True to his word, Dad was back at the break of dawn to take me home. I returned the dead battery tablet to the staff with a half hearted apology, he filled out some final paperwork, and we were in the car on our way home before the sun was fully above the horizon.

The ride wasn't as awkward as it could have been, but it was still less than ideal. Dad had picked up food on the way to the hospital, something from one of those fast food places that offered breakfast foods in the morning but changed the menu when it got to noon. That was a good distraction for a few minutes as I scarfed the meal down, but once it was gone I didn't have anything else to distract from the silence.

Minutes passed without a word from either of us, the only sound the thrumming of the engine. The sun finally finished emerging as we got from the inner city to downtown, the skyscrapers giving way to shorter, squatter buildings. Still, neither of us had said a word since getting in the car.

Dad finally spoke first. Probably a good thing, I don't think I could have. "So…" he ventured. "I have a meeting to talk with the principal later today. If you want to stay after school, you can-"

"No." I cut him off. My voice was louder than it had been yesterday, but there was still a rasp around the edges. "I… don't want to go to school just yet. After…"

I trailed off. Dad waited for me to finish the thought. When a few seconds went by and I didn't, he nodded understandingly. I didn't miss the expression of regret that crossed his face.

"I just don't want to go back there so soon." I said. I didn't elaborate on soon in terms of my memory instead of actual time, but he seemed to get it. As foggy as the memory was, it still felt like it literally happened yesterday.

"I understand." He said. Dimly, I felt like I should be offended by that. Wasn't that supposed to be a teenager thing, yelling about how their parents didn't really understand them, much less what it was like to be shoved into the most disgusting locker on the planet? No, that was stupid. I might was well get upset when people say 'I'm sorry' or 'excuse me.'

"Do you want to stay home for the rest of the week, go back on Monday?"

I half-nodded, then paused. "Um, what day is today?"

"Thursday." He supplied.

Thursday was good. Two days to plan without Dad around, then another two before going back to school that I could use to get some practice. Those last two might be tricky though. Dad would notice if I went out early at night, so I'd have to wait until he went to bed. Or I could make an excuse to go out and do it during the day.

A problem I could deal with when the time came. Really, I didn't think the days mattered much. Dad's expression and voice were steeped in sympathy and remorse. I was pretty sure that I could convince him to give me the rest of the month off of school if I pushed it.

"Yeah, that's fine." I said. No need to get greedy, two days should be enough. Plus, I would feel bad if I exploited his regret for not having been able to do anything for me.

"Okay." He said, bobbing his head a bit. "I'll have to leave for work pretty soon after we get home. Will you be okay on your own?"

"I'll be fine," I reassured him, "I'll read a book, watch some tv. Might take a bus to the library if I get antsy." The last part I tacked on as an excuse if he got home early and found me gone. Not entirely a lie, I did have some more research I wanted to do, but I had other goals besides the library.

That seemed to satisfy him though, and he didn't question me about it anymore as we pulled into our street. A few minutes later and I was watching him drive away to the Docks. I gave it a few minutes more in case he realized he forgot something and came back. Once I was satisfied he was gone for good, I got to work.

First things first, supplies. If I was going to be a hero I needed to have a costume and tools. The tools would be easier. I went through the kitchen first, scouring the drawers for anything I might find useful. After that I moved on to the closet, the basement, my room, and, with some reluctance, Dad's room.

It wasn't unproductive, but it wasn't a stellar success either. The big item was assorted tools I'd found in the basement and scattered through various drawers. I imagined those could be useful for something, maybe fixing some important machine or dismantling a deathtrap. Problem was, there were a lot of different tools and they weren't exactly light or convenient to fit in my pockets. After some debate I kept a small screwdriver, one of the dual-head ones that could do either crosshead or slat screws, and put the other tools back where I'd found them.

Everything else was pretty minor. A small pad of paper and a pen, which I kept in case I needed to take down notes on something I overheard or saw. A flashlight for when I needed to move around in the dark. Some large bandages from a first aid kit that I hoped I'd never have to use.

