A/N: Chap 21 review responses are in my forums as normal. Sadly the formatting on this chapter just did not translate. Sorry. Below is a long chapter showing the trickle-down effects of Taylor's deviation from canon. After all, if not for Taylor, the Undersiders would have had to face Lung on their own. This is a very Worm chapter.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Interlude and Fugue in C Minor
Name: Quintessence Status: Rogue/Independent
Known Power: Striker 6 (healing), Blaster 5*, Thinker 2, Tinker 3*, Trump 5*
Base of Operation: Seattle, Washington
Summary: PRT-verified parahuman healing ability. Aggressive when confronted.
Amended: February 12, 2011. See below*
Memorandum of Licensure
To: PRT Directors, PRT Assistant Directors
From: PRT Director NNW
Date: January 17, 2011
Re: Parahuman Healing License
Please be aware that on January 17th, 2011, the parahuman named Quintessence voluntarily submitted herself for PRT vetting at Washington University Medical Center in Seattle, WA. for licensing under the Stansfield Parahuman Commerce Act.
Upon examination by two board-certified physicians and the chief medical officer of the PRT NNW, Quintessence was found to possess parahuman healing capabilities effective with most forms of trauma injuries and some forms of contagions.
Quintessence was found not to be effective against cancers, congenital defects or other genetic diseases. On the Manton-Andon Scale her power is rated at a 6 for non-invasive, accelerated regenerative healing.
Quintessence has chosen to remain a rogue associated with Estrella Corporation, a limited liability parahuman services company also licensed under the SPCA. She operates a clinic in the North Admiral Exclusion Zone by appointment only. She does not accept insurance at this time.
Quintessence has also completed the necessary documentation to have limited privileges at Harborview West Hospital, in Seattle, Wa.
Any PRT or Protectorate requests for services from Quintessence must be routed through PRT NNW for special handling.
Signed,
Patricia Foote, Director PRT NNW
*Amendment 1, Filed February 12, 2011
Following the Protectorate and PRT action against the cybernetic tinker known as Overmind on February 1st, 2011, this file has been amended as follows:
Tinker 3: Quintessence is confirmed to have designed and built a pair of hard-light melee weapons she terms "lightsabers". The sabers have been observed to have two settings—a variable stun setting, and a lethal cutting setting. Quintessence refused testing but was observed to use the blades to cut through concrete backer board and cinder blocks instantly. During combat, her blades cut through three cybernetically enhanced humanoids with tinker-tech shielding.
Blaster 5: During combat, Quintessence was observed to deploy a previously un-seen blaster power similar in appearance to an electrical discharge which simultaneously disabled twenty-two enhanced humans.
Thinker 2: After combat, Quintessence stated her power gave her the ability to see past trauma that led to Overmind's trigger. Due to the nature of this trauma, Quintessence elected to perform healing on Overmind and offered to use any reward money to pay for Overmind's attorney. Based on Quintessence's testimony, and supporting testimony from friends and family, Overmind accepted a plea deal and has since been sentenced to twenty years in the Washington Corrections Center for Women instead of the Baumann Parahuman Detention Center.
Trump 5: During the after-combat review, Think Tank noted striking irregularities in the performance of the allied villain/hero forces. Heroes, villains, PRT agents and National Guardsmen deployed in seamless formation that resulted in only five allied deaths, while at the same time limiting the deaths of Overmind's enhanced victims to less than 100. The coordination among the Protectorate forces was actually better than that of the cybernetically controlled Enhanced, leading Think Tank to believe that an external force was acting as a trump. After reviewing all those in the field, Think Tank believes that Quintessence may have inadvertently been having this effect through an extension of her Thinker power. Additional study is required.
Based on this tentative classification, Quintessence is to be considered a high-value asset for future possible Endbringer fights and recruitment.
Alexandria, Protectorate, LA Team Lead
Newly rehired Assistant Director PRT North North-East Thomas Calvert stared intently at the memorandum while behind him a fugue by Handel filled the air from his Tinker-made speakers. With a few strokes of his keyboard, he pulled a copy of the license for the young healer from Seattle.
