose dog was he?" Rachel pointed her gun at the cage. She was pacing, almost moving, never stopping. "Huh? Whose dog was he?"

The man answered. "I – I don't know -"

Rachel smashed him across the face with her gun. Blood misted. The man gurgled and coughed, his nose was bent. Rachel slapped him again, this time with her hand, snapping him aware. She grabbed his head, pointing it at the cage. "Whose dog was he!"

"I don' - I swear I don'-"

"You don't know? Look closer!" She pulled on his head, yanking him, dragging him across the tile to the cage. He cried out as his injuries jostled, and cried out again when she smashed his face against the cage and held it there. "Can you see him now! You get a good fucking look?! Whose dog was he!"

"I don' know! I swear I swear I don'-"

Rachel took her gun and pressed the muzzle into the back of his head, forcing his face even harder to the cage. His chin dipped into spreading blood as he begged. "I won't ask you again! Whose fuckin' dog was he?!"

"I'm tellin' you! Please, please I d –"

"He doesn't know," Taylor said, only realizing that she'd spoken at all when she heard her own voice. Rachel looked at her, barrel still pressed to the back of the man's head. Taylor continued, feeling far away. "I believe him."

Rachel's mouth opened, her jaw worked. She turned back to the man, for a moment pressing the gun even harder into his nape.

Then her mouth shut, a breath let out, and she drew back, rising up. She gave one last hard kick to his side. It gave a wet snap, like a celery stalk, and he howled. She turned to Taylor, expression tight with fury but calming every moment, and nodded once. She walked back to the main room. Taylor followed.

Rachel pulled a knife off the floor and passed it to Taylor. "Slash their tires."

Taylor went to work outside as Rachel fetched the van. She pulled up just as Taylor finished. Together they loaded the cages into back, strapping them down so they wouldn't shift on the drive. The dogs complained. Rachel managed them.

When the last cage had been loaded up, and the van doors had shut, Rachel walked back into the main room, where her beasts still managed the grounded men.

She pulled her gun and fired a round in the air. "You live because we let you live!" She stared them down, eyes shifting from man to man, daring someone to question her. "Understand? You are nothing! We aren't calling the cops! No one's coming for you! You want help? Crawl home like an animal!"

Then they left. Rachel's beasts shrunk down. Once they were normal size, they hopped up into the front, taking the space between Rachel and Taylor, though only barely. The van pulled away onto the gravel.

The drive to wherever their night would end was long and muddling. Rachel drove slow, taking careful turns, accelerating slowly, one ear keen to the whines coming from the back. Passing lights lit the interior, flowing over Taylor's lap in colorful waves.

The van drifting along through a green light. "Could you have helped him?" Taylor asked, quietly.

Moments passed in silence. Streetlights flickered by; flowing sheets of yellow-gold.

Rachel answered, "If it was just me and him… maybe." They passed another light.

The ride stopped downtown. They unloaded the cages into some rundown looking house with a chained-off backyard. The dogs were calmer now, confused, still whining, some barking, but Rachel managed them. Taylor's work finally ended. Rachel handed her a wad of bills.

Taylor walked home. Those streetlights lit her path. Cool night air brushed her face. The calm lulled her, making her eyes heavy, as if the sounds had been all that held them up.

Taylor was home now. The front door was unlocked for her. She locked it behind her.

Taylor showered.

She went to the guest room and dressed in clean clothes. Then she went downstairs to the couch.

Lisa was waiting for her there, looking sleepy in some tacky pajamas. "Hey. Knew you'd take the couch still. So how did it…" she trailed off, standing and walking forward to take Taylor's hand. "Come on… I'll make some tea." Lisa turned to the kitchen, tugging at Taylor's hand, but Taylor didn't move.

Taylor saw the hand grabbing hers. The arm, the pajamas. She saw the sleep in Lisa's eyes as the girl stopped pulling and turned around. "…Taylor?"

Taylor pulled Lisa to her, wrapping her arms around her back. She pressed her cheek to Lisa's hair. Her eyes misted. Her arms tightened.

"Thank you," Taylor said.

Lisa sighed into Taylor's collarbone, easing weight off of her feet and into the embrace. She rubbed Taylor's back.

"You big softie… come on… I'll make us some tea."

...

(10)

Lisa made tea. Taylor waited on the couch. They watched some stupid movie, some stupid show – what it actually was, Taylor wasn't sure. Her eyes were on the screen, but she wasn't watching. She felt Lisa next to her, curled up like her. She felt warm.

The television flickered. Taylor sipped. Sounds and lines. Her eyes were heavy. Lisa shut off the television and gently shoved her over onto the armrest.

"Goodnight," Lisa said, walking away to her room.

"'Night."

It was with renewed spirit that Taylor woke the following morning and left the house. The sun was warm on her back. The wind was cool on her face. Taylor bought a new laptop. It wasn't her cute little green, that was gone, that one wasn't coming back. This one was new. Her slim little blue, with a big, glimmering screen. So thin. Taylor held it up, admiring it in the coffee-shop light. She booted it up for the first time, sitting there on her spinning stool, elbows on the table, feeling a bit new herself.

Bang bang – bloatware vanquished by her hand.

She opened up her throw-away social media account, the one she'd made however many days ago. Her message inbox shouldered the number eighty-six, bold and red. Taylor investigated.

The full spectrum of response was available there. 'Join this gang. Don't join that gang. Good job. Go die.' Taylor deleted them as she skimmed, hitting that little 'x' the moment she happened upon a red flag. In the end she was left with eight messages.

Three were from someone called Clothesline. The name seemed familiar. The first two messages were days old. They talked about Lung, both of them. The first said he was in PRT custody, recovering in their medical facility. It was the oldest.

The second detailed how long Lung's recovery would likely take, and the route that his eventual transfer to the Birdcage would follow. It was explicit – the date it would happen. The roads it would use. Even the likely composition of the escort. Finally, it detailed who would intercept and bust Lung loose. Oni-Lee? Taylor recognized that name. Bakuda - not so much. It went on further, speaking to the cyclical nature of the system, how the ABB would be more dangerous without Lung holding the leash, how his transfer was destined to fail. The concepts felt familiar to her. This message was the second oldest.

Taylor checked the last, most recent message.

(Clothesline): Hey Taylor, guess who.

Taylor cracked a grin.

One message was from someone she'd never met. Their name was all numbers and underscores. She'd kept it because she caught the word 'Lisa' in the middle of a text block. She made it two lines in before deleting the message. It was disparaging. Taylor didn't care to listen.

There were three from Glory Girl. Old messages. Days old. Taylor hesitated to open them. The sight of Glory Girl's name left a bitter taste in Taylor's mouth. She ordered some Tea, breathing in the steam as her eyes roved over the username, end to end.

Taylor clicked.

(Glory Girl: verified): This is between us, got it?

Taylor clicked again.

(Glory Girl: verified): Don't hurt my family.