The other big find was from Dad's closet. Fun fact, apparently working at the Docks meant owning a lot of work boots, and that meant he had plenty of old pairs he wouldn't notice going missing. It took me a bit to try on and test out the different pairs before I found the pair that fit me the best. They were water proof, durable, with rugged soles to help keep my footing on uneven or slippery surfaces. In other words, perfect to use for my costume.

Not that I really had any ideas for a costume. There were a few options I could think of when it came to costumes, none of them good. The first was to order or buy one, but that was just begging someone to track the purchasing request and find me out. The second and more appealing one was to make it myself.

Thinking about that now, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made the right choice. Sure, it meant no one was going to trace me by some internet order, but it also meant that how good the costume looked depended entirely on my own skills. That might not have been so bad if I'd done any more sewing that patching the occasional hole in my jeans before, but I really just wished there were more options.

Still, things weren't hopeless. Plenty of capes, I knew, worked with minimal costumes when they were starting out. Shadow Stalker, to use a local example, had been going around in a dark hoodie and a painted hockey mask until the Wards had recruited her a few months ago. If it came down to it, I could probably get by with a mask and some nondescript clothes.

A quick purview of my closet confirmed that not only did I have some nondescript clothes, I apparently owned nothing but. Still, that made things easier. I picked out a hoodie and a pair of jeans that I thought would work, setting them aside. I still had to find something for a mask, but they were a good start. They could work even better if I dyed them, maybe in a pattern to form an insignia or a design.

I made a note of things I wanted, both for supplies and my costume. I did it with the notepad I'd picked out for my supplies, giving me a bit of a thrill for using my hero equipment. Even though I was alone, I tried to stifle the stupid grin on my face. Really, only I could be excited about making a note in a way that happened to be tangentially related to being a cape.

Once the list was done, only a half hour or so after Dad had left, I left the house myself. I was careful to lock the door when I left and left a note for Dad on the kitchen table about how I'd gone to the library. If I got home before him, as I planned to, I could destroy the note and he'd be none the wiser that I'd ever left the house.

I did go to the bus station on a route that went to the library, but I didn't get off there. I continued riding, keeping my head down as we passed stop after stop. People got on and off, including one particularly belligerent drunk with an openly displayed triple E tattoo that made me glad I was wedged as far back in the bus as I was.

Still, for a moment I wished I wasn't as I watched him shoot nasty glares at a pair of black women sitting across the aisle from him, making them half shrink back from his obvious hostility. I felt my power surge at the edge of my mind, the energy I'd felt before nearly bursting free. I could imagine my monster taking form and…

And what, exactly? One bug thing attacking a man at least four times its height, what good would that do besides outing myself in public? I sighed and let the energy retreat back to its corner in my mind, pulling back much more slowly than it had come up. He was only glaring, true, but it pissed me off that someone like him could openly display gang allegiance, intimidate people on a bus, and get away with it.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself, not an easy thing considering I could still see him. The tiny bright side was that he served as the perfect example of why I was doing this, what I wanted to fix in Brockton Bay.

Another deep breath and I forced myself to still. Soon I'd be in a position to do something about that. Soon. I took another glance at the guy, who was muttering drunkenly under his breath, those around him clearly drawing away from him. Not soon enough.

The bus pulled into my stop and I got off before I talked myself into doing something stupid and started walking to my destination. I was still wearing the work boots I'd chosen. If I was going to be fighting crime in them I needed them to be broken in for my feet. I'd overheard enough Docks workers complaining about blisters from poor-fitting boots that I didn't want to suffer the same fate while running for my life from a Nazi knife dog.

The bus had taken me to the north side of town, where houses and stores gave way to infrastructure. Most of it was warehouses, but the part I was going to was the Trainyard. Technically part of the docks, it had used to be a major part of the city back when the Docks were a major port. But then the local industry had collapsed and the ensuing riots and protests saw ships run aground or deliberately sunk.

With no ships coming in through the port, there was no cargo being brought in and no way to bring cargo out. And without the boats, the trains stopped coming too. There was still one small part of it that saw use in the western side of the city, but most of it had been written off. What was left was a sizable area filled with overgrown train tracks, rusted cargo cars, and piles of scrap and garbage left by squatters and people too lazy to make a trip to the dump.