Her costume looked professionally made. Dark crimson slacks and vest over an off-white blouse, with a physician-style overcoat of the same. She wore an off-white hooded cowl and mask that left her wide, thin lips bare but hid her eyes. Thomas knew, of course, that Estrella was just another branch of the Elite. It was equally obvious that they'd provided Quintessence with financial backing.
Smiling to himself, he closed the email just like he did a hundred a day like it, and moved on to finishing his report on the poor state of the Brockton Protectorate. He was recommending Dauntless to be appointed as the new Team Leader, but no other action to be taken against Armsmaster.
Just losing his position would be punishment enough for the insufferable egotist. And with Piggot's resignation letter already on Costa-Brown's desk, to be effective within the week, Coil had no doubt she would take Armsmaster down with her.
That night, Assistant Director Calvert split reality. In one reality, he prepared a simple dinner in his modest house before retiring to bed to read various reports he hadn't had a chance to get to while in the office.
In another reality, he slipped through his back yard to the empty house next door, which he also owned under an umbrella corporation, pulled on a skin-tight black costume with a white, stylistic snake coiling around his body, and pulled on the one-way transparent headpiece. In that instance, he ceased to be Thomas Calvert, Assistant Director of the PRT ENE, and became the villain Coil.
A heavily armored Cadillac pulled up to the curb of the house the very second Coil left it, shrouded in an overcoat and hat against a spring rain.
Half an hour later, Coil emerged in a secured, underground base. His various mercenary employees nodded greeting to him, while his captain walked at his side giving a rundown of their on-going operations. Those primarily consisted of increasing tensions between the Azn Bad Boys gang, and the Empire 88. His newest acquisition, the Travelers, had been doing an admirable job in both fomenting unrest among Brockton Bay's gangs, as well as keeping the Protectorate on its back heal.
With his reports done, Coil's captain faded into the background where he belonged. His civilian counterpart took his place.
"Mr. Pitter, how are my pets this evening?"
"Tattletale developed another infection," Pitter said. "I've put her on a stronger antibiotic. Plus her opioid medication. At this stage, she is addicted."
Coil nodded, unsurprised. "And my other pet?"
"Headaches. In anticipation of your visit this evening, I've withheld her normal cocktail."
"Good thinking, Mr. Pitter."
The former nurse nodded and left without further comment, leaving Coil to walk down the reinforced cement halls to one of two heavy steel doors. A single guard kept duty between the guards. At his approach, the guard snapped to attention and opened the nearest one.
He immediately became aware of the smell, of rot and burned flesh and…was that urine?
Inside the dimly lit room, a bundle of misery sat on a metal chair bolted to the floor in front of a simple table, also bolted to the floor, with a laptop secured to the table by steel cable. Coil noticed a small pool of urine by one of the chair legs.
"You're not taking care of yourself, Tattletale," he noted with forced calm.
"Go fuck yourself with a chainsaw, Thomas," came the quick, angry response.
Though the tone was angry and defiant, the voice which delivered the words sounded weak and wispy—a harsh whisper from vocal cords rendered permanently damaged by screaming and fire.
"If I must have Mr. Pitter put you back on an IV, Tattletale, I will certainly have him do so. Your injuries did not render you unable to walk the five feet necessary to reach your toilet."
"Too busy."
The laptop screen had several windows open—revealing various games of solitaire and poker. She refused to look away from the monitor, not until Coil pointedly stepped to the back of the chair, careful to avoid the puddle, and spun it around so that he could see his damaged prize under the unsparing light of the overheads.
When he first recruited her on the boardwalk market of Brockton Bay, Lisa Wilbourn had been an attractive, vivacious blonde with a line of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and a vulpine smile that screamed mischief and fun. For a brief time, she was everything he hoped and wanted for her. At his direction, she assembled the first part of his plan to conquer the city, recruiting three other parahumans into a team that would sow discord among the city's other gangs.
Until April 10th. He'd hired them to raid the Ruby Dreams Casino, knowing full well it belonged to the powerful leader of the ABB, Lung. He wanted the leader of the ABB enraged, and the city on edge. Unfortunately for the Undersiders, Coil also needed one last push to convince Legend to remove Armsmaster as leader of the Protectorate team.
Coil could have easily saved the Undersiders from Lung's wrath. But doing so would have prolonged Armsmaster's removal from his leadership position and upset his carefully laid plans.
