A/N:
I'm back! The quarter is ending but my next classes look like a bear to attend, so we'll see how that affects my update time.
Thank you all for your reviews and faves/follows!
Drako90451: I'm glad you like the character interactions. Those things cost me most of the time it takes to write these chapters, so it means a lot. I think you'll find what you're looking for in this chapter. (:
The Hero named Villain: I'm not sure. I don't think Taylor is that vindictive. If she were to expose SS, I'd think she would've done it sooner in canon when SS still held weight to all of her problems. But who knows? Thanks for the question!
OMAC001: Who said anything about new trigger event? (;
The world of Worm belongs to the marvelous Wildbow.
The kitchen table was cluttered with old newspapers and coffee stains. Phone books and scrunched-up notes with phone numbers scribbled in pen were laid out in impalpable order, some overlapping the other while others were stacked loosely in a pile. At first glance there was only a single pen, but a mere tilt of the head revealed at least five others buried under the mess.
I imagined a tinker's lab would look like this.
Before me sat a folder labeled 'BBPD', Brockton Bay Police Department. Thin, innocuous and innocent enough despite its contents. I knew without flipping it open what lay inside. I had read over its words many times before, enough that I'd probably be able to recite them for years.
Still, I opened it.
"Mr. Daniel Hebert and Miss Taylor Hebert,
Due to the lack of substantial leads and evidence and recent exposure of possible first-party involvement, all investigations have been dropped and another investigation must take precedence.
The allegations of child abuse must and will be followed by thorough inspection. Your cooperation is expected and will be appreciated. If the results reflect positively, the initial investigation will restart at the earliest possible time.
Signed,
Officer Seth Beckman"
It was all a joke. A huge, fucking joke.
Other cities weren't like this.
It had hardly been a month and they were already dropping it? It was ridiculous. Yet a part of me knew there was hardly any evidence except for my scars, and even those were hard to believe by the look of them. If it weren't for my hospital stay a month earlier, there'd be no record of my body before then.
My hand was halfway towards my chest before I noticed. It had become a regular occurrence these days, a subconscious need to see if it all of this were real, to try and associate myself with this new, foreign body and the lack of something that hadn't been much to begin with.
I clenched my hand into a fist and dropped it.
There were rules with cases like mine, at least I liked to think there were. The more violent they were, the more time devoted to them to prevent it from happening to someone else.
For one thing, child abuse speculations, especially once made official like this document had done, would have me removed from the home immediately. Ideally.
As soon as the ink was dry, they'd be dishing out the necessary papers to remove me from my father's custody and into my nearest family's hands. Since I didn't have any, it would be to a foster home for me.
I guess that's something to be thankful for, I thought grimly, applying my positive flip to every negative. Any other city and I'd be out of my home.
Brockton Bay already had too much on its plate to worry about proper procedures for one insignificant case. The E88, ABB and other bands of villains made it almost impossible for the proper time to be devoted to the victims. As soon as one crime was finished, another began. There was no end.
A part of me believed that if I made it known that I was parahuman, the investigation wouldn't be closed. The PRT would have to be involved, if they weren't already from the flashing arrows that pointed to my scars being a parahuman's work.
I saw my dad's face across the table.
He looked aged, worn out and hung to dry like old laundry. For a man of his forties, he looked well into his fifties. Grey hairs bordering white streaked through his already thinning crop, and a new line was added to his face every day.
"Taylor," he mumbled. The last time I'd heard him sound like this was when mom died.
He swallowed and I watched his throat move beneath the stubble that had accrued after weeks without shaving. My dad wasn't able to grow a beard for the life of him, which was for the best. It didn't suit him.
"After- after this is all over," his voice cracked, "and I've saved up some money, maybe we can-"
He cut himself off and I knew where this was headed. He'd brought it up before.
Reconstructive surgery.
"They say it's a simple procedure," he tried. He kept his eyes locked on mine, careful not to let them wander down. It was something I'd noticed the doctors and officers had done.
I often found myself suspicious of others when they looked at me, always wondering, Do they know? Can they tell?
"If it's the money you're worried about, I have my connections, I-" he began to grow fervor and I had to stop him.
"No," I said, cutting him short. Just like that, the life went out of him once more and I regretted my words.
