Signal to Noise Chapter 1, a worm fanfic

Signal to Noise

Beep beep beep beep.

Smack.

Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

As I cracked an eye open and my brain slowly spooled up again after a night of sleep, I began taking note of the little incongruities nagging at me.

That sounded nothing like my alarm clock.

My alarm clock was on the left side of the bed, not the right.

The LED face on said clock was multiple colors for time/date/temperature fields but mostly white, not just red.

My bed was a king size, not this scrawny twin I found myself in.

My blanket layer was not nearly as thick as it should be. Also, not fleece under a quilt, with more blankets piled on top. This thin scrap of blanket barely kept my body heat in.

I was uncomfortably cold. I enjoyed the cold, but this… I felt like I was losing body heat just breathing.

Speaking of my body, it was not this small. My hair was not this long. I was taller and broader shouldered than this.

I reached down and frowned as I noted a distinct lack of male sex organs with a sort of clinical detachment. 'I've had vivid lucid dreams, but this takes the cake.'

I am not ashamed to admit that, upon deciding that I was dreaming, I spent the next ten minutes according to the clock… exploring the differences, as it were.

And it was only as I came down off the most vivid wet dream ever that I realized I had failed to wake up. Blinking twice, I sat up in bed—nearly smashing my head against the bunk bed above me—and looked around, taking in the room around me. Well, more to the point, the curtained off interior of a lower bunk, shielded from sight of the rest of the room by a blanket being used as a privacy curtain.

Reaching out, I pulled the curtain to the side and inspected the actual room.

It was tiny and alien, unfamiliar, and yet… familiar in an inexplicable way. I knew which drawers in the two dressers were mine. I knew which section of the closet was mine. I knew that through the only door and down the hall to the left was a dorm-style bathroom with showers and toilets. I knew the names of the other three girls still sleeping in the room—or at least trying to get back to sleep after my 5 a.m. alarm went off.

Rolling out of bed, I looked down and examined myself.

Short—under five feet.

Completely nude—something I was expecting, given the feel of the sheets against my sensitive flesh and that I normally slept naked.

Lacking my male anatomy, but with a faintly swelling bust and a delta of neatly trimmed black hair over a feminine mound—entirely unexpected.

Healthy, physically. Not fat, not skinny. Very nice muscle tone, for a girl.

Milky pale complexion—the kind that would definitely burn before it tanned.

Long, straight black hair hanging freely down my back and shoulders, partly obscuring the upper swell of the—my—breasts.

Dainty little feet. Long, delicate fingers—but with familiar callouses beginning to develop at the tips of the fingers, edges of the hand, and knuckles. 'Well, that explains the muscle development.'

A sense of urgency filled me and I suddenly remembered I had school.

'School?' I wondered, moving quickly to the dresser and fishing out a tee-shirt, boy's sized boxer-briefs, and fuzzy fleece pants. Allowing my body to move on autopilot, I found a bag in the closet containing toiletries, a towel, and a sponge. Stepping into a set of green slippers by the door, I slipped out and made my way quickly towards the bathroom down the hall. If I wanted privacy, I was going to have to hurry.

Moving inside, I set my things in one of the available cabinets, stripped, and stepped into the shower. I remembered at the last second to jerk back out as the water blasted out in an icy stream, despite being set for 'boil lobsters.' 'It takes a minute to warm up.'

While the shower was getting ready, I went about the rest of my unfamiliar-familiar morning ritual—pulling out my tooth brush and moving to the bathroom's sink. Finally, I had a moment to see myself in a mirror.

I blinked.

The girl in the mirror blinked.

"Fuck."

Turning on the tap, I began brushing as I studied myself.

Green eyes.

Long black hair.

Small bow mouth in a naturally flat expression, and a smile around my toothbrush showed no signs of laugh lines. 'This is not a girl who smiles much, or finds much to laugh about.'

I missed my beard, but I conceded that it just wouldn't look good on this face.