People had tried to section it off over the years, but that just resulted in a confusing network of chain-link fences that split the whole place into pieces. All in all, a nice secluded place I could test my power in peace without being seen by or hurting anyone.

Getting to the Trainyard proved easier than getting into it. I had to walk for a few minutes to find a gap in the fence large enough for me to squeeze through, which just left me with the prospect of repeating the whole thing to get far enough from the edge that I didn't risk being seen by any passerby.

It took me twice as long to find a good spot as it had to walk there from the bus stop, with a half dozen fences climbed or squeezed through in the process. The area I picked was one of the smaller ones, only about as big as the first floor of my house. The rusted out hulk of a caboose filled most of the space, while piles of scrap metal littered the rest. Looking around I could see pieces of a corrugated roof, a bike missing its wheels, a small lockbox, and a dozen other pieces of junk. Given how new some of it seemed, I really had to question whether it was laziness or stubbornness that had seen someone make the same journey I just had while carrying that stuff.

I wiped some dew off the hitch of the caboose and sat on it. Then I tried to use my power. Nothing happened. I frowned, trying to "reach" for the energy I'd felt before. It was still there, coiled in the back of my mind. In the hospital, when it had been about to activate, I'd thought of it like being on edge to throw up. Feeling at it now, the analogy held up.

When I was little I'd gone to parties with my parents, the kind that a few families got together to throw. I remembered gorging myself on the food people had brought, mostly the desserts, until my stomach felt full to the point of bursting, where every footstep I'd made as I ran around with the other kids saw gorge rise at the back of my throat. The energy felt that, swollen and full though I couldn't place the sensation to any part of my body. There was a sense of instability to it, like it could easily be set off, but apparently just trying to activate it wasn't enough.

Bouncing my foot a bit in impatience, I tried to think back. Why would it work before, but not now? It had gone off in the locker and at the hospital, and it had nearly activated when I was woken up at night and just now on the bus. What was the common thread?

I could rule out anything to do with my physical condition, I hadn't been hurt or even really in danger at all except for the locker. Maybe a perception of a threat? That one felt closer, but when I'd activated it in the hospital I hadn't been afraid. Maybe the memory of being in the locker had been enough, but that didn't feel right.

I tried running through them one by one. The locker, when I'd been trapped, disgusted, and afraid. The hospital, when I'd remembered the locker. Again in the hospital, when I'd been startled awake. On the bus, when I'd seen the thug and wanted to do something about him.

Just thinking about that made me mad again as I remembered how I'd wanted to throw him off the bus. That seemed to do something, because I felt the energy start to stir. Then I turned my attention to it and it died down again as I stopped thinking about the incident. Not great, but it was something. It stirred when I'd felt angry, and had died down when I got distracted.

That didn't feel like it either. I'd been mad then, but I'd been afraid, disgusted, surprised, and curious at other times. It could be that any intense emotion would set it off, but that would leave me the problem of trying to deliberately incite myself to anger or sadness just to use my power.

I groaned, putting my head in my hands. Why did powers have to be so frustrating? None of the interviews I'd read ever talked about the hero having to spend hours just learning how to turn their power on. I just wanted to try and test my power out, was that so much to ask?

A noise cut through the air, a sound of shattering and crushing, and I felt the energy decrease a little. I stiffened a bit, then hesitantly raised my head from my hands. There in front of me was my beetle thing.

I groaned again and looked up to the sky. Great, another data point on a very confusing chart! I supposed I could add frustration to the list of emotions that might trigger it, if nothing else.

Still, nothing to be gained by continuing to groan about it. My beetle thing, and I still needed to come up with a better name for it, was here and now I needed to test it.

Which of course reminded me that I had no idea how I'd go about that.

"Do you know how I should test you?" I asked it. Naturally, it didn't answer. Ungrateful little thing. At least no one was around to see me make a fool of myself for asking my own bug monster for advice.

Was it even capable of speech in the first place? It had made some clicking noises before, but that didn't mean it had the right mouthparts to actually talk. For that matter, I wasn't even sure if it was smart enough to speak. There was an easy enough way to figure that out though.

"Can you speak?" I asked. It didn't say anything, but it also didn't nod, shake its head, or give any other sort of answer.