But not my choice.
I had nothing against reconstructive surgery, but for me it felt like it'd be trying to forget. I didn't want to forget, not when everyone else seemed keen on it. The police, my dad. Me, in some ways. I didn't want to remember the moment I tore off my shirt and witnessed the horror done to my chest. My back.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that if I tried to forget and erase the evidence of what had been taken from me, I'd be letting them win. I didn't know who or what, just that I'd lose. And I was tired of losing.
I still hated my scars.
Some nights I woke up in a cold sweat, never screaming but always aware of a sense of loss, an emptiness that threatened to swallow me whole till I was forgotten by the whole world. The feeling never really left during the day.
But they were a part of me, now, in a twisted sort of way. I didn't like them; I didn't think I ever could, and I sure as hell didn't run to embrace them. It was more along the lines of, I can live with this.
Whatever had done this to me, I survived. I survived mom's death and I survived Emma's betrayal. The locker, the bullies. These scars were like my ugly, tattered battle flags that I never asked for, always there to remind me that I was stronger than I believed.
Above all else, I ignored my other reason: The last thing I wanted was to let one more person see what had been done to me. The doctors and police who already saw, who'd documented it-
I swallowed. There was no way I was going to add to that list.
"No, dad," I repeated. I mustered a smile but knew it fell short of the reassurance I wanted to convey. To make up for it, I reached across the table to grab my dad's hand and he covered mine with his own calloused one.
"I'm okay with this. Not with the investigation, hell no. But I think I can live with my scars. At least, for now."
"For now?" my dad asked. I knew he was worried that this was part of the mental trauma people went through after events like this. He still wasn't sure that I was halfway okay from the locker, and I wasn't all that positive myself.
But this time I felt determined. Sure, half of it was the promise of revenge somewhere down the road, but the other half was a true 'stand-when-I-fall' type of perseverance
"For now," I said for his benefit.
His face relaxed and the years melted off his face, and I was thankful for my lie. He squeezed my hand with a tired smile.
"Skitter."
The kitchen was replaced with the sort of darkness that lingered after sleep. My breath hitched as I woke, and instantly the slight warmth I had felt was replaced by an ache that encompassed my body.
That was bittersweet.
I had dreamed about the last time my dad outright mentioned my scars. With everything that happened after- the investigations, the ghost of police presence- he stopped bringing it up. Stopped looking at me.
A couple months ago, a part of me had been worried that I'd see disgust in his eyes if he found out I was a villain. Another part was worried his eyes wouldn't change, disgust having entered them long ago.
My face was wet, and I noted with a detached curiosity that they were tears. I wasn't crying much these days. My throat felt tight, eyes dry despite the moisture around them, and it served as a needless reminder of why I hated to.
I reached up to remove my mask, then stopped. I opened my eyes to the barrel of a gun inches away from my face.
Miss Militia crouched before me, gun held loosely in one hand. I was genuinely surprised to see her up and moving, the head injury must not have been as serious as it looked if she were able to hold herself up.
My silk cords were missing. Her clothes had been ripped for makeshift bandages that covered the worst of her cuts, and the dirty rag that had been used to preserve her identity was still in place, managing to look grungier outside of battle. I almost felt bad for her; the thing looked disgusting.
I couldn't tell if she was aware of how close her gun was to my face, but once I moved my head she angled it to the side, away from immediate danger.
"Skitter, I'll assume you can hear me?" she asked, and I tested my voice.
"Yes," I croaked.
Her eyes lost some of their frown and she straightened with the help of who I presumed to be Weld. There weren't any other metal men that I knew of, but this guy looked nothing like him. He was eerily similar to Mannequin for his smooth features.
It looked like his body had been airbrushed over, his usually chiseled muscles a flat expanse and his head a crude bearing of a face, blank except for a pair of eyes and a line for a mouth. The nose was slowly being created as he stood there.
It was just as well that his body was blurred. Technically, he was naked.
I took Miss Militia's movement as permission to slowly sit up, mindful of the way my muscles burned. My hand brushed dirt, a few pine needles digging uncomfortably into my palm.
There hadn't been any pine trees in the beach town.
