A/N: Reviews in my forums as normal. Among them, a guest reviewer asked, "She doesn't know Shadow Stalker was a Ward, did she?"
No. No she didn't.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Tantrums
Quintessence, supervised by the building's medical researchers, healed five of the PRT agents who suffered damage during her close-quarters test. Mostly joints. They took their injuries stoically, and the healing even more so.
After, more agents escorted her to the cafeteria where the Wards were currently eating.
Dr. Fred Malory had joined the observation team in the control center, sitting beside Nutcracker and Dan with a simple steno pad and paper. Surugesh remained standing, as excited about watching social interaction as he was watching Quintessence blow through an army of drones and PRT agents with a better time than anyone outside of Brockton Bay's Velocity or Alexandria herself, who beta tested the course several years back.
"You have counseling for Ashwinder back in Seattle?" Malory asked casually as they watched Seneca's adopted daughter jump up from where she was eating with the ward Redshift, rush across the room, and hug Taylor desperately.
"Yes, twice a week," Dan said. "She's still dealing with issues of avoidance, depression, nightmares and headaches. The emotional regression is also linked to the trauma she experienced. She's been trying very hard not to go to school, feigning illness. She's even managed to psych herself into actual symptoms."
He motioned toward how Ashwinder was leading a reluctant Taylor back toward the buffet, pointing out each food as if Quintessence could not have figured it out on her own.
"I don't know what happened between them after Quintessence healed her. I believe they communicated telepathically, because Ashwinder woke knowing her parents were gone, and seemed… Well, she acted as if she had already accepted the loss. Since then, she's formed an intense emotional bond with Quintessence."
"Of which Quintessence is aware and careful of," Malory said. "It came up in her discussion. She's aware of Ashwinder's emotional regression and is convinced she'll get over it once she starts interacting with her peers. I suspect that's why Ashwinder doesn't wish to go back to school. I…don't wish to overstep my bounds, Director Seneca, but it might be advisable not to let them attend the same schools."
"Won't happen," Dan said. "Totally aside from the age difference? Quintessence will be housed in the King County South Youth Services Center. Part of her sentence includes community service, which we'll allow by volunteering at Washington University's medical center. She won't be anywhere near Ashwinder. After that, she'll likely be in public high school in South or West Seattle."
"You're going to let her go to public school?" Barlow asked. "Doesn't the center have its own program?"
"It does. And she'll be attending for six months."
"Quintessence is showing an elevated heart rate," Malory noted calmly. "She's more nervous meeting with her peers than she was in the test course."
They all looked at the monitors, in which they saw Ashwinder leading Quintessence to the table with the Wards.
"Audio?" Malory asked.
The audio turned on instantly.
"…ding is the best! I love banana pudding!"
Flambé, of course.
"It's very good," Quintessence said. She turned to the other two Wards. "Um…hi." That, of course, was to Leister and Redshift.
"You gonna fry our brains or shit?" Redshift asked. Nutcracker knew the Redshift was currently the youngest active Ward in Los Angeles, only ten years old.
Nutcracker saw Barlow shake her head and covered her mouth with her hand in dismay.
"Not before I get to my banana pudding, no. Flambé says it's very good, you know."
Nutcracker couldn't help himself; he laughed aloud and sat up in his chair. Barlow was staring at the screen again, while Seneca looked cautiously optimistic. Malory made a note on his steno pad.
On the monitor, Redshift squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as Quintessence began to eat. The girl was wearing her casual domino mask, just like Leister, Flambé and Ashwinder. Leister made a point of calmly eating while ignoring his young colleague's discomfort.
"Yeah, but…you know. You're a villain and shit."
"You know they're listening to us, don't you?"
Nutcracker enjoyed Barlow's suddenly blanching.
"Who?"
"Your boss, for one. Seneca. Malory. The director. Another cape I know."
Barlow rose to her feet in alarm. "How…? What's her range?"
"At least a hundred feet, evidently," Surugesh noted, happily rolling on the balls of his feet.