Taylor let out a breath. She clicked the last message.

(Glory Girl: verified): Please.

Taylor put down the tea.

She stared at that last word until the word unresolved, reduced back to letters, those letters back to shapes – a picture, now, devoid of meaning. Only then did she open up a reply box, her hands hovering over the keyboard, searching for the right configurations of words, waiting for them to arrive. I'm not – I don't – That isn't. Nothing good arrived. She let out a long, slow breath, and closed the reply box.

The last message was from her father. The cursor hovered over his username - her last name. Taylor waited for the will to find her, but it didn't. A moment later she closed the window. Taylor drank her tea and headed back home.

Lisa was at the kitchen table, her expression tending toward blank; wrung out. Her head rose as Taylor entered.

"Taylor, hey." A faint smile flashed. She cleared her throat. "You uh. Just missed Brian. He was here a littler earlier. We were… talking."

Taylor took the seat next to her, her little blue laptop taking the table.

"You remember that boss I mentioned? He uh... He kept some plates spinning for us. You know… rent, some… bills. Brian in particular was involved in a custody battle, of sorts. Well as of today, those plates all stopped spinning."

Taylor waited, not liking the lilt of Lisa's shoulders or the uncertainty in her voice. Lisa took a breath.

"He didn't even…" Lisa pulled out her phone, gesturing to it. "He didn't even tell us. Just. Dropped." Lisa gave a sharp, short laugh. And then another. And then she was chuckling helplessly. "Dropped, just like that. This isn't… this isn't how I thought it would go..."

Lisa trailed off, her eyes unfocused and distant. Taylor waited with her, silent. She put a hand on Lisa's shoulder, giving her a firm squeeze and then pulling away.

Alec appeared from the living room. "So he's gone, then, yeah?" He shot a quick look around the kitchen, then at the front door. He nodded to himself, moving to rummage around the cupboard. "Must have been hard for him to yell at you from all the way up on that pedestal. Did he almost fall off? Is that why he left?"

Lisa formed the first syllable of a response, then sighed and let it drop. "Basically."

Alec grunted. He started pulling out the components of a sandwich. "So… We're done now? What's going on with that line of dialogue?"

Lisa repeated what she'd said to Taylor. Alec created his sandwich as Lisa talked, taking a bite just as she trailed off. "Shit. So now what?"

"I…" Lisa gave a small shrug. "I don't know."

"Cool." Alec took another large bite. "Well. I'll be in the other room if you need anyone to - slap themselves in the face, or whatever."

"Did you not hear me? Our boss is gone, done, no more retainer, n-"

"Yeah I don't care," Alec said. Lisa's mouth clicked shut. "Well I mean, I do care. Free money. But - I don't think I've even seen that guy once. Fuck him. I don't care. Rachel doesn't care." He nodded at Taylor, "And I know she doesn't care."

Lisa sat a little straighter in her chair, narrowing her eyes at him.

Alec belched loudly. "So. Yeah. If you want to pretend you weren't actually our boss the whole time… Like, alright? That's your decision. But when you're done with that, well… You know where I'll be if you need me." With that, and another, smaller belch, Alec turned and vanished into the living room. The television clicked on.

For a long moment Lisa remained there, stock still, blinking at the empty doorway. Then she massaged her temples.

Taylor stood. She put the kettle to boil and fished out some mugs and teabags. Lisa didn't speak, but she seemed to relax, a bit at a time. Taylor saw as much as she periodically checked over her shoulder during the five or so minutes the process took.

The tea was steeping. Taylor returned to her seat, setting the mugs in front of them. Lisa had her legs pulled up on her chair, her chin resting on her knees.

The tea was done. Lisa uncurled. The day passed quietly around them.

Taylor cooked dinner. They ate in the living room, playing a stupid movie in the background. Alec gave unsolicited commentary. Rachel dropped by from somewhere, setting up in the kitchen and eating there. Her dogs roamed around, polite and behaved. Lisa didn't talk much, and the room seemed less for it. Taylor shot a glance at her now and then, not sure what she hoped to find.

Dinner ended. Taylor washed up. She set the dishes to dry in the rack. Rachel clapped her shoulder before she left, vanishing out the door and into the night. Alec nodded at her as he walked by, filling his usual waterglass at the tap and then clunking upstairs.

Lisa seemed to hang around longer than usual. She sat next to Taylor on the couch, silent as the television muttered. Now and then she would shift, as though to speak. But she never did.

The night dragged on.

Lisa stood. "Goodnight."

"Night."

Lisa went upstairs. Taylor replayed her voice, her tone. Taylor watched her go, saw the way she walked, the way she stepped.

Wrong.

Taylor waited for the words to come, the ones she should say to help, but none came. None found her.

Just before Lisa vanished completely, Taylor said, "I'm here."

Lisa froze at the top of the stairs. "I… I know. Thank you." She went to her room.

Taylor shut off the television, turned off the lights and fell onto the couch. She closed her eyes.

…

...

...

"Taylor…"

Someone gently shook her shoulder.

Taylor opened her eyes.

Lisa was crouched in front of her; a silhouette of tacky pajamas and sleep-tossed hair.

"Can…" Lisa trailed off, the words seeming to fight her. "Could you… sleep with me, tonight? Please?"

Taylor blinked the sleep out of her eyes and stood.

Lisa lead their way; up the stairs, down the hall, through the door at the end. The house was near pitch black. Every light off save a lamp in Lisa's room. Her bed was in the corner, against the wall.

The lines of the comforter shifted as Lisa climbed into bed, putting her back to the wall. Taylor took the other side, opposite Lisa, twisting to reach up and shut off the lamp beside the bed. Fabric rustled as they got comfortable.

Lisa settled. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I – I just… don't want to be alone, right now."

Taylor didn't know what to say. She pulled the covers higher up Lisa's shoulder.

"Are you afraid?" Taylor asked.

"… Yeah."

"Is it Brian?"

"No. No... It's…"

Taylor waited. She saw Lisa's silhouette, faint lines and curves.

Lisa sighed. "Can we… just sleep? For now."

They could.

"Goodnight."

"Thank you, Taylor. Goodnight."

…

...

Taylor rose at seven.

As she shifted off the bed, Lisa startled awake, jerking up, her eyes taking in the room, wide with alarm. They rolled over Taylor. Then the desk, the door, the chair. Finally she seemed to relax, pressing a hand to her face. Lisa rolled onto her back and blew a sigh at the ceiling.

Taylor sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"No," Lisa said, voice grumbling with sleep, "It's okay, go on… I'll be up soon."

Taylor went downstairs and made breakfast. She filled a platter with the usual suspects. Lisa appeared not long after the platter made it to the table, looking no better than she had in bed. She sat without comment, hair a mess, eyes rimmed. Taylor put a plate in front of her. Lisa looked at it and the fork next to it.

Lisa's mouth opened. The sound took a moment to emerge. "I…" She took up the fork. "I need to check something, today. I need to… Could you come with me? Please?"