I scattered the factions of bugs that had arranged themselves while I was unconscious and mapped our area as I stumbled to my feet.
We were in a forest.
I didn't need powers to confirm that, not by looking around. Nature was in the air, with it a purity that came without city sounds or pollution. I've never truly camped before, but this was how I always imagined it. If I needed more evidence, the underbrush and pine trees were alive with activity. I sensed the complex caverns of underground spiders, rolling anthills under the brush and a trail of large centipedes making their way down a tree.
It was almost more refreshing to get a sense of the forest through my bugs. It was funny; my first time in a forest like this and the insect population was what caught my interest. A little sad, too.
Wherever we were, it was a long way from the fight.
I picked up Vista and Kid Win not far away, the latter stripped of his armor and currently tinkering with a small kit of tools he probably kept squared away for situations like this. I paused as I registered Clockblocker behind me, far enough to not deem an immediate threat but enough to make his presence matter.
I met Miss Militia's eyes, gauging what her intent could be. She met my gaze evenly and I found myself impressed by the way she managed to draw my attention from the huge gash on her forehead. There was no way a normal human could be injured like she was and walk away without a concussion.
"We've been teleported," I said. Might as well get the obvious out of the way if no one was going to say anything.
She nodded once, grim. "Yes. With no communication or technology." That would explain Kid Win. She continued, "I've already discussed this with the others and they agree. We can't let you roam freely."
I paused at that. Roam freely? I doubted I had the skills to survive out in the woods by myself. There was no point in telling her that, though.
"Oh?"
"With the possibility that you've been corrupted by the Simurgh, and our… state of being right now, it would be beneficial to us all to stick together in a group. Of course, once-"
If, I supplied.
"-we reach civilization and you've undergone the necessary evaluations to show you're not under the Simurgh's manipulation, as we all will, you will be free to go in the spirit of retaining the truce."
There were several things I could voice to that. With what the PRT had pulled on me less than a week ago, I didn't hold much promise in their word. And though I held great respect for Miss Militia, I knew she was just another cog in the great machine. I was the wrench that was actively trying to screw it up. Taking me into custody for examination was the perfect way to keep me there.
But wasn't that where I had been heading this morning?
Miss Militia shifted her hand on her gun. Her finger wasn't on the trigger, but it was close.
Turning myself in had its own perks. I would've been doing it on my own terms, and the added shock value of having the city warlord turning herself in would've been a nice advantage. With the Simurgh's arrival, I lost all of that.
But my gain?
I thought of Dinah's notes and the way they disappeared. I had cut ties with my team. It wasn't how I planned to do it, but Dinah might have known that.
"Okay," I began slowly, "but one thing. You're planning on returning to the city? Despite being singled out like this?"
The Simurgh created sleeper agents of destruction. We'd been obviously targeted, if our current location was anything to go by. Put two and two together and it was hard to justify taking another step.
Miss Militia nodded once more, gun held steady. "With the amount of time we spent under her influence combined with Dragon and Defiant's added precautions, we should be fine. Just as good as the rest of those who were in the fight, interpret that as you may."
She adjusted the arm holding the gun. Injury?
"And this way, we have something to motivate us. Figure out a plan, meet up with the others. This," she waved her other hand, "has brought on a whole new frontier to Endbringer fights."
It came down to what the Simurgh would want us to do. Would she want us to try to live off the land or return to civilization?
Or kill ourselves?
Perhaps this was her plan: to have us not try anything at all, our absence creating horrible repercussions for some other place around the world.
The argument could go back and forth endlessly and we still wouldn't get anywhere. It was borderline insanity to try to account for every possibility and end up with no solution at the end of it. We didn't know what the Simurgh's plan was, so anything we did from here on out could be part of it.
I agreed, albeit hesitatingly. There was really no way to go about it, not alone.
"Alright," I said.
Some of the tension in her shoulders left. "You agree to work with us?"
"Yeah. It's what I would have done anyways," I said. And it's not like I have much of a choice, went unsaid.
She nodded once more, green and black energy morphing a machete at her side. She didn't look past my shoulder, gave nothing away to suggest that there was someone behind me, but Clockblocker's hand lowered and he stepped back, presumably to rejoin us when it wasn't obvious that he'd been lurking around. Not that it wasn't obvious already. Perhaps that was the point?