"Bullshit. Why'd they be listening to us?"
"Red, think about it," Leister said, finally speaking for the first time. "She's just playing with you for being rude."
"Is that right, villain? You just playing with our heads?"
"We should put a stop to this," Barlow said. "That convict has no business sitting with heroes."
"And yet, Assistant Director, it is the heroes who are being rude," Nutcracker noted.
"And why wouldn't they be? They're in the company of a mass-murderer!"
On the monitor, Quintessence placed her fork and knife down.
"What's wrong, T… Quintessence?" Ashwinder asked.
"I lost my appetite."
"But…"
"It's okay, Ashwinder. It's probably better that you don't hang out too much with a mass-murderer, after all." She stood and walked back to her PRT escorts. "I'm ready to go to my cell."
Barlow stood staring at the monitor, her mouth agape. Malory flipped a page in his steno note pad and made a rather long notation.
"We did establish the whole telepathy thing, right?" Nutcracker asked. He felt rather proud of the light, airy tone he struck. "Or perhaps, at the end of the day, how your mass murderer is a fifteen-year-old orphan still mourning the loss of her parents?"
Rather than retreat, Nutcracker saw from the set of her shoulders and the placing of her feet that Barlow was digging in.
"Her being an orphan doesn't help Miss Militia, or Shadow Stalker, or…"
The building shook. Nutcracker rose to his feet, blood draining from his face. "Director, where's…?"
The monitor in the control room was flipping through various spots in the building until they saw Quintessence's escorts, all six of them, unconscious in the hallway.
"Or the fact she never knew that one of the girls who tortured her into triggering was a Ward," Nutcracker said, no longer bothering to hide his anger. "Assistant Director Barlow, I'd recommend you pack your things and prepare to leave. Expect your security clearance to be revoked within the hour. Dan, please contact the San Francisco PRT and let them know Quintessence is off the reservation. Director Surugesh, I'll need a secure landline."
"Of course."
All the frenzy of activity came to a grinding halt when Malory calmly said, "She's in the obstacle field."
Nutcracker moved to stand behind the psychologist in order to gain a better view. Around them, the two other hanging monitors also switched to the exterior obstacle course with its dozen cinder block houses and even a multi-story building simulating a typical American city street. Other areas of the course simulated suburbia, and the final area was a relatively simple obstacle course. Quintessence, however, ignored these other areas.
She stood in front of one of the six-level cinder block buildings, arms splayed out to either side, her shoulders back. Cold wind from the Bay tugged at her shoulder-length hair.
Suddenly she stomped forward and screamed. The entire structure exploded. That wasn't all, though. Nutcracker knew more than a dozen capes in the Protectorate alone who could have done the same. Even Redshift could have destroyed any one of those buildings with her powerful kinetic-to-explosive energy conversion.
No, what made him pause was what happened after the building exploded. More than fifty tons of cinder blocks began spinning about in a giant vortex that pummeled all the other structures until they all began to collapse, only to join into the scouring vortex.
"My God, it's…just like the Simurgh," Barlow whispered, her hands over her mouth.
Nutcracker couldn't correct her, because that's exactly how the Simurgh fought. When the hated Endbringer descended on a city to whip the citizens into living potential suicide bombs with her telepathic scream, she defended herself from the attacking capes with a telekinetic storm cloud of material, ranging from cars to high rise apartment buildings.
Taylor spun about, like a ballerina performing a perfect pirouette, and thrust both hands out with another scream.
Everything exploded out into the next course—leaving a scoured, empty field. They watched as Quintessence took a few steps onto the scoured foundation of the first building, only to sink down cross-legged, her head bowed into her hands.
"Recommendations?" Surugesh said.
"Cancel the outdoor testing tomorrow?" Seneca hazarded with enough sarcasm to sink Eidolon.
Barlow made an odd meep noise. "Are you insane? We need to contain her, now!"
Malory shook his head.
"I believe anyone you sent right now would be in danger. She blames Emma Barnes and the civilian identity of Shadow Stalker for every ill that has befallen her."