Petite frame—4'8" not by my estimate, but supplied by a memory of visiting a school nurse for health day last year. Ninety pounds soaking wet, though to be fair, a glance down showed that she—I—had earned that number with hard work and a diet aimed at building muscle to compliment exercise…

I frowned as more memories trickled in. The girl whose body I inhabited had no friends. Had no time for friends, or a social life. She was too busy for that. Four hours of school in the morning, the next eight hours spent alternately exercising and doing self-study, curfew at 8 p.m., two more hours of self-study, then bed. Her interests were varied and spanned a number of subjects, from science, to medicine, martial arts, strategy, warfare, politics, and of course capes.

'Capes?' I wondered, spitting and rinsing my mouth out before stepping into the shower.

Alien memories came to mind, and despite the heat of the water I suddenly felt terribly cold. 'Oh, fuck me. I'm in goddamn Worm, on Earth-… Beta? Thought they used Hebrew for some asinine reason and it was Bet? Still. Scion. Endbringers. Heroes. Villains. Capes. Gangs. Ineffective and/or corrupt government. Cauldron. Cuntessa.'

I pushed my rising panic down and focused on the task at hand. As much as I—and my female… whatever she was—enjoyed long showers, I didn't have time for that today, so I settled for a quick but thorough scrub, even as the part of me that spent the last seventeen years as a girl lamented my rough handling of her poor, delicate skin.

'And isn't that just the problem of the hour,' I mused. 'Nevermind the how or why—I have no idea and I doubt I'll get an answer. Where and who are Fucksville, Population: Me. So, 'what' then. What happened? What do I remember doing last? What can I do about it? What do I do next?'

In broad terms, 'what happened' was that I—a 30-odd year old man who spends his free time alternately playing video games or writing plot with porn for shits and giggles—had somehow been transposed into the body of a 17 year old high school orphan girl living in a children's home with even less of a social life than me on a world headed towards alien annihilation if things played out the way I expected.

Last night, some time mid-December, 202X, I spent the night dicking around on the chans and some creative writing forums, cracked open a bottle of Crown and had a glass or three after a particularly bad day at work, found and filled out a Worm CYOA web form for potential later use dabbling, took a shower, and then went to bed.

Last night, some time early-January, 2011, I spent the night reading a printed guide of questionable legality found on the internet complete with pictures showing how to hotwire anything that wasn't Tinker-tech, showered, then went to bed.

I had no idea how I got here, no idea how to get my original body back, and no idea how to get from Earth-Beta back to my Earth even if I could fix my gender and age related problems. In short, I couldn't do squat about it except adapt and overcome. It was irritating, but that was a mentality both I and the girl whose body I had… been reborn into—'Oh for fu—. That was a condition of that CYOA, wasn't it? I randomized the 'Origin' section using dice rolls and a quarter for the male/female question instead of taking the extra points for 'drop-in.' Wait… what did I put down for the rest of it?'

Try as I might, I couldn't remember. 'I think I had three powers. Maybe four? Drawbacks to pay for them. Abyddon Shard, because that's the only one worth having in that version of the CYOA. But how bad did I fuck myself, if this is actually following my CYOA?'

Of course, I suspected that drunk!John had not given a fuck and would have thought that the phrase 'go big or go home' applied to everything.

"Oh, I am so boned," I sighed, turning off the shower and stepping out. Quickly toweling off and putting on clean clothes, I hurried back to my shared room and began dressing for the day. As I looked through Claire's—'Claire! Claire Carnelian. That's her name. My name, I suppose. And that is the question. I do remember I specifically chose a comics style alliterative name for the trope, that my rolls made her female, a teen, and a highschooler… but I didn't really give her any background. If I was doing it for shits and giggles, I probably just copy/pasted everything into a text file and saved it to my hard drive for later use—even drunk!John wouldn't fuck that up. Except I've got no way to check from here.'