And so Coil did nothing as Lung and his teleporting unibomber, Oni Lee, hunted down and utterly destroyed the Undersiders. His only concession was making sure he had people on hand to retrieve Tattletale after Lung finished with her.
The figure that stared up at him did so with only her right eye, which wept from constant pain. The other was eye was yellowed and deformed in the midst of the still bright red scar tissue that covered half her face and extended all the way to the back of her skull. The burns continued down the left side of her body.
In the month since that day, Mr. Pitter had been treating her with tinker-tech skin patches and medications purchase from Blasto. She lived, but she would never be that beautiful, vivacious girl he recruited on the Boardwalk. Never again.
"I have a job for you," he said.
"Fuck you," she said simply.
"In return for this simple job, I will authorize Mr. Pitter to increase your methadone dosage."
He could see the brief flash of anguish in her good eye. Tattletale was a thinker—her power gave her superhuman intuition bordering almost on telepathy at times. She knew very well that she was already an addict. The problem she faced was that her pain was so intense, the addiction had become the lesser evil.
He deactivated the security lock on her laptop, giving her access to a dedicated by very limited server. He leaned over, ignoring the stench of her, and pulled up various reports. "I would like you to find out who this cape in Seattle is. Her actual identity. You've done so before, it should not be…"
"Hebert. Taylor. Winslow Simurgh. That striker effect in her amended report is exactly what she used against Narwhal in Wyoming." The answer came in rapid bullets of sound. "Now get me some fucking pain medication you asshole."
"As you wish. I know it seems like your life is over, Lisa. But it doesn't have to be. Cooperation could bring you many things—perhaps even a healer who has proven she can heal burns worse even than yours." With that, he pulled up more reports—including a before and after image of a young Seattle Ward named Donna Barrow, also known as Ashwinder.
As he walked away, he could hear the soft sounds of a young woman crying.
No matter. It was time to speak to his other pet. Her numbers had been increasingly pointing at a major disaster striking the city. He couldn't help but wonder what his chances of survival were, if he happened to have the Winslow Simurgh as another pet.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Once upon a time, in a city on the east coast, Alan Barnes thought he had everything a man could want. He was married to a beautiful woman who gave him two equally beautiful daughters. He had a successful career as a divorce attorney in a town filled with breaking families. He had the admiration of his colleagues and the respect of his opponents, and all the horrors and violence of the world seemed a distant and remote thing.
The walls of his ivory tower first cracked the summer before his youngest daughter began high school. Members of one of the local Parahuman-led gangs found out he was representing a member of the opposing Empire Eighty-Eight white supremacist gang during his divorce and decided to strike out not at the E88, but those who helped them.
They caught Emma in their attack. He was driving Emma to a modeling shoot for a local department store when a figure appeared right in front of the car. Alan cursed and swerved, but it wasn't fast enough. When he hit the figure, it turned to dust. That was still enough to send his car into an uncontrolled spin that planted them both against a light post.
Even a year and a half later, he still heard Emma's screams of horror as the laughing men pulled her out of the car. She was bleeding from a cut on her head from the wreck, kicking and fighting as the vicious animals pulled at her clothing.
More men grabbed Alan and began to kick and beat him, easily a dozen of them. All the time, Emma screamed and fought and kicked as the animals threatened her, until suddenly it was the attackers who were screaming.
Those beating Alan backed away and pulled guns from their waistbands, firing wildly into the shadows around the Barnes' wrecked car. They were not fighting an ordinary opponent, though. The shadow seemed to come alive at odd points, brandishing a crossbow with lethal accuracy. ABB gang members fell, one after the other. Their savior was vicious and precise in equal measure. Her bolts impaled heads through eyes, or hit soft tissue in stomachs.
When the shadow wasn't firing bolts, it struck with boots or fists, blurring around so fast Alan with his blood-coated eyes could barely follow. Finally, their attackers fled. The shadow solidified into a figure draped in black—hood, cloak and hockey mask, with one crossbow in her hand and another one hanging from her hip.
The cape ignored Alan and walked to where a sobbing, shivering Emma was pulling her torn clothes back on as best she could.
"You did good," the cape said. She sounded young and female. "You fought them. You didn't lose because you were weak. You stay strong like that, and you'll be fine."