"Because they are responsible for every ill that has befallen her, at least after her mother died," Nutcracker said. "The only reason we didn't release those facts was the danger to Shadow Stalker's family."
"Which means, in her mind, that the heroes once again lied and betrayed her," Malory pointed out reasonably. He flipped a few pages of his note pad. "I understand that it was Alexandria who personally convinced her to accept her plea bargain. If we make any effort to contain her before she has her temper under control, we'll have a full-fledged crisis on our hands, one that would require Alexandria or Eidolon to resolve."
"The San Francisco Protectorate could…"
"Die," Malory said, again calmly. "Nutcracker?"
"Three high level Thinkers confirmed that Quintessence could be an S-class threat if given sufficient reason. She has no Manton limit, and you've just seen what she can do with her free telekinesis," Nutcracker said. "She can physically crush your internal organs, including your brains. Frankly I'm not even sure Alexandria would be safe if they fought. I have no doubt we could kill her, but not without huge loss of life."
"A worse-case scenario, which I find unlikely," Malory said. "She is an intelligent, surprisingly stable young woman given her power and experiences. She's received a shock, and she's processing it as best she can. Leave her alone, and when she's ready, she'll return."
"If she doesn't?" Barlow demanded.
Malory shrugged. "If she's not back in the building by dark, send Ashwinder to fetch her back."
"Ashwinder?" Seneca said.
Nutcracker, though, nodded. "The only person in this entire building that she considers to be truly innocent."
"I don't think it'll be necessary, though," Malory said. "She'll walk back likely around sundown. Although, Dan, I suspect we've reached the end of her cooperation in her testing."
"This tantrum was itself revealing," Surugesh said, though without his normal enthusiasm. "I've studied telekinetics who, within their specific power, are stronger. A free telekinetic, however? She is the most powerful I've met. We'll be studying this data all night."
Nutcracker nodded, before turning to Barlow. "Madam, I strongly recommend for all our sakes that you not be in this building by the time Quintessence comes back. You can return to LA on your own prerogative, or wait for orders from the Chief Director."
"You're letting a spoiled child dictate terms to the PRT," she snarled angrily.
"I'd say we're making a necessary personnel adjustment," Nutcracker said. He smiled tightly at her. "Good night."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Ordinarily the PHRI facility locked down at seven. Sliding tinker-made titanium alloy walls dropped down over the glass on the first floor, while Tinker-made forcefields similar to those employed by Protectorate HQs activated over the upper floors of the building.
That night, as Nutcracker stood just outside the door leading to the exterior testing grounds, the building remained open but on high alert. Nearly twenty-three separate cameras, ranging from infrared to thermal remained trained on where Taylor Hebert sat cross-legged on the foundation of what was once a simulated city.
Four separate .50 caliber sniper rifles were trained upon her from the roof and the fiftieth-floor armory, as well as a Tinker-tech cannon that could only be described as a Star Trek phaser canon as imagined by Tesla. Less than five miles away, the San Francisco Protectorate and PRT had a Quick Reaction Team on standby.
Beside Nutcracker, Dan Seneca stifled a yawn. "It's dark."
Indeed, the last glow of sunlight tickled the edge of the horizon to the west, while to the east night already ruled absolute.
Nutcracker didn't bother responding, their spotters did it for him.
"Target is moving. Repeat, target is moving. She's…looks like she's coming back to roost. Over."
"Take no action until directed."
That last came not from Seneca, or Nutcracker. That was Director Surugesh himself, his distinct Indo-English accent clipped and precise.
In seconds they could see her moving into the circles of lights that shone out from the various levels of the intentionally lit-up building. The rest of the Lawrence Livermore campus was dark. By the time she reached the door, Nutcracker saw that her hair was covered in concrete dust from her display.
He also saw tracks and smears in the dust on her cheeks. Without a word, she held out her wrists to Seneca. She didn't look at or even acknowledge Nutcracker.
Seneca slowly and deliberately secured the magnetic locks on her wrists. "Are you okay?" he asked.