Taylor could.

After breakfast they caught a bus to another part of town. They sat side by side, Lisa wedged between Taylor and the window.

"We're seeing my boss," Lisa said. "Or... We're going where I used to see him. Where he had me go to – talk, face to face."

They got off far south, some part of downtown Taylor had never been. Lisa led her down streets, across intersections. Their trip ended at a construction company, the site left unfinished.

The first few stories had the the floors and ceilings, no windows, just bare wood. Everything above those floors trailed off into I-beams and steel rivets. The ground surrounding the site was a desert; piles of dust and gravel, tarps and rusted construction vehicles.

Lisa led her inside the building, through the ground floor, over tape and chains and stacks of plywood. She pulled back a sheet of blue plastic. There was a door and a keypad. Lisa entered in a code. The door clicked and drifted open. "Didn't even change the password," she said.

Lisa showed no signs of entering, so Taylor did. She stepped forward, through the doorway into the dark of a stairwell. Lisa followed quickly after, hitting a switch somewhere. Fluorescent lights buzzed on, lighting the way down flights of stairs.

Down they went. Taylor led. Lisa trailed behind.

Another door was at the bottom of the stairwell. Lisa entered in a code. The door opened, this one several inches thick.

It was like an office building inside. Water coolers. Carpet. Desks and chairs. All the electronic equipment was gone; no computers, no printers, but the resemblance was still there. Lisa commented as they walked through vacant halls and doorways,

"Empty."

"All empty…?"

"Where… why…"

"There's…"

"There's his office."

Lisa gestured to the door at the end of a long hallway. Lisa's walking slowed. Taylor took her hand, gently pulling her along. She opened the door.

It was a large room. Carpeted, just like everywhere else. In the middle was a desk, polished mahogany, red and gleaming. A flatscreen hung against the far wall. A desk lamp. A vase. Picture frames on nails. A rolling chair, big-backed and plush. No one else was there, just them.

Lisa walked past Taylor. Her steps were slow and clunky. She seemed dazed. She planted her hands on the desk, steadying herself on them. Her eyes narrowed on the empty chair.

"He," Lisa said, "He recruited me with a gun. That's how I thought it would end. I thought… I thought. He told me. He..."

Lisa walked around the desk. Her fingers squeaked along the polish, her eyes roving the room, taking in every inch and every detail. And then Lisa laughed.

"Gone."

A little harder, a little higher.

"He's gone."

The laughter trailed off. Lisa leaned over the desk now; heavy, her hands splayed on the polished wood. She was tense. Taylor could see the lines of stress winding around her, constricting her. It was familiar.

"Alright," Lisa said. She took a deep breath and let it out. "Alright. We can go." She straightened and made for the doorway.

Taylor stopped her.

"It's alright," Lisa said, trying to shoulder past Taylor, "I'm done, we're done. We can go."

"No."

Lisa's eyes snapped to her, narrowed and fierce. Taylor stood her ground.

"He… We're done. We're done, let's go. Now."

"No. You're not done."

"I want to go, Taylor, pl-"

"No." Taylor took Lisa's shoulders and spun her around. Lisa spun back and tried to walk past her. Taylor stopped her.

"Let me leave, Taylor."

"No."

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "You know – do you know what he did?"

Taylor saw the face Lisa was making, that twisted expression. Taylor felt the electricity in the air, the tension, the building fury, the fire begging, pleading to be let out. "What would you say to him?" Taylor nodded toward the empty desk. "What would you say?"

Lisa seemed to glare at her, and when she spoke her voice was harsh and cold. "He recruited me with a gun, Taylor! He looked me in the eye and he told me, you work for me or you die!"

"And what would you say to him?"

Tears beaded in Lisa's eyes. "Let me go, Taylor! I want to leave!"

Taylor didn't let her. She pushed Lisa away, back into the room. "Do you think I'm stupid after all? What would you say to him!"

Lisa's shoulders squared and she shouted, "I would tell him to go fuck himself! Is that what you want to hear?!"

Taylor stepped forward. "And why is that?!"

Lisa stepped forward. "Because I saw! I saw the way he looked at me when we talked! I saw what he wanted to do to me! What he thought about every time we met!"

"Is that all?"

Tears ran freely. "And he knew! He always knew! Well guess wh…" Lisa's breath failed her. She turned to the empty desk and the empty chair, "Well guess what? Where are you now? What hole are you hiding in! What rock did you crawl under? How does it feel to lose, you sick fuck!"

Lisa took the lamp from his desk and hurled it aside. "I'm not your pet! Fuck you!

"I knew! I knew what you were! How does it feel to lose? Does it hurt! Does it burn!" Lisa shoved up against his desk, but it was too heavy. She sagged against it, her elbows clunking on the top, her hands tangling in her hair as she breathed. "Goddamnit." She laughed thickly. "Goddamnit..."

Taylor took Lisa's shoulders and walked her away from the desk. Then she planted a foot on the front and sent it spinning into the wall. She broke off a club from the resulting pile, handing it to Lisa.

Lisa took it. Her nose was running. Her face was red. Taylor pulped the desk. Lisa shattered the flatscreen. They broke his office together. At the end when all was done, when everything was snapped and broken and shattered, Lisa stood in the corner, her shoulders heaving.

Taylor walked to her. Lisa turned and clung to her when Taylor approached, shaking in her arms, crying and laughing all at once. Taylor was shaking too. She wanted to ask. She wanted to say, give me a name. Give me a zip code. Point me in a direction.

They left. Lisa led the way, drained, but more lively with every step. Her fingers traced along the walls. They reached the entrance and Lisa shut the door behind them. They caught a bus home.

"Taylor," Lisa said. She turned to Taylor, her eyes a little red, tearstreaks down her cheeks; looking more alive than Taylor had ever seen her. "Thank you. I didn't… I just… I needed to know. I needed to see it for myself. And I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I – didn't. I…"

Whatever Lisa was apologizing for, Taylor didn't care. It didn't matter. She said as much and Lisa laughed. The bus rattled. Taylor cracked the window, letting in the air. Lisa breathed.

The bus trip ended. They walked home.

When they got there Lisa went on a crusade. It started with a thin cord that ran through the display cabinet beneath the television. She pulled on it until something gave, and a conglomeration of metal bits and wires reeled out.

She went to the kitchen next, fiddling around with the smoke alarm, eventually pulling away with a tiny camera. She recruited Taylor, taking her around the house.

Lisa rapped on the wall, listening. She pointed to a spot. "Taylor, if you would?"

Taylor stuck her hand in the wall. Her fingers curled around a cable. She pulled, eventually tearing a camera out of the wall. Where had it been stationed? She was looking up at the ceiling and still couldn't tell.