I shook my head, digging through Claire's closet for clothes. Thank God she dressed sensibly. I picked a set of jeans and a sweater, along with her boots—utilitarian, waterproof, picked up from a second hand shop for cheap specifically for dealing with slogging through mud, snow, and slush of Brockton Bay's rainy and snowy seasons without losing her tiny little toes to frostbite. Sports bra, tee-shirt, and socks from the dresser.

As I dressed quickly on autopilot, I wondered at something that should have been obvious. 'If I'm in Worm and picked the Outsider shard, where are my powers?'

So far, I had yet to exhibit any, and even if my body was in excellent physical condition for a girl Claire's age, it didn't exactly register outside of the norm for a very athletic girl. I couldn't shoot sparks out of my ass, breathe fire, shot web, build Gundams, hide in plain sight, fly, one-punch the shit out of things, or make physics my bitch either. 'Looks like I'm back to asking, 'how bad did drunk!John fuck us?''

Sighing, I finished dressing, tossed my dirty clothes in the hamper, grabbed my school bag, then remembered it was balls cold outside because it was January so I snagged a scarf, beanie, long coat, and gloves as well. Satisfied I wouldn't lose any extremities to frostbite, I pocketed my wallet and left the dorm room. I waved at the door guard as he buzzed me out. I settled into an unhurried walk to school—more than capable of jogging or running it flat out from here, if I had to. I only kept my speed down to avoid nasty ice-related accidents.

'So, where is school—' I blinked as the information surfaced. 'Of course. As if there were any doubt.'

I groaned quietly as I realized the setup I was walking into. Worm-verse. Winslow. Early January. 'Probably the day Taylor triggers. I wonder—'

Before I could finish the thought, a car driving by well over the legal limit hit a puddle of partly melted slush. I jerked away, but was still in the splash zone. In trying to jerk away, my right leg slipped on a patch of frozen sidewalk and I went down. I yelped as my ankle twisted and my knee cracked on the pavement. "Mother fucker," I hissed, shivering and sure I looked like a half-drowned rat.

The quiet roar of students talking died as I stepped into my first period computing course. I—Claire—didn't really need it. She had a 75 word per minute count and could probably teach the class, the little overachiever. But it was an easy 'A' and an elective she could pass in her sleep, which meant more 'self-study' time.

"Ms. Carnelian," the teacher—oddly enough, Claire couldn't be bothered to remember her name and I didn't recall her being important in canon—began, looking at the clock mounted on the wall. "Why are you half an hour late and why do you look like you've been dragged through the street behind a city bus?"

I turned a flat look on her. "A black cat crossed my path so I had to take the long way."

Ms. Whatever her name was frowned—and it deepened as the class cracked up. "Office. Don't come back without a written excuse for being tardy," she interrupted before I could continue.

"Can we just… not? I could sleep through your class and still pass with the highest grade. We only have to tolerate each other until Spring, when I graduate. You're making this needlessly difficult." The words came out before I could really consider them—all Claire, apparently. Not that I disagreed. Though, putting it that way made it sound like we were two separate entities. We weren't—it was only me occupying my headspace. She just had a lot of leftover baggage.

"Office. Now," the woman hissed.

My eyes narrowed. Claire's mouth opened, but I firmly clamped down on the impulse. Even more years of experience outweighed her own local knowledge and told me that if I allowed myself to react as I wanted, I was going to quickly find myself caught up in the shitty disciplinary system of a shitty school that made 'inner city' schools look tame. A school that wouldn't go out of their way to do anything about bullying, or the gangs, and so would probably crack down all the harder on the students they felt were 'safe' just to feel like they had some kind of control. "Fine."

Turning around, I marched out of the classroom to the office. The secretary in the principal's office frowned upon my entry before picking up her phone and hitting a speed-dial button—probably the principal. After a fast, quiet conversation, she jerked her head towards the principal's door and turned her attention back to the crossword puzzle on her desk. Rolling my eyes, I opened the door and stepped inside.