She didn't look at him, or respond in any fashion. With a sigh, the assistant director motioned for the PRT escort of ten men and women to step outside and form a guard perimeter. Given the fact that she put her last six escorts to sleep in less than a second, everyone there knew it was nothing more than a formality.
They returned her to her cell without further incident.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The next morning, Dr. Malory's prediction regarding her cooperation proved accurate. She remained on her cot in her cell, clean from a shower the previous night, but obviously not dressed to do any further testing. She ignored the agents who came in.
They shut off her cable access and streaming movies, and put her back on the basic nutrition program. She didn't show any response but to sit on her cot and stare at the floor.
"I've read Doctor Malory's report, and I concur, there is no point in continuing the charade," Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown said that evening by teleconference. "On the other hand, it was going to slip eventually. How do you keep a secret like that from a telepath?"
With that, the connection ended and the wall monitor went blank. Nutcracker stood, stretched his back, and left his room in the PHRI building. In the lounge, he happened to see Ashwinder sitting next to her soon-to-be father, talking animatedly.
"…a Blaster 7!" she said, grinning. "The test was awesome. I mean, it was a bit weird because we were supposed to have a city scape to test in, but something happened to it and no one would say why. But they let me go all-out and it was so cool. I can fly, a little, and…."
Nutcracker noticed that while Ashwinder sat next to the attentive, smiling Seneca, they did not touch. So far, the only person she'd shown a willingness to touch was Quintessence herself. Still, given where Ashwinder was just weeks ago, it was a thrill to see her smiling and laughing.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Taylor's PRT escort did not joke around with her during the painfully long drive from Livermore, California, to Seattle. Her Protectorate escort was a brute from the San Francisco Protectorate, a hulking man in a Luchador mask just like El Matador, painfully bright red pants and a lime-green jacket over his bare, bulging pectoral muscles.
He spent most of the trip curled up into a tight ball around the onesie he was carefully knitting.
They stopped every two hours on the fourteen-hour drive for bathroom breaks. They ate packaged breakfasts and lunches from a cooler kept in the cab up front, before going through another drive thru for dinner. Taylor ate; she knew that starving herself would accomplish nothing.
They left at 6 am, and it was approaching 8 pm when Taylor felt the driver relaxing as they came within sight of their destination. She'd spent the entire trip with her head bowed, letting the Force replenish aching muscles from her forced idleness.
The escort went through all the protocols, until finally they pulled her out into a cold night and walked her down a long, narrow corridor framed by ten-foot high fences lined in razor-wire. The whole team stopped at the single metal door into a generic, single-level building that seemed to stretch off into the night.
An electric hum followed the door popping open.
Taylor made no effort to fight as her escort pulled her into a large, featureless room. The door and wall to her right was cinder block, but the wall facing her was a heavy metallic grate that gave a clear view into large, open room lined with reinforced windows and monitors. Two women and a man in tan-colored button-up shirts with badges on their breasts sat at various stations, while another large man and only slightly smaller woman in identical clothing stood waiting.
"Hands against the wall," the woman said.
Taylor complied as best she could with her hands secured. The woman very casually began to pat her down before she led her into another room. One of the PRT agents accompanied them long enough to unlock Taylor's wrists.
"Disrobe to your underwear," the woman guard ordered. Behind them, the door closed to give Taylor a modicum of privacy.
Cheeks flaring, she did as ordered.
"Raise your hands over your head and turn around twice, slowly."
She complied.
"Okay, I want you to do three jumping jacks, and three squats," the woman ordered.
Taylor couldn't help but stare. "Why?"
"Because I said so," the guard challenged. "Cooperation gets rewarded, a lack of cooperation gets you in solitary."
Taylor simply stared, letting her mind drift on the Force. She had visions of sitting alone in a brick room only as wide as the concrete shelf that formed her bed. The guard managed to keep her face schooled, but Taylor could feel her increasing nervousness. They were trying to treat her like just any another prisoner, but they all knew she wasn't. They were afraid of her.