"Glad to hear it," Miss Militia said. "Let's regroup and start planning the next step." She turned her back to me to lead the way and Weld flanked my side. The message was pretty clear.
At least I had chosen to be a prisoner willingly.
The ground was uneven at first, every step placing another twig or sharp rock beneath my already-sore feet. I stubbed another toe against a rock and grit my teeth, setting a small army of ants before me to map out the terrain. This was already turning out to be a pain, and all I had done so far was stand up and walk.
If Miss Militia and Weld had noticed my bugs collecting, they weren't saying anything.
The forest was its own city, in a way. The trees acted as sky scrapers, their pointed tips acting as hats of business men going to their nine-to-five day jobs. Sun-dappled glades rested in the midst of the tall pines, glowing like stained glass of a steeple. Moss in the richest of greens coated everything like a shag carpet from the 80's. It wasn't the most poetic of descriptions I could offer, but it was what came to mind.
There was the beginning of a crag in the opposite direction from where Miss Militia was leading us. Dense ivy and ferns increased in number with the incline. No sign of civilization anywhere nearby.
We've seriously been teleported.
Reality just slapped me in the face, and I'd say I was taking it pretty well. I think at this point in my life I had learned to roll with the punches, adapt to my surroundings when hesitation often resulted in death. It probably helped that I'd seen a portal open before my eyes not long ago. I still didn't understand exactly how they did it despite Tattletale's best efforts in explaining, but I knew it wasn't impossible.
It made getting out of this seem a little easier in the grand scheme of things.
"How long was I out?" I asked.
"I'm not sure. We just woke up not long ago, but judging by Weld's skin, it's been a day," Miss Militia answered. Said boy didn't look offended at being used as an indicator of time.
"The other Wards are okay?" I asked.
"They're alive, if that's what you mean."
I shrugged. "More or less. Anyone hurt bad enough to cause worry?"
Miss Militia paused halfway up the rock she was climbing on to reach a low ridge. "Vista is a little under the weather at the moment. I'd advise that you wouldn't try to use that to your advantage."
The situation was similar enough to the school that I smiled, thankful that my mask hid it. They were so deadest on believing that I had hidden motives, an ulterior plan when I was more at a loss than any of them.
"I wouldn't," I said. "Believe it or not, I'm on your side here."
She didn't reply and I saved my breath to climb after her. Weld followed shortly after.
We reached the small encampment of the Wards not far from where I had been found. Clockblocker had looped around and gotten here before us, resting his back against a tree, arms behind his head like this was his idea of a vacation.
"Sleeping Beauty has awoken," he said. "Excuse me if I don't stand in your presence, Your Highness." There it was again, attempted humor in the face of something none of us had an idea on how to deal with.
I ignored him. He snorted.
Kid Win had pieces of his armor laid out before him, systematically checking through its different sections with his small tool kit. I didn't know how much work he'd be able to do with it, but if I've learned anything about tinkers, it was that they were annoyingly versatile. Maybe it would finally play in my favor.
Miss Militia sat by Vista who was curled in a fetal position on the ground. I thought of Tattletale and Dinah and their migraines when they used their power too much. It seemed more of a thinker problem, but when I'd tried listening through my bugs the first time around, it was excruciatingly painful. Even now, trying to see with their eyes gave me a headache if I wasn't careful. Maybe it was the same here?
I settled for leaning against a pine tree, not too positive that my muscles could handle me sitting. The bark was cool from the shade, but I could tell with the spots of sunlight further up that it was a hot day. Mid-afternoon, going by the sun.
"Now that we're all on the same page, I think it'd be a good time to go through what we know," Miss Militia said, keeping her voice low for Vista.
"Tech is still dead," Kid Win said over his armor. "Analogue is down, chips are fried. Something wiped the circuit completely off-board. It would take me days if I had all of my equipment, but with this?" He waved at the tool kit. "Two weeks. At least."
"This is what I know," Clockblocker piped up from his spot by the tree. "Vista was taking us to the ship when there was a flash of light-"
"-Simurgh," Kid Win cut in without looking up.
"-and then capes were dropping all around us," Clockblocker said.