Lisa pointed at more spots. Taylor poked more holes. They filled a bag with cluttery things, receivers and lenses and loops upon loops of cable. Lisa tied it off and threw it in the trash, using a little more force than necessary. Then she put her hands on her hips, a smile blooming across her face. When she showed that smile to Taylor, she seemed more sincere, truer somehow. The look suited her.

They cooked dinner. Lisa was lighter, now. Taylor saw her flutter about the kitchen, weightless. Alec appeared and then ran off. A movie played. They cleaned up. The lights went off.

"Goodnight, Taylor."

"Night."

Lisa vanished. Taylor crashed on the couch. The day played back in her head, start to finish like a movie reel. The stress Lisa showed in the morning, and the relief she showed before bed. Taylor couldn't sleep.

In the middle of the night, feeling vaguely annoyed, Taylor set up her laptop on the coffee table. Its screen lit the room. She opened the web browser to her messages. Her eyes traced back and forth, rolling over three usernames. Glory Girl. Hebert. Clothesline.

…

Taylor read about Lung.

...

(11)

The roads Lung's transport would take weren't too far. The intersection the ABB would crash was a twenty minute bus ride away. Two days. Taylor checked the date again. In two days, he'd be passing through that intersection and get broken out. Probably. Possibly.

Taylor shut her laptop fell back on the couch. Her thoughts turned to Lung. They wound back, to her father, to Glory Girl and her old heroes, and finally came to a stop on that first night, when Taylor stole a dress. Her head muddled about there until she fell asleep.

Lisa was up before her, that following morning. Taylor saw her at the table when she entered the kitchen. Lisa was typing away on her laptop, sipping coffee, her hair up in a bun with a pencil poking through it. Taylor felt herself lose tension she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Want breakfast?" Taylor asked.

Lisa grinned at her laptop's screen. "Yes pleeease."

Taylor cooked. Things sizzled and clattered, Lisa clicking away behind her. She put a plate next to Lisa's laptop; it and the plate competed for her attention while Taylor cleaned up.

"Have you heard of the PRT's affiliate programs?" Lisa asked.

Taylor scrubbed a pan. "No."

Lisa hummed. "Well. The long and short is there are a lot more options for independents than they'd lead you to believe."

Taylor could believe that.

"I think I can make a thing happen," Lisa said, lazily alternating between typing, snacking and sipping. She reclined back in her chair, showing a relaxed ease of movement. "Maybe. But oh, if I can. Oh, the magic. Such magic."

Alec stumbled in. "Mrn' crew." He flashed shuttered eyes at them. Taylor pointed him to a plate on the table. "Mm." He sat and started putting things inside his mouth. It couldn't quite be called eating, eating implied a deliberate quality that he seemed to be lacking. Food vanished. Alec slowly came to life.

He shot a glance at Lisa. "We got a… plan… or whatever?" Lisa waggled a hand so-so. Alec grunted.

Rachel appeared from the hall. Taylor gestured toward the pan still on the stove, Rachel filled a plate and took the seat across from her, next to Alec.

"Rachel," Lisa said, not looking up from her laptop, "you got enough money put away to last while we figure things out?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

That conversation ended. Alec stared at Lisa, chewing thoughtfully. "You gonna ask me?"

Lisa pursed her lips. "Nah."

Rachel finished up and washed her plate. She turned to Taylor, "Help me with something today?"

"Alright."

That afternoon they hopped in Rachel's van and took a ride downtown, heading to that rundown house they'd visited days prior. Rachel's usual three dogs took the middle, clamoring over Taylor when she opened the window, compulsively driven to poke their heads out even as Rachel prodded them to stop.

"Keep it quiet when we're inside," Rachel said. "Keep your distance until I ask for you."

"Alright."

The ride came to an end. Rachel led Taylor indoors. Two dogs clacked across cheap linoleum to meet them. Rachel kept walking, leading Taylor further inside, stepping around the crowd that formed when Rachel's three and the house's two met. There were cages inside the other rooms, four total, all walled off from the other dogs, somehow.

A pattern established. Rachel would approach a cage, she'd wave Taylor forward, and Taylor would pick up the cage and carefully bring it outside.

Rachel had lined the backyard fence with some dark, sheer fabric. Taylor would set the cage in the grass. Rachel would open the door. Sometimes the dog would leave the cage immediately, sometimes they never would.

The first was the Bulldog, he wandered out. His back looked better. Taylor said as much. Rachel grunted. After twenty or so minutes Rachel coaxed the dog back in the cage and they switched it for the next. Rachel opened the door. They walked away, giving him space.

In the silence that fell over them Taylor's thoughts turned to her messages again. First, her father's. But they slid from him quickly, falling on Glory Girl, and then they would slide again to Lung and stay there.

The wind blew. The fence-lining waved in the breeze. The Mastiff poked his head out of the cage.

"I think I want to fight Lung," Taylor said.

Rachel shot her a look, saying as much as asking, "Why?"

"I…" Taylor searched for the words. As she did, she and Rachel swapped out for the next cage.

Rachel undid the latch. The Bull Terrier nosed the door open. For a moment it seemed as though he would attack her. He instead ran to a section of the fence where the lining blew open in the wind, staring out through the hole there. Rachel approached him and crouched down near him. Taylor watched her in silence.

Rachel walked back to Taylor, leaving the dog standing sentry at the fence.

"I want to know how it feels, what it means," Taylor said. "Is that weird?"

Rachel shrugged.

Time passed. Taylor brought the cage back indoors. She and Rachel combed the yard with little rakes and shovels.

Taylor's work ended a little later. Rachel drove her back. She dropped Taylor off a block away from home, slipping her forty bucks as Taylor stood from the passenger seat.

The day drew to a close. Taylor lazed about, crashing on the couch. She and Lisa cooked dinner, the usual ritual followed. Alec ran off. Lisa hung around.

The television played quietly in the background. The dishes were clean, drying in the rack. Lisa took one armrest. Taylor took the other.

"I want to fight Lung," Taylor said.

Lisa hummed. "Why is that?"

"I think it… Could be, fun. Exciting, now. I want to know where it goes."

Lisa hummed again. "Was it fun before?"

Taylor's mind played through the fights she'd had, and there was only one that stood out as a positive; her first fight with Glory Girl; exhilarating and cut short, and then soured by their rematch the day after.

"Kind of?" Lisa said, half asking, half answering for her. "Complicated, then. Hm…" She trailed off and took a deep breath, stretching her arms over head. Then she shifting on the couch, putting her feet up on Taylor's lap.

"I'm not going to tell you not to," Lisa said. "That's not something I can answer for you. If you want it to mean anything you need to find out yourself. You're afraid of, what? Losing… progress? Losing me? This? No, nope. Not gonna happen."

Taylor looked at Lisa, a hint of uncertainty showing on her face. Lisa nudged Taylor with her toes. "Taylor," she said, her voice low and confident, "Look at who you were, and look at who you are now, and ask yourself if there's anything in the world that you'd let drag you down again."

Taylor didn't need to ask herself that.