"Okay. Nod if your answer is yes, shake your head if your answer is no." I told it, making the motions as I spoke so it knew what I was telling it. "Can you speak?"

Again, no answer. I frowned. Maybe it couldn't understand me, but when id told it to stay still in the hospital I had done what I asked. Unless I had been asking it to do something it would have done anyways?

"Stand on one foot." I told it. Immediately it lifted up one foot, standing balanced on the other. Well that ruled that out. Good thing too, I couldn't imagine a more useless power than summoning a monster that doesn't obey you.

"Stand on both feet. Raise your hand. Put your hand down. Spin in a circle. Jump." It obeyed each command without hesitation or error. It followed each order perfectly, so why didn't it do what I'd asked it before?

I regarded it with a mix of curiosity and frustration. In the light of day its carapace gleamed like a beetle's, its numerous eyes seeming to glitter with… something. Maybe it was an issue of intelligence. I decided to try something new.

"Raise your right hand." It did. That was interesting. I hadn't explained what left or right was to it, but it knew which hand to raise anyways. I ran it though a few more orders and found that it understood right and left, clockwise and counterclockwise, and how to skip. Or at least it did when I gave it orders involving them. Whenever I asked it to indicate one of those things, I just got the same blank response.

That proved something, probably. I didn't know exactly what that meant for my power, but it seemed smart enough to follow my instructions but failed whenever I asked it to do anything that required it to think instead of act, even if it had just shown it knew the answer.

Just in case, I told it the rules for Simon Says and ran it through the game. After five minutes without a single mistake on its part I gave up on trying to trick it. It always ignored the orders it was supposed to ignore, and even when I made its instructions deliberately confusing it seemed to understand and obey perfectly. So the first benefit, it was very good at following orders.

But that still left the issue of how effective it would be at carrying them out. I had it race me the length of the caboose, then ordered it to try and lift the lockbox. I wasn't in great shape, but it was clear that it was weaker and slower than me. Not by as much as it might seem, considering it couldn't be more than two feet tall, but that just meant it wasn't as bad as it could be.

Maybe I was one of those capes who had a lot of weak minions instead of a few strong ones? I tried to concentrate on the energy and pull it out like I had a few minutes ago. It didn't respond, though I couldn't be sure if that was because I was doing it wrong again or if I could only have one bug thing at a time.

I kept trying, hoping that I'd hit that point of frustration that had seemed to work previously, but I kept undoing any irritation I felt with the acknowledgement that I wanted to be irritated. Then I got frustrated about how I ruined the frustration, then ruined that by acknowledging it, and so on. Why did powers have to be so hard? I just wanted to know how it worked!

I was startled out of my cyclic frustration by the sound of the air breaking again as another of the bug things manifested. At the same time, I felt the energy decrease a little. I stared at it for a moment as it stood next to its twin, both seemingly oblivious to the difficulty they'd put me through.

Okay, okay. I could do this. What had I done differently just now? I didn't think I'd been any more frustrated than I already was, there hadn't been any external change that I could notice. So something else internal?

My thoughts, maybe? I'd been thinking about wanting to understand my power, but that didn't match with the other times I'd used it. I tried it again anyways, trying to focus on wanting to understand my power.

Nothing happened. I tried again, this time focusing on my desire to know my limits, to find any drawbacks, to see if I could make a larger group of creatures. The last one got results and I felt a bit more energy drain off as a third bug thing took shape.

I would have done a little cheer, maybe gloated to myself a bit, if only I actually understood how I'd done it. As it was, my confusion and self-directed frustration trumped my sense of victory. There was no way that specific line of thought was the only way I could purposefully create my creatures, so it had to have fulfilled the criteria I actually needed to do that. But what was that?

Irritated, I stuffed that question in the back of my mind. I really wished powers came with instructions, but I could deal with that issue later. For now I had a workable way to create more bug things.

I concentrated on the thought again, trying to draw on more energy. Again the energy decreased and again one took form. From how much it drained when I created each of them compared to the total amount, I was pretty sure I could get a good couple dozen before I ran dry.