"Hit me as I was finishing my distortion," Vista mumbled in the dirt. "Too many people pushed together." Her arms tightened around her head as her body clenched in pain. Miss Militia went to rub her back but the girl shied away from the hand, groaning.
"Seemed to me like the Simurgh wanted every one of us dead," Clockblocker said.
"The Simurgh relies on survivors to carry out the true damage," Miss Militia pointed out. "It may have looked that way, but she would have known who was likely to survive and who would fall."
"So we can pretty much say that she wanted us to live," Clockblocker stated matter-of-fact. I got the sense that his previous statement was a set-up just so he could get the response he wanted. By the look on Miss Militia's face, I'd say she thought the same.
"Perhaps. We still don't know if anyone else was teleported as well," she replied.
"Actually," I started, drawing everyone's attention to me, "I saw the other side of the portal when we fell through. I don't think anyone else is here."
Miss Militia frowned.
Clockblocker shifted in his spot, kicking one leg out. "Then where were all the citizens? You honestly don't think the Simurgh could've teleported them as well?"
I stopped at that.
Miss Militia rose a hand. "I won't sugar-coat our situation. The only other Simurgh-teleportation we have on record are the Travelers, and it doesn't bear repeating what came of that. I'm not saying that will happen this time, but I can't say it won't. We need to take precautions."
"What were they like?" Weld asked. The question was garbled, spoken without a tongue by the sound of it. He turned his head and I realized belatedly that the question was for me.
What were the Travelers like? "They were… sad, I guess. I don't know the full story, but from what I gathered from when we were allies and what Tattletale said, they used to be friends. Trickster thought they still were up until the very end." I paused, remembering the night I killed Coil and Ballistic left the group. "Sundancer described her experience on the team as intense, violent and lonely. I can't say she was wrong, knowing now what they were hiding."
The rest were silent. I could hear the gears turning in Miss Militia's mind as she chewed on the new information. If we were using the Travelers as examples of what not to do, we needed to erase dissention amongst the ranks.
Except that we might be off to a worse start than the Travelers had been. They had the advantage of being friends at some point. Us? Maybe Clockblocker and Kid Win, Vista thrown in there as well. Miss Militia practically commanded respect, the poster cool-headed adult that excelled at reigning all sorts of people in. Weld was the same, but things were complicated now.
Even if my presence didn't screw things up, there was still Weld's occupation as a Case 53. He hadn't shown any hard feeling towards the PRT except for leaving to build his own group, but there was no way this wasn't at least somewhat awkward for him.
Add to that Clockblocker's antagonistic approach towards me and the fact that none of our tech was working, and we had our work cut out for us.
"Alright, I've made up my mind," Miss Militia said, determination plastered on her face. "As of now, we're a team. I was going to lay that out as a ground rule no matter what we'd say in this meeting. A good team works their problems out with communication, not fighting. So if any of you start throwing punches or think it's funny to harass each other, I'll be there to give you a talking to. And then some." I got the impression that last bit was directed towards me and Clockblocker.
She continued, "We're going to have to work together to get out of this mess. I'll be the acting leader," she glanced at me as if I'd try and fight her for it. I nodded once to her, deferring power. Seemingly satisfied with my response, she added, "Weld is second in command. With that settled, our next state of business is finding water. We're not going to last long without it."
She rose from her spot slowly, and I knew by the way her legs twitched that she was in more pain than she let on. "Weld, can you help Vista?"
Weld nodded and walked forward.
"No," Vista muttered. "Nobody touch me. Makes it worse."
She gathered herself up with trembling arms, and walked a few steps hunched over like a woman seventy years older. Weld stood nearby waiting for her to fall, arms outstretched and ready. When it became obvious she wouldn't topple over, he let them drop to his sides and followed close behind.
Miss Militia's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent when Vista reached her side with dogged determination. After scanning the area one last time, Miss Militia seemingly chose a random pair of trees and marked them with her machete, passing by with Vista not far behind.
I pushed off of the tree I was leaning on and trailed after them, scouting the area for any wetland bugs I might have missed the first time around. None.
My range was still a solid six and a half blocks and reaching seven, which I grudgingly admitted made sense. It wouldn't be a stretch to say I was feeling trapped. It had become a sort of default setting the past weeks, enough that I hadn't really noticed it beyond appreciating the edge it gave me in a fight.