"You see? If this is something that you need to know, if it's bothering you, then go. Figure it out."

The movie played on. Taylor felt hidden worries drain away.

"That's some serious cred, too," Lisa mentioned, one commercial break. Taylor didn't ask further.

The movie ended. Taylor turned the television off. Lisa went to her room.

"Goodnight," Taylor said.

"G'night. I'll see you when you get back."

…..

When Taylor woke it was still dark. She dressed in that early morning silence, putting on her most-torn, least favorite clothes, and was out the door in two minutes. She walked down streets, dragging her fingers along familiar stop signs and bus stops as she passed them. Her breath fogged. Time passed. Taylor came to a stop at a T-intersection. On one side the bay spread, dark and calm. On the other, the edge of downtown. Buildings and shops unlit, their doors locked.

Taylor waited there, resting her back against the base of a stoplight, watching the early-bird cars putter past, their headlights becoming less and less necessary.

The sky was deep blue, now. Taylor's foot started to tap. A shop opened further in downtown. She saw someone unlock the door, heard the jingle of the bell on the push-handle, saw the hanging-sign flip to read 'open.' It wasn't far, a block out of her way at most.

…

Taylor would still hear the commotion, it was only a block away. She walked to the coffee shop. There was a single man behind the counter, fiddling about with the machines against the wall.

He spoke up as the door jingled, not turning around. "Coffee's gonna be about ten minutes."

Taylor searched her clothing and eventually fished a loose twenty out of her back pocket. "Mint Tea. Keep the change."

Four minutes later she had her cup. She took a seat at a table by the windows, looking out on the street. It felt familiar. Nostalgic, somehow. Her foot was tapping on the stool's footrest. She let it tap. She held up the cup and breathed in the smell, and took a sip.

The first blast rang out; this big, thundering crack that rattled the windows. Taylor stepped outside. Another blast, sounded like it came from a few blocks up. Taylor jogged to the intersection and took a left, heading towards rising clouds of smoke and chattering gunfire. People ran past her, cars parked in the road and emptied. Occasionally Taylor slowed to get a steady sip of her tea. It was surprisingly good.

There were three big armored trucks, two of them on their sides, and people in familiar PRT suits took cover behind those tipped trucks, none of them looking to be in good shape. Around these tipped trucks, five or six more cars were parked. ABB-color bandanas poked out from behind them now and then, along with wildly firing pistols.

The one truck still on its wheels hung in the center of that mess; the contested prize. Two wheels were flat, its sides were dented and charred, but it still looked as though it could be driven.

Around and between the one-sided exchange of gunfire, Armsmaster and – Aegis, looked like, attempted to deal with what could only be Oni-Lee, copies of him popping up almost as fast as they were put down.

Taylor had already melted. Her clothing had burned. Her skin left a trail behind her, she stepped out of the soles of her feet like sandals. She felt the fire, the familiar anticipation, the ache in her bones. But it was different, now. Clearer somehow. Taylor walked, tossing the smoldering remains of her tea in a trash bin.

The pinned-down PRT soldiers noticed her as she drew closer, but Taylor didn't concern herself with them or their strange reactions. She walked past the upturned truck, through the parked cars. She walked past the ABB's cover. She walked through the ongoing conflict between Armsmaster, Aegis and Oni-Lee. The fighting sputtered out around her.

Taylor saw the truck. She saw the bay at her side, she saw the edge of the boat graveyard in the distance; already broken, broken enough to stomach one more fight, at least. Her fight, this time. One on her terms.

She walked around the side of the truck, looking into the driver's side window. It was a… manual. A puff of smoke issued from Taylor's nose, and she walked around to the rear of the truck again. She tried the doors; locked.

Taylor pulled a hand back. Behind her startled shouts rang out as people took cover. A sharp crack propelled her arm forward, through the door, her fingers sinking into the locking mechanism. She pried the twin-doors open.

Taylor saw Lung. He was at the far end of the truck, strapped down and cuffed to some fancy looking chair. Thick bands wrapped around his wrists and legs, and a collar was around his neck, thick and fat. His eyes were closed. His head hung limp in the collar.

And then Taylor noticed someone else, someone sitting on one of the benches that lined the sides of the van. She saw a smooth black helmet, a wide, heavy cape. Their suit was black and grey, a proud tower spread on the center of their chest.

The helmet turned to her. "Hello there," Alexandria said. "I don't believe we've met."

An arm hooked around Taylor's neck and she was flying, her feet were dangling, kicking, spinning over the rapidly fading conflict, the shrinking cars and shops, and now over the bay. Taylor caught her bearings and struggled. Her back exploded once, twice, the arm around her neck fell away. Another arm wrapped around her waist. The ocean spun beneath her, clouds twirled above her. Wind rushed in her ears.

Taylor burst with fire, once, twice. She found leverage and spun around in the grip, the back of her elbow cracked, her fist smashed against Alexandria's helmet, rocking her head back. Alexandria let go. Taylor spun through the air, falling over the sprawling cityscape.

Alexandria crashed into her again. She carried them ceaselessly north, even as Taylor broke her grip again and again, burning hotter and brighter with every exchange. Finally Alexandria brought them to the ground, slamming Taylor into the countryside miles and miles north of Brockton Bay. Alexandria drifted away, hovering nearby.

Taylor shoved herself out of the dirt, black smoke curling up as particulate smoldered on her body. She saw Alexandria floating before her. She felt the fire inside her, filling her, the pressure of it. But it was different. Clearer, somehow. Taylor remembered the reason she was there, and a fog fell away. Taylor straightened.

"Oh?" Alexandria landed on the ground and walked toward her. "I thought you wanted a fight… Change of heart?"

If Vista was Taylor's favorite ward, Alexandria was Taylor's favorite hero. Strong, bold, unrelenting. Taylor had a lunchbox, an old sweater, a T-shirt, all the odds and ends she could wrangle – when she was younger, at least. They were memorabilia now, outgrown or lost, but that didn't change how striking Alexandria's figure was as she stood in front of Taylor, her head up, her shoulders back, the pride there. When she spoke… it would have been called haughty, on someone else. But not for her.

"Well that's a shame," Alexandria said, her head tilting contemplatively. "You see, I was looking for a fight. It is so rare that I encounter another parahuman that can last, you understand. Well… I am told you've made some friends? Maybe they would like to fight in your place."

…

What?

…

Alexandria's words played over in Taylor's head, over and over, end to end; Taylor trying and failing to match the words to the person. Alexandria, her childhood idol. Had she heard correctly? Alexandria lifted off of the ground. Taylor turned and watched her drift away.

…

A crack of fire launched Taylor forward, carrying her the quarter mile to Alexandria. Alexandria turned and caught her, Taylor's wild punch slipping over Alexandria's shoulder as she turned her head. "You don't seem to understand what consequences are!" Alexandria shouted to be heard, keeping a hold on Taylor even as her body rocked with concussive force. "Every action has them! Even yours!"