Shadow Stalker became a part of their lives. Her lethality against the criminals of the city came back to bite her, but the thought of the cape who saved his angel going to jail made Alan sick. So, when Sophia Hess was put on trial for her actions as Shadow Stalker, he chose to branch out and argue on her behalf. She hated the idea of the Wards, but it was better than prison. More importantly, it allowed her to stay with Emma. He'd noticed how much stronger his little angel became with Sophia Hess. The fact that she'd supplanted Taylor Hebert as Emma's best friend was a price Alan had no problem paying.
The brief return to normalcy lasted until 2011 dawned with fire and death. Until his little angel, her guardian shadow, and his faith in the world all came crumbling down.
Alan first heard about the explosion from his colleague, Carol Dallon. He knew she was a cape herself, the famous Brandish from the independent hero group New Wave, but in the office she was simply Carol, a senior partner of the firm.
She came striding into his office a moment before his 10 am conference call. "Alan, you have a daughter at Winslow, right?"
"Yes?"
"Check the news. Something's happening. I'm going to be out of the office for the afternoon."
Which meant whatever happening was serious enough that the Protectorate asked for New Wave to help. He nodded before turning on the television in his office. He felt his heart in his throat when he saw the fire roaring up from the center of his daughter's high school. Students were gathered all around the building, but around the students the newscast showed a picket of PRT agents in full armor, and even as Alan watched he could see some of the agents physically restraining the students.
He ran to his car.
For all his efforts and name dropping, he wasn't allowed through the PRT picket. He saw his old friend Danny Hebert briefly and confirmed Danny wasn't having any luck either with his daughter, Taylor. The official story was a Tinker-made chemical explosion, but Alan knew better. They were separating and vetting the students, one-by-one.
Stranger/Master protocols. The protocols designed to ferret out persons affected by certain cape powers were something the PRT didn't advertise, but Alan was aware of nonetheless because of Shadow Stalker's history. Something so terrible happened in that school that every student, teacher and staff member was being screened.
Still there was no word about his daughter.
Dinner over the next two nights was tense. His wife Zoe and Emma's sister Anne demanded they eat with the television on each night so they could hear news of what was happening. On the second night with no word about Emma, the newscaster had just announced a PRT news conference about the fire in half an hour when the doorbell rang. Alan jerked in his seat. Anne dropped her fork in surprise while Zoe had already half-risen to her feet. She beat him to the door by half a foot, with Anne behind them.
On the other side, a somber PRT agent stood on their porch. "Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?"
Alan's heart sank when he saw the envelope the agent held in his hands.
Even worse than finding out that his youngest daughter was dead, along with her friends, was finding out that her former best friend had been responsible. They didn't come out and say Taylor Hebert killed his little girl, but the questions they asked about Emma's relationship with Taylor might as well have been a confession.
They asked to search Emma's room for clues, but Alan was too much the lawyer to allow it. "We just lost our daughter," he declared with anger for once he didn't have to feign. "If you want to paw through her things, get a warrant."
"Of course, Mr. Barnes," the agent said, recognizing the interview where he delivered the news of a child's death was not the time to push the parents. "We're very sorry for your loss."
"Where's Taylor?" Alan demanded. "What about her dad? Have you spoken to Danny?"
"I can't really comment about Miss Hebert, Mr. Barnes," the agent said. Which meant they were talking to Danny, if they hadn't already.
The moment the agent left, Alan was running up the stairs to Emma's room.
"Alan, what are you doing?" Zoe asked.
Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Call Madison's parents and tell them not to let the PRT search their homes! Do it now!"
It hurt—it physically hurt-to step into Emma's room. Everything was pastels—pink and lavender. Fluffy comforter and pillows piled high. He ignored her bed and her desk and stepped into her walk-in closet. He moved her racks of clothes around until he found a padlocked safe-box that he'd given her after…the attack.
He pulled it from her closet and carried it downstairs, where Zoe was on the phone. "Wait, John, Alan's here."
Alan took the phone with a nod. "John, has the PRT come? As Madison…?"
"Yes," the ragged, angry father said.
"God, I'm so sorry. Look, the way the PRT agent was talking I'm fairly certain I know who did all this."
"That Hebert freak."