Blackwell was a small woman and looked pretty much as I'd imagined she would, from her canon description. Short, white, blonde, irritated, and like a cunt with an axe to grind but few acceptable targets. "Ms. Carnelian. Please, have a seat."

"I'd rather stand," I denied, adopting a loose approximation of parade rest—mostly because it kept my wet pants and shirt from sticking uncomfortably. "Unless you want me to get your seats wet," I added, seeing the woman's growing frown.

Looking me over and taking in the dark patches to my clothes, she shook her head. "No, I'd rather not. What happened, and why are you in my office?"

"A black cat crossed my path so I had to take the long way," I repeated. Seeing her unamused look, I elaborated. "Triumph." Lion-themed hero, black body suit with gold lion-themed accessories. Blackwell nodded at that. "He was in pursuit of someone in a piece of sh—crap. Looked like a monster truck with a couple of .50s welded into the bed. Traffic got backed up and I almost got run over by one of the cars running with it. Some jacka—hole decided it'd be funny to open the door as he drove by, so I ate a Cadillac door at about thirty."

Weird thing though, the cobbled to hell piece of shit didn't actually look like Tinker-tech—just a scaled up 'technical.' Basically, a truck with armor plating and guns welded to it. Wondering about it supplied the answer, between comparing my memories to those of Claire. There was no 'Squealer' here. There was a big-tittied, blonde vehicle Tinker named Gearbox working with PRT-ENE and producing many of their vehicles. Rumor had it, she and Armsmaster were dating.

'Bet that pissed off Dragon.'

Blackwell blinked twice. "Should I… call the hospital?"

I shook my head. "Nothing broken, no concussion, just some bruising and road rash. I'd really rather just get back to class. Ms. …What's her name sent me to get a signed note excusing my tardiness. She apparently thought I was being a smartass when I answered."

"To be fair, so did I," Blackwell sighed. Opening her desk drawer, she pulled out a pink notepad and began scrawling something on it. "Try not to let something like this happen in the future, Claire. You're an excellent pupil and I would hate to see your future ruined by a bad school record."

"Sure," I agreed, closing my mouth until after I had the pink slip in hand. "Next time Merchants decide to try to mow me down like an NPC in a video game, I'll politely ask them to refrain, because my principal would be upset if they made me late again. Thanks for your concern, Ms. Blackwell."

I turned on my heel and left before she could get another word in, ignoring the pain in my knee and ankle as I did—I wouldn't limp in front of this woman and I did not need a trip to the hospital today. Given that it was Brockton Bay, unless Panacea herself treated me, there was a good chance they'd do something stupid and I'd wake up the next day minus a kidney, but with a sandwich shoved where it'd been.

By the time I made it back to the computer class, it was nearly over. I spent a few minutes sitting and staring blankly at a computer screen before the bell rang and I let Claire's legs carry her to her next class—some AP Math that Claire had been doing well in, but which I could have slept through. I took fifteen minutes to complete the day's work plus the homework, then rooted around in Claire's things for a book. I came up with… 'Penetration Testing 101? Really Claire?' I sighed mentally, putting it away and pulling out a notebook. I began making a list.

Path to Freedom:

1.) GED.

2.) J-o-b.

3.) Question mark times three.

4.) Prophet. As in pray. Because SHTF, if I don't get powers.

It was going to be a long day.

The bell signaling the end of fourth period ended and I stood from my desk. "Thank fuck," I muttered under my breath, earning a quiet chuckle from some kid nearby. I considered what I knew of Winslow's schedule. 'Lunch here, or skip and go get something?'

While I was debating the merits of spending what little petty cash Claire had access to, I turned down a hall leading back to my locker. Something in Claire's memories buzzed with alarm, but I ignored it—I was in a hurry and I wanted out of this shithole since I was done with my last class of the day, and this was the fastest route. A green and red tag spray painted on a locker caught my eye.