Alexandria drove Taylor down, barreling through a grove of trees, finally driving her deep into the dirt and stomping Taylor's head down beneath her boot. Then Alexandria flew up, quicker than before, but not so fast that Taylor couldn't catch sight of her as she pulled herself from the ground.

Taylor was burning. A familiar madness was boiling up inside her, flooding her mouth and making her howl. She saw that road again. Her road. The world bled into gray and black, everything fading away, everything except a single strip, a sliver of space, with her on one end and Alexandria on the other.

Taylor could finally see the end of that road, now, from where she stood. It was her at the end. But it wasn't her. That Taylor was wild and fierce, untamed, unhindered and unbothered. But above all else that Taylor was alone. Her pains and angers and fears all cluttered the path to her. But Taylor could see them clearly now. They hadn't been burned as fuel. They had consumed her. As she ran from them they gorged on her insides, and when their bodies grew fat they dropped, and she was left hollow, filled with nothing but the fire.

Taylor remembered Lisa and she bit the howl down. She remembered Alec, and Rachel and her father, she remembered the reason she was there. Taylor remembered the progress she had made, how she'd changed, how good she felt now, every day, every morning. Taylor wasn't afraid anymore.

She took that road and threw it aside. She launched after Alexandria, trailing fire and spatters of rock. Alexandria turned and caught her again, dodging her punch by tilting her head. "Do you think you are invincible? Do you think you can do whatever you like? The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, Taylor! And that is all that you are!"

Alexandria smashed them down across the countryside again, forcing Taylor through the dirt like a plow even as Taylor's body cracked and tossed within her grip, jostling her but never breaking loose. Alexandria beat Taylor into the dirt with her fists. She flew away again, faster than before. Away from Brockton Bay this time.

Taylor crashed into her in midair. Alexandria caught her, dodging the wild punch as she had before. But then in one explosive movement, Taylor took the back of Alexandria's head, and an eruption of smoke and fire bashed their foreheads together. Alexandria's helmet cracked, the visor splintered.

Alexandria drove them down again, leading with Taylor's back, barreling through trees and fences and dirt roads. Taylor rattled her as she did, her body coughing with fire and splattering rock. The rock clung to Alexandria, glowing red on the dark of her suit. They tumbled along the ground. Alexandria found her bearings first. She pummeled Taylor, beyond words and taunts now.

Alexandria's fists were different than Lung's. Lung's made sense. He was big, he was heavy, and so were his hands. But Alexandria's bore a disproportionate weight behind them, driving into her like freight trains, unyielding as vault doors. Even as Alexandria railed into Taylor, her flight pressured them both down, trapping Taylor beneath knuckles and weight.

Taylor felt herself cracking. She felt her bones shuddering beneath Alexandria's hands. And yet she wasn't worried. She wasn't blind, she wasn't stupid. Even as her vision shook, and her body sunk deeper and deeper into the earth, Taylor knew she would win. She felt the fire in her chest, her furnace burning with fierce determination.

Alexandria's fist smashed into Taylor's face.

Taylor's back burst, her fist cracked across Alexandria's helmet. The visor shattered, the top spun off her head and away.

Alexandria smashed Taylor down.

Taylor's chest burst, splattering Alexandria with smoke and magma. Alexandria coughed and flew up. Taylor burst after her, grappling around her. Her body screamed with jets of fire, strong enough now to move Alexandria. They spun about in midair, Alexandria trying to fly up, trying to wrestle Taylor away and get some distance from the choking air. Taylor brought them down, and with one thunderous boom smashed Alexandria into the ground like a meteorite.

Taylor moved before Alexandria could catch her bearings, straddling her and holding her down. Alexandria's flight pressured them up. Blasts of rock and fire smashed them down, issuing faster and faster from Taylor's body until there were no blasts at all, just a constant jet of dancing, crackling heat, lighting the surrounding countryside like a second sun with its radiance. Alexandria struggled beneath her, coughing and sputtering as smoke and fire rained down around them. Taylor drew back her hand, knifing her fingers, and rocketed her hand forward.

Alexandria caught it with both hands, her arms began to shake as she forced it away. More jets bloomed from Taylor's body. Her hand advanced inch by inch. Molten rock dripped from Taylor's body, boiling out of her joints and bends, the fire at her back bearing her ceaselessly down. Alexandria's resistance started to weaken, her arms started to shake, her eyes began to flutter. Alexandria turned her head to the side. Taylor grabbed Alexandria's bottom jaw with her other hand, wrenching her head over and yanking her jaw down. With one last echoing crack, Taylor's hand shoved inside.

Alexandria went deathly still. Taylor's fire flickered, slowly sputtering out, until the only sounds were those of Alexandria's straining lungs, sucking in air around Taylor's hand. A bead of molten rock dribbled down Alexandria's chin. They were in a crater. Around them the countryside danced in ash, fires flickering here, smoldering there. A haze hung over them like an early morning mist.

Taylor had no lips and so she spoke with careful enunciation. "You are a hero. You were my hero. But I will kill you for her."

Taylor waited until she saw understanding flash in Alexandria's eyes, and the woman gave a slow nod. Taylor pulled her hand out of Alexandria's mouth.

Alexandria turned her head to the side, coughing and retching. Taylor waited. She didn't cool down. Not yet. Her furnace rumbled. Her body smoldered.

Alexandria caught her breath enough to speak. Still she coughed now and then, her lungs protesting the filthy air. She looked up at Taylor with a complicated expression; a smile and a grimace, shame and pride and anger. "So, then… You got your fight… What did you learn?"

There were answers to her question. None that Taylor would share with her.

"It is… different… being strong… You will see…"

Taylor didn't care at all.

Alexandria talked more. It was probably important. It was probably illuminating and reasoning. But Taylor didn't care. More than anything right now, Taylor wanted to go home. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, seeing the stretch of smoldering, ruined countryside, healthy green beyond that, and further still, the cityscape of Brockton Bay, rising up and gleaming. What a shithole.

Taylor looked back to Alexandria. She looked down at her grey and black bodysuit, then up to meet her eyes. Alexandria stopped talking.

…..

Taylor walked home. It was a long walk. Alexandria's suit fit her fairly well. Taylor had longer arms and legs, and the gloves and boots went on separate, so there were little bands of skin showing. It was a little tight around her back. But Taylor didn't mind. The wind felt nice.

The sun rose overhead. Clouds drifted by. Taylor tromped along through the countryside and eventually into town. She got turned around once or twice, lost in a new part of the city. No one stopped her, oddly enough. Taylor thought that someone might; an autograph from the excellent Alexandria cosplayer. But no one did.

As she walked Taylor thought. Not hard. Her mind drifted like the clouds overhead; airy, never settling for long.

Time passed. The sun was on the way back down, now. Taylor was finally home. She knocked on the front door.

The door unlocked and opened. Lisa appeared in the frame, starting to speak but stopping abruptly, her mouth falling open and then spreading into a wider and wider smile. She fell against the doorframe.