"Right. Look, John, you know she's made accusations against our girls for bullying. If the PRT finds any evidence that our daughters were part of what made Taylor…do what she did, then she'll get off scot-free. The PRT will say it was our daughter's fault and Taylor will get inducted into the Wards and hailed as a hero. Our girls will be dead in the ground, and their killer will be able to play the part of the hero."
There wasn't any response at first. It was Madison's mother, Denise, who responded. "What do you want us to do?"
"Don't let the PRT search your house without a warrant. Go through Madison's room. If you find a phone or notes or anything that could connect her with Taylor, destroy it. Take it out of the house and burn it, bury it or throw it in the bay. Give them nothing to let that… that… murderer go free!"
"I'll take care of it," Mike Clements said. "When you bring charges, and file your suits, we want to be a part of it."
"Believe me, Mike, Denise, you will be. Someone is going to pay for this. I promise you!"
They hung up.
"Alan?" He paused and saw his wife staring at the lock box. "What's in there?"
"I don't know, and I won't want to find out."
"But…"
"Zoe, if we open it, we could be letting our daughter's murderer go free."
Zoe opened her mouth, frowning intently. "That murderer used to cry herself to sleep in our daughter's bed. Taylor's many things, Alan, but she's not a monster. What aren't you telling me?"
"I'm not telling you anything that could implicate our daughter in what happened," Alan said. "Please…please don't ask me to do that. Please don't ask me to let Taylor walk away after killing our Emma."
With that, he took the box to the nearest recycling plant and put it on the conveyor belt himself.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Zoe stood with tears in her eyes, her hands over her mouth. Anne sat on the edge of the couch, jaw gaping. Alan had his arms crossed over his stomach.
On the television, they watched leaked security footage of Taylor Hebert ripping a metal bed from the floor and slamming it against a window with nothing more than the power of her mind. They watched as the screaming, enraged girl who once upon a time helped bake cookies in their kitchen snapped the neck of the city's most popular hero like it was so much dry timber.
The footage was released by an anonymous source within the PRT, and prompted an angry news conference in which Director Piggot announced that they were conducting a thorough interview of all school students and staff, but that because her unstable and dangerous power, the Chief Director issued a recommendation to the Superior Court of New Hampshire that Taylor Hebert be interned at the Birdcage.
The judge approved the order, making Taylor Hebert one of the youngest parahuman ever sentenced to the inescapable, one-way prison.
"Oh Taylor," Zoe whispered.
Whatever Alan wanted to say, he never got a chance. He walked to the door and opened it, only to see a super hero in a tight-fitting black body-suit lined with circuit-like designs on his doorstep, flanking by a dozen PRT agents. She handed him a folded sheet of paper.
"Mr. Barnes, we have a warrant to search this premises," Battery of the local Protectorate said. "Please step aside."
The PRT found nothing. Alan made sure of it.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
"Do you think she'll…come after us?"
The PRT agent who came to inform them of Taylor's escape shook her head. Like all uniformed agents, she looked lean and strong. Early-thirties.
"No, Mrs. Barnes, it's highly unlikely she'll come back to Brockton Bay. Even more unlikely that she'll go after you. That said, do you believe she'd have reason to?"
Alan jumped in quickly. "She killed our daughter. Who knows what that girl is thinking?"
"Of course," the agent said smoothly. "In the meantime, we're continuing to investigate the circumstances surrounding the even at Winslow. We have made some arrests—the high school principal, two teachers and others we believe were complicit in the circumstances that led to Ms. Hebert's triggering."
Alan knew all about triggering—it was a major subject of discussion during Sophia's trial. His wife, however, frowned. "Trigger?"
The agent smiled wryly. "Ask most capes how they got their power, and they'll clam up. It's because, almost universally, it's the worst day of their life. Torture, life-threatening accidents, crushing emotional pain. We have some indication that Taylor was subjected to a near torturous, long-term level of bullying that culminated in her being forced into a locker filled with biological waste. We believe that is the event that led to her triggering, and is likely why she was psychologically unstable."
The agent shook her head. "Winslow was a tragedy on many levels, Mrs. Barnes. Not just your daughter was killed. Not just Madison Clements and Sophia Hess. Danny Hebert died in large part because of what happened, and Taylor Hebert's life is essentially ruined. There was nothing good about that day. Anyway, this was a courtesy just to let you know that she did escape her transport, but that the PRT is monitoring the situation and your home. We don't believe any of you are in danger at this time."