"Looking for physical infirmities," Taylor said aloud. "Fine." She did the two sets of exercise. Rather than relax the guard, she actually appeared more nervous.
"Clothing is in that basket behind you," the guard said. "There's the curtain. Shower. You have ten minutes."
The new jumpsuit was a bright red. The underclothes were…obviously not new. Clean, but not knew. Taylor dressed and followed the guard back out into the room. The PRT agents were still there, along with the hulking knitter in the Luchador mask. In their midst stood a tall, gaunt man with thick glasses and once carefully coiffed hair that had since gone too long without attention. He wore a suite and tie, though the tie was loose and off-center, and his shirt ruined with a food stain.
Mustard.
"Taylor Hebert, I'm Director Rosens. I hope you get something out of your stay with us. We do have some paperwork for you to sign, and some questionnaires, before you'll be taken to an isolation room. This room will be for tonight only. Tomorrow, you'll be processed into your long-term room. Do you have any questions at this time?"
"Will I lose the hardware?"
Rosens looked to the lead PRT agent, who shook his head.
"Unfortunately, no."
She completed the paperwork numbly. With the questionnaire, she marked N/A on every question before putting down the pencil. They led her past the control desk to another room. It was eight feet wide, but only six deep. The back half was a raised concrete ledge on which rested a thin mattress. In a corner, directly under and thus out of sight of the camera, was a steel toilet and sink combination.
Nothing else.
The door closed with a heavy, metallic finality that made her shoulders sink and her chest feel hollow and empty. She laid down; moments later the lights in her room turned off.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
"Good morning," a loud, abrasive voice announced.
A heavy-set black woman with biceps as thick as Taylor's thighs opened the door, only to pause when she saw Taylor awake, sitting on her mattress, staring with her pure-black eyes.
She caught herself quickly. "Good, you're up. Day-room meals are a privilege. We give you the benefit of the doubt first day, you prove us right you get to eat in the day room again. Prove us wrong you don't. Now, put your hands in your arm pits and follow me."
Taylor gleaned the reasons for the odd request from the woman's mind, but the idea of food was sufficient that she didn't feel like being obstinate. What she felt like was doing something. The cell had been painfully boring, more than anything else.
She followed her guard for the day out of the cell and into a wide, open passage. The control room she passed by was behind and to her left. They continued down the wide hall until they reached another, solid concrete wall with a single door that featured a large, reinforced glass window.
The door beyond that remained locked until the one behind closed. Only then did they step into a giant, open room. Plastic and steel picnic tables and two couches occupied the center space. The walls were filled with doors, each revealing a cell similar to what she slept in the previous night.
The thirteen girls in the empty space turned as one. Twelve of them wore orange jumpsuits; one wore red like Taylor. Her guard, Delores Franklin, led her to the far end of the room, through an open door, and into a strange, three-sided kitchen facility. Two other doors on the adjoining walls gave glimpses of similar pods of cells.
She took a proffered tray without comment and followed Delores out into the common room. The other girls watched her in silence as she found the only empty seat and began to eat silently.
All that changed when one of the girls stood up and walked to her table.
"Missy, sit down," Delores demanded.
Taylor looked up from her oat meal at a lean, angry looking Latina with black hair tired in a bun at the back of her head. She was pretty in a girl-next-door way, though a little developed for her age. "You the one that killed at those Russians, right? Up in the bay? The Bratva fucks?"
"Missy, you sit down before you…."
The two girls ignored Delores. Another of their minders started walking toward them.
"Yeah," Taylor said.
"My sister was there," Missy said, her face blank and hard as rock. "You saved her life."
"Yeah."
Missy nodded, and then before any of the minders could come interrupt what looked like a fight, she returned to her seat and finished her own breakfast.
And that's it for Arc 2. I was a little premature and labelled last chapter as the beginning of the 3rd arc. i've edited it it. The third and final arc begins with the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed the prison scene, because this is it. And if you hated the prison scene, don't worry. This is it.
Time skip coming.