"Hah… Uh. Wow… I uh…" Lisa chuckled and shook something off. She stepped aside, beckoning Taylor in. "Come on, I made a lunch thing."

Taylor smiled. She followed Lisa inside, shutting the door behind her.

"It's really terrible," Lisa said, "you need to teach me how to cook."

Taylor laughed. "Okay."

...

(12)

It took Lisa the better part of ten minutes to figure out how to get the back of Alexandria's suit open. Later that night the suit became the center of the conversation, sprawled across the center of the dinner table. Taylor and Lisa flittered about the stove, Taylor teaching her the secret of how to cook a perfect steak as she managed a pan of stir-fried veggies on the side. It was a little cramped. But Taylor didn't mind, even as one of Rachel's dogs puttered about behind them, determined to tangle up in their legs.

Alec and Rachel sat and waited at the table for once. Must've been a special occasion, Taylor figured.

"How, though," Alec asked, rubbing the fabric of the left suit-leg between his fingers. "How did you get it from her."

"I told her to give it to me. She did."

Alec sagged back into his chair like he'd been deflated. "I don't…" He trailed off uselessly.

"Mm-hm," Lisa hummed. She bumped Taylor's hip with hers, gesturing at the steak. "Yeah?"

Taylor appraised it. "Yeah."

Lisa flipped the steak.

Kssssshhhh

"But…" Alec leaned forward in his seat, putting elbows on the table. He bit his lip, and after drawing several blanks he let out a long, exasperated breath and fell back into his chair again. "No words... I am metaphorically at a loss for words." He rested his head on his hand, fingers curling under his cheekbone. His mouth opened and shut again. "Wow, like… Really."

"Damn," said Rachel, simply.

Alec made a gesture like he was picking up a big bowl and passing it over to Taylor at the stove. "You beat up Alexandria."

"She started it," Taylor said. Lisa snickered.

"And then you took her suit."

"I needed clothes."

"And then you put on her suit."

"Yes."

"And then you walked back here in her suit."

"Yeah."

Alec dragged a hand down his mouth. "So… So was she just… Watching this happen? Did she fly away? What did she…"

"I needed help with the back. She did. Then I left. I don't know where she went."

Alec took in a big breath, and seemed to hold that breath until dinner actually started. They escaped into the living room, spending the better part of a movie trying to Tetris four people, four plates and three dogs into a working configuration.

"I'm all schadenfreude-ed out, I think," Alec remarked one commercial break. "Where do I go from here…"

Lisa patted his shoulder. "Straight to hell, buddy."

"You're my favorite boss."

"Oh yeah? Tough call?"

Alec waggled a hand so-so.

The movie ended. Dinner ended not long after that. After all the cleanup and moving about was done, Alec and Rachel vanished, and it was just Taylor and Lisa on the couch, a rerun playing in the background.

"I have some things left to do," Taylor said. "I don't know what to… say. But I need to do something. Can you help me?"

"When and where?"

Taylor told her.

"I'm there. Obviously."

Lisa went to bed. Taylor shut off the lights as usual, and was about to fall onto the couch, but she stopped. She shot a look at the stairs. Then she was walking up them, the wooden steps creaking beneath her feet. She opened the first door on the left. There was enough ambient light to see the shapes.

For a moment Taylor stood near the door, looking over the lines of the bed, the dresser, the nightstand and lamp, and finally she walked over to the far window, sliding it up and letting in the night air. It was quiet outside. Remarkably quiet, considering the neighborhood. Taylor didn't question it. She shucked her clothes and put them on the dresser, and she climbed into bed.

…

…

The next morning spilled over. Taylor made breakfast. Lisa made coffee. Alec made semi-lucid quips about things.

Taylor and Lisa left the house at noon, driving Rachel's van to a better part of town. The ride ended in front of a familiar house; that too-green lawn, those too-clean windows.

"Are you ready?" Lisa asked.

"No."

Taylor got out of the car. They walked the mile or maybe twenty feet to the front door. Taylor knocked. She felt the wait palpably stretch. She heard movement from inside. The door opened, a familiar blonde stood there in school clothes. The moment Victoria laid eyes on them she went very still.

Lisa held up a hand, "Let me just derail that train of thought, really quick." Then she turned to Taylor and put a hand on her shoulder. "Relax."

Taylor relaxed, just a little.

"Take a breath. Stop thinking. Say what you want to say, and don't worry about the rest."

Taylor's eyes played over Victoria - the discomfort, the pale alarm on her face. Taylor chewed her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Victoria audibly inhaled.

"I was in a bad place. I'm not going to hurt your family. I was never going to. I'm not that. I'm not like that."

"No. No, I fucked up," Victoria said. "I shouldn't have…" she fumbled about for the words, "I shouldn't have… I'm sorry, I should have, I just…" Victoria swallowed the rest of that mess down. She was standing a little straighter, some color back in her face. She went to speak, didn't make any noise, and then cleared her throat. "Do you... Do you want to come inside, for a bit?"

Taylor showed no signs of responding one way or the other, and Victoria added after a period of silence, "We have… snacks? I think?"

Taylor took in a breath and let it out, and things became clearer. "Okay."

They ended up in the living room, Victoria seeming more and more at ease the longer their conversation went on. At the end, Victoria offered to help Taylor find a dress that actually fit.

Then they were pulling away in Rachel's van, heading toward a worse part of town.

Taylor watched the streets and stoplights pass her by. She knew this route. She knew these roads. She knew where she was headed. Any lingering good will left from Victoria slowly bled away, and soon enough the ride came to an end. She saw Danny's truck in the driveway. The blinds were all open. She saw a shape moving in the kitchen.

Lisa killed the engine. "I'm with you," she said. Taylor turned to her. "I know. I know. But… Leaving it like this... is the sort of thing that'll haunt you. Trust me. Please. If not for you, then for me."

Taylor got out of the car. Lisa did too. They walked up the driveway to the porch. Taylor found her resolve and knocked. She heard motion from inside. She heard his boots on the floor. The door opened.

Danny had one hell of a shiner. He looked better, otherwise. More color. Less bones. He'd shaved. For a moment he seemed shocked, looking back and forth between the two of them, but then all the excess bled from his face. He went to speak but stopped. Instead he held up a hand, turned and went back into the house. When he returned he held out a note to Taylor.

Taylor took it. It was familiar. On the front was her name in thick marker, hints of text showing through the thin binder paper. Taylor turned it in her hands, taking in every detail, everything that it was and everything that it represented. And then she crumpled the note into a ball and let it drop from her hands. For a moment Danny looked as though he'd had his heart torn out. Then Taylor said,

"Can I… come inside? Can we talk?"

Danny answered, his voice cracking, "I'll put the kettle on."

She and Lisa walked inside. Taylor shut the door.