With that, the agent left the house. In the numbing silence that followed, Zoe turned to face her husband. "You knew."
"Zoe, you can't…"
She slapped him. In all the years they'd been together, dating through marriage, neither had either ever raised a hand to the other. Until that moment. The slap made the entire left side of his face burn, but he didn't care.
"You let that vicious animal into our lives!" She hissed the words. "That Hess girl. You let her drive away the best friend Emma could ever have asked for, and turn our daughter into an animal. You did that, Alan. And then you tried to hide whatever proof there was that this was all Emma's fault. You…bastard!" She sobbed then. Alan, torn between anger and a towering grief seeing his wife cry caused him, leaned forward to hug her.
She twisted away from his arms. "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me again! Just…get out! Get out of this house!"
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Josie's did brisk business on the weekends, but during a typical week day it served only a small, dedicated core of drinkers. For the past few days, Alan Barnes found himself a part of that cadre of desperate men.
He found it ironic to sit drinking among Dockworkers who took Danny Hebert's death personally. Alan never realized how important Danny was to his people—how angry his death made them.
If they only knew…
"...move things with her mind. It was the most bizarre thing."
The core business of Josie's was always the same, but occasionally an anomaly would show up. Josie was honest for the most part, didn't water the drinks down, and made sure to card. More importantly, Josie had a tip jar that quite openly advertised itself as "Protection Money" that she used to pay E88 to leave her alone.
The anomaly that particular night were a couple of kids at a table by the door. Either Alan was getting too old, or the kids were just far too young to be in a bar. Nonetheless, Josie carded and both of them had IDs.
College kids, probably from New Hampshire State on the edge of town. His own Anne was going there to get her lower division work out of the way before she planned transferring to Boston College.
One of the girls was attractive in that stereotypical sorority way—blonde and lithe, but with a strangely wistful smile on her features. The boy looked young and strong, with mocha-colored skin and a close-shaven head.
Despite the cold weather outside, the pretty blonde was wearing a very low-cut blouse that dragged Alan's eyes back to her. Along with all the other men in the place that weren't too far gone, he noticed wryly.
It took a moment for his brain to move past her looks to the words the girl was actually saying. "…part were the eyes. I swear, the girl had pure black eyes."
"Bullshit," her companion said.
"No, seriously. All black, from corner to corner. Scary as fuck. Beautiful hair, though. I wish I had hair like that, dark and cut short but with nice curls. Get this, though. She has a clinic. If I could get us a ticket, I think she could heal your spine, since Panacea only works with admitted hospital patients."
"Now I know you're bullshitting me," the young man said. His delivery sounded wooden, but Alan wasn't listening to him. "She's some skinny teen, what's she doing running a clinic?"
Tall, skinny. Curly dark hair. Black eyes. Young.
Alan was up and crossing the room before he was even aware of his actions. The girl looked at him with a strangely sad smile, while the pretty boy tensed as if for a fight. "Whatch'ya need, pal?" the young man said. Alan barely registered that he was likely larger than Alan was.
"I'm sorry for interrupting," Alan said, putting on his best lawyer voice. "That…the person you were describing sounds like someone I knew once. A tall girl, curling dark hair, tomboyish build. With all black eyes. She went to school here."
The girl frowned. "Here? Well, probably not who you're thinking off. Quintessence is a healer in Seattle. Licensed and everything."
"For how long?"
The pretty girl frowned. "Um, well, since…January? Read about her on PHO. But now that you mention it…"
Alan's breath caught. "What?"
"Well, I just realized—I saw one patient say she had a New Englander accent. Odd in Seattle. Who knows? Maybe she's your girl. But…you know it's a crime to unmask capes, right? I mean, she's licensed by the PRT, so they gotta know who she is, right?"
"Of course. Well, thank you both."
Alan walked away.
"The guy was ogling your tits so hard, least he could do was buy you a drink, Mars," the boy said when he was gone.
"You didn't," Mars rejoined.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
"What should I do? What can I do?"
Carol Dallon specialized in cape law, which given the fact that she herself was a powerful and publicly known cape, was not surprising. He couldn't think of anyone else he could go to.