Outside of a fight?
I was soaked in every bit of emotional and physical fatigue I had experienced over the last week. Fear about the future of my territory and how my team was going to handle my disappearance. Anger was prevalent, too.
I felt drained as Clockblocker proceeded past me. This is a mission, I reminded myself. Focus on what's at hand.
We slowed to a halt so Kid Win had a chance to catch up in his armor, then continued at a slight decline down the forest ground. I noted that several pieces were missing, probably to make it easier for him to travel in without it powered up. I couldn't see his eyes but his mouth was pressed in a solid line. I'd be pretty upset if I had to leave months' worth of work behind, too.
Clockblocker and Kid Win began a hushed conversation in front of me, and without second thought I had a spider grapple from an overhanging branch to behind Kid Win's ear, right in the crack of where Dragon's purple goop had crusted over.
"…do you think?" Kid Win was asking.
"Dunno. With her, everything's a shot in the dark. At the end of the day does it really matter?" Clockblocker answered.
Kid Win shot him an incredulous look. "I'd say so."
"…ending in two years," Clockblocker shrugged. "Might as well stop worrying and live in the moment."
Weld tapped on my shoulder and looked pointedly towards Kid Win. He saw the spider. Damn. I had it scurry away and he nodded, satisfied. I pursed my lips; at least he hadn't mentioned it to the entire group. That would've planted more tension in our ranks, and that was the last thing we needed.
I resolutely faced forward and focused on finding any animals in the area. They could determine our location based on the species and help us-
I stumbled in my gait as I realized he touched my bare skin.
Recovering on the dot, I rotated my back armor to my front. It jutted off my chest a little skewed, but it provided some coverage. The rest of the armor that survived remained tied in place, though I already had an idea of how I was going to adjust them once I got the chance.
How had I gone that long without noticing? No matter how much I'd faced since getting these scars, I was far from touching the edge of walking brazenly down the streets in nothing but a thin tank and bike leggings. The closest I'd gotten to that were high-necked cropped sleeve shirts, and even those were pushing my already-low comfort level.
It was one thing to show my scars to my closest friends, but to the rest of the world? The thought was almost as ludicrous as Hookwolf joining the Protectorate. It just wasn't an option. To show them to these guys? I'd spent the last three months fighting, abusing and humiliating them. I was a villain in their eyes, for reasons I had trouble justifying.
Kid Win had seen the tips of them. If Miss Militia and Weld had been staring at me longer than it took to wake me up, there was a good chance they had seen them as well.
I looked past where my chin kissed my collarbone. A few inches lower were the teeth of my two scars hidden by chitin.
I'd be surprised if they didn't notice. Everyone who so much as glanced at me would have seen them sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs. It was more along the lines of whether they knew the extent of the damage.
At least they hadn't seen my back. My undershirt rose high in the back, making up for the low cut in front, and the color was nice as well. Black, discreet and ambiguous in what lay behind it.
As long as I didn't stretch my arms or tighten the cloth too much against my chest, they would hopefully think I was just severely flat-chested and wore ill-fitting armor to make up for it. The thought grated, but it was better than the alternative.
Before me, Clockblocker clapped Kid Win on the back, marking the end of the conversation. The two walked in silence, and no one tried to fill it.
That was how we walked for the next few hours. There was an unspoken agreement to keep our mouths shut and ears peeled for sound, conserving our breath and spit, but despite the relatively slow pace I was thoroughly winded as the sun began to set.
Sweat had begun to pool down my back and front, stinging my chest where I had skid across the ground. My scalp was unbearably itchy beneath the purple crust that still coated my head. I gave up trying to scratch it away after it wouldn't budge an inch, leaving me to wonder why I tried in the first place. If Weld's was able to survive a blast that was enough to melt metal, I didn't think I'd be able to inflict any damage with my fingernails.
The dried blood and soot that covered me was flaking off and clumping at the same time, and I almost longed for a bath more than a drink of water. But the way my throat felt like a pair of hands were passionately choking it placed that drink of water pretty high up on the list.
The rest of my team wasn't faring much better.