Of course, that would have been too convenient for me. Instead I got five created, then ran into a block. I felt the energy rise up just like before, but it seemed to hit a wall just before it could create a bug monster. I was innately aware of how the energy seemed to press against the air a few feet away from me, trying to form another monster, but it just couldn't.

I sighed and let it die back down. I wanted to punch something in frustration, but the only things around were my bug things and a bunch of scrap metal that would probably break my hand. I felt like I was running into more limitations than strengths on my power the more I tested it. It was hard to summon the bug things, they were generally weak, and I couldn't even make up for their problems with sheer numbers!

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the caboose. I could feel my connection to each of the five thrumming in the back of my head, each like an entire extra sense I still had no clue how to use. I groaned low in my chest and forced myself to open my eyes again. Self-pity wouldn't help me. This was the power I got, and it was up to me to do something with it.

The five bug things had clustered around me in a loose semicircle, pincered mouths clicking as they watched me. It was slightly unsettling, but they were my creatures, created by my power and will. If they were actually a danger to me, there was literally no one I could trust.

"Turn around."

They obeyed, swiveling 180 degrees to look away from me. With five of them all in different positions, it gave them a good visual coverage of the area. That was what I was counting on.

I remembered the influence the one in the hospital had caused on my focus. Now I hoped I could actually test what that had been about. Just like then it took me a few minutes to zone out enough that my focus shifted, with each time I tried to pay attention to it resetting my progress. Eventually I had settled on a few items as the focus of attention. The lockbox, the ruined bicycle, some chunks of circuit board and wiring, and a padlock hanging from a chain that locked off two unconnected pieces of fence.

The last of those caught my attention. My memories of the locker were fuzzy and I couldn't remember whether they'd put a lock on it or not. I didn't think they had, but at the time I could have noticed I'd been busy screaming and doing my best to thrash given my cramped prison. I also didn't think they'd do something like that by half measures.

So the locker had probably been padlocked. I felt like that should have made me uneasy seeing another lock like that now, but instead I felt more curious than anything. If there had been a lock, and I was choosing to assume there had been, then my bug thing would have had to get through it to get me out. That made this sort of fixation on the lock here more notable.

Could they pick locks? It would be a weirdly specific skill set for a monster to have, but potentially useful one. Or maybe they just had some other generalized ability to open things or dissolve metal. Worth a test, if nothing else. "You in the middle," I said, picking one of them out at random, "Unlock the padlock."

So far my bug things had always obeyed my commends as soon as they heard them. This was different, not because it disobeyed, but because it seemed eager to obey. It bolted for the fence at full speed, quickly hauling itself up the chain-link to the lock.

I couldn't see what was happening with its body between me and the lock, but I heard a rapid clack of metal and chitin tapping together. A sharp metal ping split the air, and a second later several somethings hit the ground below the bug thing.

It climbed back down the fence, somehow managing to exude self-satisfaction despite being silent and having no recognizable body language to speak of. The chain now dangled loosely from the fence, the padlock nowhere in sight.

Curious, I walked over to it. There on the ground beside the bug thing's foot lay the padlock. Well, most of it. A few inches away from the main part of it sat the shackle, apparently having been pulled free. The more I looked, the more pieces became apparent, springs, screws, and pins all glittering in the dirt and very much not a part of a single mechanism anymore.

I picked up the body of the padlock and looked it over. Sure enough there was nothing inside it anymore. It looked like it had been disassembled, with all of its internal parts pulled out and scattered. I mentally bumped up my bug things a notch on the usefulness scale.

Sure, breaking locks wasn't much compared to the powers the various villains of the city could bring to bear, but it meant access to places I otherwise couldn't get to. That alone was invaluable if it could get me out of a dead end or help me maneuver around some gangbangers. But that seemed like the low end of the scale. With how good they were with following orders and the fact that they were already small enough to squeeze through air vents and windows, it was very promising regarding their ability to go out and screw with gangs without me having to put myself in danger.

Though that depended on whether the padlock was a unique situation. My gaze fell on the lockbox, abandoned from when I'd tried to have the first one lift it over head. "Destroy that."

I didn't specify one of them, curious whether the same one would recognize it as a continuation of its last order of if they'd all pick up on it. It turned out to be the latter, because all five of them lunged for it with startling eagerness.