Yesterday, I wouldn't have given a fuck. I didn't have an issue with Asians, I was a thirty-odd year old man, and I had a concealed carry weapon.

Today? I was a lone, tiny white girl surrounded by Asians wearing gang colors in a city with an Asian supremacist gang. Gang members who were looking progressively angrier by the moment as I ventured deeper into what Claire's memory told me was their territory. And that pistol I'd carried habitually since I got my license? Not here.

If I was paying attention, I'd have avoided it simply because of potential legal ramifications for 'baiting' and 'self-defensing someone to death.'

I was about halfway down the hall when someone grabbed my arm and shoved me into a boys' bathroom that reeked of cigarette and weed smoke. "You got balls cruising thorough here, bitch. Hope you're ready to pay the toll." I tried to shake his hands free and wound up eating a face full of tiled wall for my effort. "Cut that shit out!"

Something clicked near my ear and cold metal pressed up against my left cheek, dangerously close to my eye. 'Knife,' I registered, biting down on my instinctive response to try to get away again—the guy behind me had leverage, weight, height, and was armed. 'Need a distraction. This would be a great time for my powers to kick in.' I waited a moment. 'Wonder Twin Powers activate? Go web! You wouldn't like me when I'm angry? Come the fuck on!'

A knee shoved between my legs brought my attention back to the present. "You should stop while you're ahead," I warned, earning a punch to the back of the head and a reintroduction of my face to the tile. For a moment, I saw double before my vision righted.

"Shut up, white bitch," the boy grunted.

A rough hand shoved itself down the back of my pants and my jaw clenched. 'Wait for it.'

Thin, chapped fingers roughly found their way into the new bits I'd had so much fun with that morning. My eyes closed and I breathed in slowly through my nose. 'Wait for it.'

"Tch. Dry as the fuckin' Sahara." The hand pulled away and I heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone, followed by a fly coming down. "Shit, ain't like I've never used spit for lube be—"

'Now!'

I shifted right, spinning in place—torquing my knee and ankle and nearly throwing myself to the ground before I could recover, clamping my jaw shut around a whimper of pain. It was enough to throw him off balance.

With one hand occupied with his tiny, half-flaccid cock, I focused on the more immediate threat of the hand holding the knife. I grabbed his left wrist with my own, throwing all of what little weight I had into yanking it across his body to my left, in line with the way he was already off balance. Rotating the arm, I followed through with a hammer blow to the locked elbow and was rewarded with a snap—and a squeal—for my effort as the joint bent forward unnaturally. The knife clattered to the ground, but he didn't look like he would be giving up that easily.

That was fine. The thing most people don't realize is that humans are surprisingly fragile creatures with weak points we couldn't really strengthen, only try to protect. It only took a few pounds of force to break most bones in the human body, or crush a windpipe. Man, woman—didn't matter. All that mattered was speed, accuracy, enough force to do the job, and the will to follow through.

I didn't even think twice about my next strike. Claire might have hesitated, but I wouldn't. I gave him a yank with my left hand, bringing him closer to me. At the same time, I pulled back and slammed a knife-hand strike into his throat. I felt something give and collapse under my hand, and his cursing and squealing went silent as he brought his good hand up to his ruined windpipe.

I stooped down and picked up the folding knife as the would-be rapist collapsed to his knees, desperately clawing at his throat and looking at me with wild, pleading eyes. "Don't look at me. I warned you to stop while you were ahead. If you get medical attention very quickly, you'll probably survive."

Palming the knife, I righted my backpack and left the bathroom. The hall was still packed with Asians, and they glared suspiciously as I stepped outside alone. I smiled tightly. "He's still recovering. All that and it turns out he's a minute-man."

There were a few snickers, but several of them still looked froggy. One made to step closer, but a flick of my wrist, a click, and the sudden appearance of a blade caused them to stop. "You should stop while you're ahead."