Kid Win had to drop more of his armor as the hours ticked on, and his frown was becoming a permanent fixture beneath his visor. Cradled in Weld's arms was Vista. She'd dropped after the second hour of our trek, her muscles twitching her otherwise limp body. As if she felt my stare, she turned her face into Weld's bare metal chest with a muffled whine.
I really pitied the poor kid.
Weld, though, I envied. I wouldn't trade my powers for his metal skin because of the drawbacks, but his endurance and lack of need for human basics was something I could go for at the moment. Something we all could go for, I thought.
My bugs weren't giving me anything. I had a span of little under half a mile and there was no sign of water despite having walked for hours.
And it was only going to get worse the longer we walked. It was sunset, and the forest had darkened prematurely from the coverage of the tree tops. Soon it would be darker than night, no light from the city or moon to illuminate our path. For me, it might not be that big of a problem, but I had everyone else's limitations to think of. A stray root could knock them to their feet and cost strength they didn't have.
I thought I was hallucinating when Miss Militia dropped to the ground. I stumbled once I realized my eyes weren't playing tricks on me, and it took everything I had not to fall over. Clockblocker hunched over her, not bothering to attempt to crouch down. He stepped to the side when Weld reached them and said nothing as he lifted her over his shoulders, shifting Vista to one arm.
Logic said to keep moving forward, but Miss Militia was our guide. I had no doubt that she knew her way around the wild unless those fatigues were just for show, and without her judgement we had no idea if we were heading in the right direction.
"Skitter, you take lead," Weld said without hesitation. His tongue had grown back over the hours, his face a little more normal. His lower area was like a male mannequin's. The muscles were there, but his groin was smoothed over flawlessly.
I didn't nod for fear of throwing myself off balance, but I did walk to the front of the group and head off our slow trek. It was disorientating to look at the forest without seeing everyone's backs. Forwards. If Miss Militia thought it was the right direction, I wouldn't dispute it.
I put one foot in front of the other. Each movement jostled my head where a migraine was in the middle of hitting me with a pickaxe. One foot, two foot, I thought, keeping the rhyme on a loop as another hour passed.
I wasn't even sure that it had been an hour. It could have only been a few minutes, and the thought was agonizing. My bugs still relayed the same senses as they'd been all day. Branches, trees. Mossy rocks and soil.
Where the hell are all the animals?
There had been a few mice and rabbits, but not enough to determine if water was anywhere near. We needed something more substantial, like a fox or deer, even a bear would-
A new insect entered my range.
"Mosquito." The word crawled out of my dried lips and died without flourish. No one answered me. I could barely understand what I'd said.
Luckily, Weld heard me. "What was that?"
I gathered together a swarm. "Mosquitos about half a mile away. Wherever they are, water is bound to be nearby."
That got everyone's attention. Weld smiled. "Lead the way," he said.
I did. Our pace was still agonizingly slow, most of it due to our own exhaustion but also to compensate for the low light. But it didn't matter in the end. I guess it should have been more dramatic, perhaps another obstacle thrown in our way before we managed to reach the stream, but the rest of our trek was relatively calm besides our labored breaths at the end of it.
I couldn't really see the stream except for the few glints of light that managed to make its way through the branches when a breeze passed by, but I could tell it wasn't nearly strong enough a current to pull us away if we fell in. Worst case scenario would be passing out and drowning, which was unlikely with Weld nearby.
Weld gently laid Vista and Miss Militia down by the bank as Kid Win dropped to his knees, scooping handfuls of water into his mouth.
"Hey, take it slow at first-" Weld began to admonish, but the tinker didn't look to be listening anytime soon. I went to remove my own mask but my fingers weren't working for me, my coordination off. I tried to slip my fingers underneath the top part of the mask and found the problem: the purple gunk had welded itself to my hair.
I dunked my face underwater. It was shockingly freezing, rocketing past "refreshingly cool" and straight towards ice water. I let the water flow around me, sipping what managed to slip past my mask. It wasn't enough, and I had to rise for air. I coughed, catching my breath before repeating the process. I tried rubbing away the shell as I submerged, but I couldn't tell if it was making a difference.
Giving up on handling it myself, I turned to see if Weld needed help with the others and paused when I saw the pairs of eyes on me.