They didn't stay long. They didn't need to. What Taylor had to say was difficult, not longwinded. At the end, he asked her if she wanted to make dinner with him later in the week. She didn't know. They had cleared the air, but what was left between them - Taylor wasn't sure. She was willing to give them a shot.

On the ride back home Taylor found herself falling against the window, her eyes drooping. She felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders - one of those things she only realized had ever been there now that it was gone. Its absence left her lightheaded. Lisa sniffled in the driver's seat, her eyes a little red. Taylor asked her what was wrong.

"It's nothing," Lisa said. She managed a little smile. "I'm happy for you. I am. I really am."

Taylor debated scooting over to the middle of the bench at a red light. She decided not to. Lisa knew. If she wanted a shoulder to lean on, she would ask. No more words were spoken until they pulled up along a curb near home.

"I've got one more stop left, later today," Lisa mentioned before they got out, her composure back. "The PRT building downtown, gotta…" Taylor shot her a very flat look. Lisa trailed off. "I gotta ask, it's part of..." Taylor's face stayed flat and Lisa stopped the explanation. "It's at five. We'll need to look like proper capes, so."

They went inside. Lisa helped Taylor with Alexandria's suit - the better part of five minutes spent wrestling the back closed, and then another minute spent sticking a domino mask to Taylor's face.

Taylor was complacent the whole while, plenty drained and only getting drowsier. She closed her eyes while the domino mask went on, and Lisa's gentle application nearly lulled her to sleep. Afterward Lisa dragged her to the couch and plopped her down. Taylor dozed.

...

Lisa shook her awake. Taylor sat up.

"Ready?" Lisa asked.

Taylor stood.

"Alec?" Lisa called.

Alec appeared from the kitchen; masked, wearing leggings and a puffy white blouse.

"You're coming too?" Taylor asked.

He put his hands on his hips. "Oh I wouldn't miss it for the world."

They left the house, a sheaf of paper under Lisa's arm, taking Rachel's van to a better part of town.

"So what are we actually doing," Alec asked.

"Do you care?" Lisa asked.

Alec's silence was answer enough.

They parked in the visitor's lot outside of the PRT's local headquarters. It was eight stories tall. It had its own dedicated parking garage and living quarters for the local wards, hidden entrances and exits, blast shutters and other security features. It was well protected, even if it looked like a fairly run of the mill office building.

They approached the main lobby. Two big glass doors opened automatically. Wind rushed over them. It was faintly reminisce of a bank; a line of desks along the wall, some of them manned, some of them not. Lounging chairs off to the side. In the far corner the entrance to a gift shop loomed, bristling with mugs and t-shirts.

The noise level in the lobby was already quiet, and as they walked in it somehow became even quieter.

Lisa went straight to the front desk. Alec went straight for the chairs. Taylor headed for the chairs too.

They weren't very well designed; the backs were a little too flat, the seats a little too hard, but Taylor was the kind of tired that made anything comfortable. She rested her eyes, drifting along on the conversation Lisa held with the front desk clerk.

…

Taylor cracked an eye. Lisa's sheaf of paper was in the hands of the clerk now. They were flipping through it, talking still.

…

…

Taylor cracked an eye. Lisa stood alone at the front desk, muddling about with a pen on a chain. The clerk was gone.

…

…

…

Taylor cracked an eye. The clerk was back, and he brought someone else with him, a man in streamlined body armor, a visor covering the top half of his face. She saw a familiar sheaf of paper trapped under his arm. "You know," the man said, "Piggot really didn't want to do this, and no one else wanted to do this, and no one wanted me to do this, but I really wanted to do this, so-"

Stop talking.

Things were taking too long. Taylor got up and joined Lisa at the front desk.

"Ah – and speaking of," The body armor man said, turning somber. "Glad to finally meet you, in particular." He held out his hand.

Taylor looked at his hand, then over at Lisa. "We done?"

"We're done," Lisa said. She gestured to the paper under the man's arm. "We just need to sign some stuff and we're out."

Taylor turned back to the man. She reached for his hand – past his hand, leaning on the desk now – grabbed the paper under his arm – and pulled away with it. Taylor handed the paper to Lisa.

"Regent," Lisa called, flipping through the documents in a final check, "You're needed on stage."

Alec ruffled over. He addressed the body-armor-man as Lisa neared the end of the stack, "Assault? Big fan." He offered his hand. Assault shrugged and went for the handshake, but before they clasped hands Alec pulled his back, running it through his hair.

"Why," Assault said.

"Alright, we're good," Lisa said. She found the signature line and wrote out Tattletale in big, looping cursive, and then forged Rachel's signature next to hers.

The pen passed to Alec. He signed - Regent. "What did I just agree to?"

"Basically nothing," Assault answered. "I'm genuinely impressed with the amount of legal fuckery and browbeating here."

The pen passed to Taylor. She added her signature to the bottom line – Taylor.

Assault accepted the papers from Lisa and added his signature to another part of the document. "And voila, criminal charges dropped, and you are now the proud members of Brockton Bay's newest legally operating, unnamed parahuman group." His head turned to Taylor. "And can I just say…. Yaknow... You had a rocky start, there, kid. But as one reformed vil…"

Taylor started to leave at the word 'reformed,' and the others followed. Assault trailed off, moments later remarking under his breath, "What a hero." As they approached the door he called out robotically, "The protectorate would like to express its interest in purchasing your retainer."

Lisa called back, "We'll get in touch."

Then they were out of the building, walking through the parking lot.

"So..." Alec shot a parting glance back at the PRT building, and then at Lisa. "Are we charging the Protectorate... protection money? Is that what…?"

"No," Lisa said. "We've got a bodycount, remember? Nothing so tasteless. It's an olive branch. Even if it might not look like it to some people."

"It looks like you shoved it up their ass."

"Well they wouldn't accept it any other way."

"I'm not upset. That was magical."

"Stop ruining the moment."

The three loaded into Rachel's van: Lisa in the driver's side, Taylor in the passenger's side, Alec taking the middle. The car puttered out of the lot and into traffic.

The ride home started quiet. Taylor sagged against the door, falling into seatbelt. She opened the window and felt the wind on her face. She watched the city speed past and the light slowly turn gold. Her eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.

"This is Rachel's van, right?" Alec asked. "It's stolen."

"Alec, stop."

"You don't have a license."

"I have one now."

"There's a gun under my seat."

"Alec shut up."

The two bickered; Lisa trying to push the quiet redemption angle and Alec refusing to let her.

Taylor's eyes fought closed even harder. She didn't want to sleep just yet. There was daylight left. Sometime later in the week she'd be stopping by Victoria's – something about getting her a dress? And sometime after that she'd be cooking dinner with Danny, seeing where they stood.

…

Actually... she'd had a long day. Lisa and Alec wouldn't mind if she rested her eyes. Just for a little bit.

Alec kept talking. Lisa started snickering. The city flew past. Wind tugged her hair. Taylor closed her eyes.

…

…