Several of them exchanged glances before the biggest, with dyed blond hair, snorted. "Get the fuck out of here," he jerked a thumb towards the opposite side of the hall.

I nodded and took off, head on a swivel and keeping close to the wall to my left so I could at least eliminate one potential avenue of attack. It had nothing to do with my knees trembling, and if I occasionally had to put a hand on it to keep my balance, none of them had the balls to take advantage or say anything. Not with my fingers around that blade, anyway. Once I was out of the hall, I folded away the knife and pocketed it, then hit the stairs to head down a floor to my locker.

'Hell of a way to end a day. I'm going to have to go to Blackwell's office and get her to call the cops and an ambulance. Coroner, if he doesn't survive. Pretty clear-cut case of self-defense though. Any decent forensics team is going to find me all over his fingers, in addition to the bruising he left behind.'

I packed away my books and grabbed my bag. I was going to have to skip lunch, but from Claire's memories, I wasn't missing much. As I was leaving the floor, something rank caught my nose. 'God, that smells like death.'

Something about that itched at my memory—mine, not Claire's. Frowning, I followed my nose, turning down another long hall of lockers. Girls were in the hall—about a dozen—tittering and hurrying away from the area as they traded whispers. I gathered a few looks as I moved against the tide, heading towards the source of the putrid smell—and it was putrid in the literal sense of putrefaction. Something dead, rotting away. That, or biological waste.

A dark, taller form moved into my path and I paused, not bothering to acknowledge it as I stepped around—only to be countered. Frowning, I looked up, meeting an unfamiliar-familiar face. Black, female, athletic, ugly. Though, I suppose if you went by physical appearance alone, she had a few curves in the right places at least. I just wasn't interested, and this particular specimen was ugly more in the metaphorical sense.

A bitch, in other words.

"Excuse me," I nodded, attempting to step around her again.

"Sorry, hall's closed," a chipper voice called from behind the tall black girl. A cute redhead stepped up, a smile on her face. "What's a senior doing down here with us sophomores?"

I brought up a hand, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Look. I've had a really bad morning. Merchants nearly ran me down in the street. First period teacher, Blackwell, and her secretary were uppity cunts. Just put down some ABB shitheel who thought he'd get a bit rapey because I was in a hurry and turned down the wrong hallway. I kind of need to get to the office and get someone to call the cops, and an ambulance. I may have crushed his throat by accident. I'm not sure and I don't particularly care, because I am not in the mood for any more shit today. Can we not?"

"Sure! The office is back that way," a brunette popped up on the other side of the redhead, gesturing back the way I'd come.

I sent her a deadpan look, then swept it to who Claire's memories supplied names for to confirm my own suspicions. Hess, the black girl. Clements, the brunette. Barnes, the redhead. "Let's cut the shit, shall we ladies? You've got Hebert in a locker full of filth. I can hear her banging away at the door from here. Joke's gone far enough. Move, before you become accomplices to an act of bio-terrorism." Emma's eyes narrowed and I smirked faintly. "Didn't consider that, did you? Shutting someone in a locker full of literal biological waste violates all kinds of laws and falls under the header of domestic terrorism, especially if done in a school full of minors. Not to mention kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and assault at a minimum. Why, if only someone were around to do the heroic thing and let that girl out of her locker."

Hess didn't flinch when my eyes cut over to her. I took a step forward and her arm snapped out, settling on my chest and pushing me back. "Walk away. Only warning."

I turned a smile on Emma. "Tighten up on your dog's leash and get her out of my way." Hess growled, teeth gnashing. "Proving my point."

Frowning, Emma asked, "Why does it matter so much to you?"

"Why does keeping her in there matter that much to you?" I countered, earning a slight flinch. A thought—insidious as it was—wormed its way into my head. A bit of fan theory that had circulated over the years. I leaned in and spoke quietly, for Emma's ears only. "If you think orchestrating a trigger event will make her strong and make everything better between you, then you don't know your friend. That, or you've genuinely bought Hess' bullshit. You'll be lucky if she doesn't eat you alive if she finds out you did it on purpose."