In less than thirty seconds the metal lid was torn free and thrown out of the frenzied group. Two split off and leapt onto it, while the others continued to attack the box itself. Watching the two at the lid, I tried to get a better sense of what they were doing. As far as I could tell they were just clawing and grabbing it, but it seemed far more effective than it should. They managed to undo screws and pry into seams without any tools. A few seconds later, the lid was split further into its outer and inner panels, the portions of the locking mechanism held between them quickly torn out and scattered.

In less than a minute, the lockbox was utterly dismantled. My five bug things clustered around it, and I got the impression they were showing off. It was endearing in a way, like how I'd presented my drawings to Mom when I was little. Except instead of a little girl with a crayon drawing of Alexandria, it was a bunch of Master monsters with a destroyed lockbox. So, small differences.

I directed them to the bike next, then the computer parts. With both they tore the things apart in seconds, scattering the parts in the dust. With the computer parts they got more vicious about it, wrenching the circuit boards between them to snap the parts in half and scraping through the silvery connections on the surface. I wasn't sure whether that was because the computer parts were easier to break than the metal pieces of the other things, or if they just disliked electronics more, but I didn't really have the resources to test it further. One thing I could be sure of was that I was glad I hadn't tried testing them like this at home.

I looked across the parts scattered across the ground and found myself grinning. This was it. This was something I could do. Maybe I couldn't beat down Kaiser or round up dozens of thugs in one fell swoop, but from the looks of it, I could be very good at sabotage. It wouldn't be glamorous, I would probably never make front page news, but it was still something useful.

I paced a bit in front of my bug things, feeling a glimmer of self-important pride as I noticed them moving their heads to track my movement. What would gangs need most to operate? Phones to communicate, vehicles to transport men and product, whatever tools and machines they used to make their drugs or any guns they kept. Those could all work as targets. I found myself liking the idea as I built on it. Precise strikes, not meant to take down the gang members themselves, but to hamstring their logistics.

Or maybe I could do more. I glanced down at my bug things, who were still obediently siting in silence. I could always make more, right? I could afford to have them try to take out fuse boxes or phone lines. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea. It made me feel callous and cruel. Luckily it wasn't a choice I had to make right now, but if push came to shove, I was pretty sure I could. A solo vigilante couldn't afford to give up an advantage, right?

I looked up at the sky and found the sun was pretty high up there. If I wanted to try and get some shopping and research in today, I'd have to wrap up testing my power soon. But that came with its own hurdle. I still didn't know how to get rid of them.

I knew they would vanish if I fell asleep, but I couldn't just take a nap in the middle of the Trainyard. I could probably just kill them, but just the thought of ordering them to stand still and let me put them down made me feel dirty on the inside. Surely there had to be some way to undo or despawn them.

I stopped that line of thought abruptly as an idea occurred to me. I almost wanted to smack myself for overlooking the obvious. "Hide under the caboose until I come back. Don't let anyone see you."

The five quickly scampered under the caboose and out of sight. I bent down, looking underneath to see if I could spot them. Nothing. Satisfied that they had things handled, I left to make my way out of the Trainyard.

I was aware as I got further away that my links to them weren't weakening. In my opinion, that was another point towards their usefulness. Once I eventually figured out what I could do with the links besides just know they existed, I could make use of them over a significant distance.

In my head, I started keeping track of how far away from them I was. It would have been easier if I could just go in a straight line instead of cutting sideways through cross-streets to avoid the more dangerous areas, but I was pretty sure I was keeping track well enough.

It was at about fifteen or sixteen blocks away that I felt the connections snap. I was alarmed at how much it affected me and I had to lean against a wall for support. Active connections weren't something I'd had any experience with for more than a few hours over the past few days, but having them abruptly snapped like that felt like I'd lost a part of my body. That feeling more than anything hit me with a certainty that if I went back to the Trainyard, I'd find they had vanished just like the one in the hospital.

The energy seemed to react too, withdrawing more tightly into itself. I had the faint sense that it had been at least partially invested in the connections, but with them gone it was snapping back to its default state. Another thing I'd have to figure out later.

I groaned and pushed myself off from the wall. Of course it was. Why couldn't powers have instruction manuals?