"Skitter," Weld said. "Would you mind looking away?" Clockblocker was still hunched over the stream, likely wanting to tear off his helmet at any second. I was a little surprised he hadn't already.
Secret identities. I snorted and turned away obediently, laying half my face in the stream to sip and test the water's erosion against the helmet. It was cold, but I'd rather that then having crusty hair. Didn't he ask me what it was like to have a secret identity a few weeks back? I remembered my answer. Overrated. And it was.
To have it hold back capes from drinking water, from living, surviving, was ridiculous. But it was also ironic, since that same thing kept capes alive when they were out of costume. New Wave's Fleur was proof of that. I would probably be proof of that too, somewhere down the line.
If I make it that far, I added, listening to Clockblocker wrestle off his helmet and slurp up the water with the same gusto as Kid Win.
A mosquito landed lazily on my arm at my request. I had others join it till I was all but covered in them. The aches and pains of my body were sent to the back of my mind as I focused on my swarm's nerve impulses and sensory neurons, their natural instincts smothered by the intoxicating draw of my own power. I felt my mind wind down like muscles after a warm cup of tea.
I was pulled out of my cloud when Weld approached. Behind him I sensed Vista and Miss Militia by the stream, drinking slowly from the hands of Clockblocker and Kid Win.
"Would you like some help with that?" he asked, gesturing towards my mask.
"That'd be great," I replied honestly, a bit surprised.
His finger transformed into a scalpel and I tried not to jerk away when he brought it to the edge of where my hairline would be. It was unpleasantly reminiscent of when Bonesaw had a go at my face.
He traced lines in the purple gunk, popping them out by sections. He took handfuls of where the helmet had grown tumor-like knobs and crushed them. I think I lost some clumps of hair, but I couldn't be sure in the dark. Either way, I was finally free.
The last piece of the helmet was carved away and landed with a plop in the stream. "Thanks," I said. He nodded and returned back to the group, presumably to give the others the same treatment.
The proverbial line in the sand was as clear as the Grand Canyon. I ripped off my mask and dunked my face into the stream, rubbing furiously at my scalp and gulping down mouthfuls of water. I wouldn't feel completely human until I could wash myself off completely, but though the darkness provided some cover, I wasn't about to go for a swim. Besides, it was already showing to be a chilly night, and I didn't want to make it worse for myself by splashing in the stream.
It was too dangerous to build a fire. Disregarding the possibility of a forest fire in case we screwed up majorly, there was the chance that there was something in the woods that would make us regret building one if it found us. A wild animal, even something as large as a bear wouldn't hold much threat to us as a team, but if it was someone? We had no idea what was out here, so there was no point in risking it.
I tried to imagine us dogpiling together for warmth. Hypothermia was more likely for me.
Looks like I'll finally get to test how effective a bug blanket is against the cold, I thought. I dragged myself up the bank till the risk of rolling into the water was sufficiently low.
The situation could be worse. I curled in on myself and hugged my knees to my chest, the blanket of tens of thousands of tiny insect bodies covering my own. We had water, for one. Forests didn't lack for a food source, and if we got desperate we could try out the feeding program I had been thinking of designing for my people.
I closed my eyes. It could be worse.
A/N:
So now we're getting somewhere. I had a whole bunch planned for what I was going to write here, but I've forgotten it all. SO:
I'm super psyched to hear your guys' thoughts on this. I already have the next chapter mostly written out, I'm just smoothing things over.
You guys get the fun chance to see my horrible knowledge of nature and camping and survival skills. Yay.
We'll be seeing more of Taylor's memories and how some events might've been skewed or altered in some ways. Nothing extreme, just a different perspective. I will say that while Taylor's feelings are real and her view is the main one, it doesn't always mean it's right. So some character responses/reactions to her scars may be viewed in the wrong light by her. Or not.
Character interactions are immensely important to me, but they're also my main source of pain, so let me know if anyone seems OOC or if the dialogue doesn't seem right. I adore all of Wildbow's creations, but they're ridiculously hard to write. Serious! I don't think I've ever second-guessed myself as much as I've been doing as I write this. It's ridonculous.
Anyway.
Let me know what you think!