There was no doubt in his mind that Taylor Hebert was Quintessence. Her escape and the fight in North Dakota made national news. Mouse Protector was forced to join the Protectorate or face a criminal inquiry for her actions.
Was it that far of a stretch that she'd continue fleeing West? What really sold him, though, was the photo Harborview West Hospital posted on their website, advertising parahuman healing by referral only.
The mask hid her eyes and face, but the hair color gave it away. It was shorter than what Taylor used to wear, but it was the same color with the same curls. Beside it he'd brought an old photo of Taylor and Emma, their arms over each other's shoulders, mugging for the camera.
Carol had on her trial face, though. He'd hoped she would be sympathetic—after all, she'd met Emma personally on several occasions. Emma and her own girls even had play dates when they were younger, before Carol's daughters trigged as a flying powerhouse for the one, and the most powerful healer in the world for the other.
Instead, Carol sat behind her desk staring at the photo with her hands clasped under her chin, frowning and apparently deep in thought. When she spoke, it was the same tone of voice she used on hostile clients.
"Alan, do you know what Director Piggot did when Taylor Hebert was sentenced to the Birdcage?"
The question caught him completely off guard. "What does…? No, I don't."
"She had almost the entire staff of Winslow High School arrested and charged for criminal negligence leading to a parahuman event. She publicly fired three of her own staff for dereliction of duty for an unspoken role in what happened. She put Armsmaster on probation from his position as head of the local Protectorate and then urged for Legend to remove him permanently. And then she resigned before the Chief Director could fire her."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Carol met his gaze, and her expression hardened. "I know Emma was involved in her triggering, Alan. I was already approached about possibly representing Taylor if she was ever captured. The truth is that the PRT wants the issue to go away. They made a mistake in Hebert's case. If they capture her, they have to face that mistake. But by letting her assume a cape identity which is shielded under the law, they can create a comfortable fiction and let it go. The fact that Quintessence is apparently a model rogue cape makes the PRT feel they are right to do so. If you go poking that hive with a stick, you'll get stung, Alan."
"She killed my daughter!" Alan screamed. "She killed my angel!"
"She didn't, Alan. Your daughter died because she was too close to a terrible trigger event that she was directly responsible for. I'm sorry, Alan. I really am, but I can't help you. I won't help you, except to tell you to let this go."
Alan grabbed the photo off her desk, stood and walked stiffly out of her office before he said or did something he'd regret. After all, she was a cape. She could kill him with her god-damned, mothering fucking ass-pull powers, the fucking bitch!
He collapsed behind his own desk, panting with the sudden rage, with his door closed. Following the rage came tears and sobs. He placed his head down on his arms and fought back a scream.
That was when his computer beeped at him.
He unlocked his desktop and saw a strange message:
PHO: AllSeeingEye has sent you a private message.
Wiping back a tear, Alan followed the link to his PHO account. Everyone had one, even Zoe. Parahumans Online was the largest internet forum in the world. The link directed him to a private chat room.
AllSeeingEye *New Message*: I'm sorry Brandish wasn't able to help you. But then again, what do you expect? She's a cape. Capes always take other cape's side.
Alan stared, slack-jawed at the message. Grinding his teeth, he typed with heavy, pounding strokes.
DivMaster *New Message*: Who the hell are you? Are you spying on me? What do you want?
AllSeeing Eye *New Message*: I'm a Thinker. A cape whose power gives her knowledge and insight. I don't need to spy on you to know you'd go to Carol Dallon. What I want is justice. Shadow Stalker was my friend. Like your daughter, she saved my life once.
DivMaster *New Message*: What can you do that Carol Dallon can't?
AllSeeing Eye *New Message*: I can give you contacts in high places. Prosecutors you don't normally work with. Senators. Representatives. There's a very good chance that Quintessence might find herself in Brockton Bay again. If she's ever arrested, her trial would be here.
Sinking back into his chair, Alan stared at the last message with a cold, numb feeling.
His eyes drifted back to the picture of Emma and Taylor. Danny's spoiled, winey little murderer next to his perfect little angel, as if she had every right to be there. Taylor seemed to be smirking at him from the photo, as if to say: I won. She's dead and I'm free and there's nothing you can do about it.
DivMaster *New Message*: Tell me. Everything you can.