"How—" Emma whispered, eyes going wide.

I made my move, sliding right, shoving between Emma and Madison before Hess could react. I heard her footsteps coming behind me and hoped my knee wouldn't give—

The world went white.

Two beings—alien space whales—spiraling around each other.

[DESTINATION]

[AGREEMENT]

[TRAJE—]

A third alien space whale.

[DESTINATION]

[CONFIRMATION]

[TRAJECTORY]

[CONFIRMATION]

I collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain as my head felt like an overripe melon and my body tried to set itself on fire as I felt like I was having a seizure. I was vaguely aware of Hess collapsing somewhere out of sight, along with screams of alarm.

Abruptly, the pain faded and I stopped seizing. Rolling onto my back, I coughed once and groaned. 'My leg feels better now,' I mused.

"What the fuck was that?!" Madison, I think, yelled.

I chuckled quietly, pulling myself to my feet as I heard Hess doing likewise. "That was the world going to hell. Congrats, Emma."

"What does she—" Madison asked, and abruptly shut up as I opened my eyes and fixed them with a glare.

"Oh God," Emma whispered, taking a step back.

I turned my head enough to look at Hess—surrounded by a nimbus of faint gray smoke and flashing in and out of insubstantial to my eyes. I knew, from just a look, exactly what her powers could do—phasing, mass alteration, and more if they weren't so limited. Hess jerked as her shit brown eyes met mine. "You know the best way to find a parahuman in a crowd, short of bullshit Trump or Thinker powers? Trigger another parahuman."

It was Clements' turn to go wide eyed as she looked between us. "But wait… are you—?" she shifted her gaze to Hess. "Sophia is—?"

"Oh, now you've fucking done it," the taller girl hissed out.

I shrugged. "We were both on the floor, Hess. Your 'prank' bit us both in the ass, so if anyone is to blame for this cluster fuck, it's you three."

"You can't prove that!" Hess protested.

Ignoring her, I added, "Maybe. But I don't have over a year-long gaslighting campaign working against me, nor am I some self-sacrificing idiot with a martyr complex who will let you walk all over her. You fuck with me, I will fuck you up, and no night job contacts will save your ass from the consequences. Now, stay the fuck out of my way before this gets worse."

"How could it get any worse?" Emma asked quietly, her tone worried.

As if to answer her, Hess and I both locked up. Hess was close enough to grab a wall and steady herself. I had no such luck and ate linoleum as my vision whited out again. Fucking thankfully there was no all-over burning or splitting headache associated with this one. "That's. How," I managed to get out as I quickly shoved myself to my feet and started towards the locker.

A hand locked around my wrist and I looked back, finding Hess glaring at me. "We're not done."

"Let go. You've done enough," I warned.

Hess shook her head. "I can't have you narcing."

I rolled my wrist, holding my hand knife-edge out, and broke her grip. "One more time, Hess."

Either something in my tone told her I was done with her shit, or she had some sense of self-preservation. Either way, Hess didn't stop me as I hurried down the hall to the locker—

The world went white.

'Oh fuck all kinds of duck,' I thought, pulling myself up off the floor again.

The pounding from the locker had stopped. Quickly making my way over, I knocked on the outside. "Hey, you alive in there?"

When I got no response, I sighed—and immediately regretted it as I nearly gagged on the stench. Trying the locker, I found it jammed shut. 'I think I can force it.'

"Fuck it. Brace for impact," I warned, dropping my bag on the floor and backing up a few feet. I took two running steps and something alien twisted in my brain. The Sparta kick I'd intended to put just to the right of the lock to bend the door enough to force it open transitioned into some kind of rising, spinning bullshit kick with a shit ton of torque on it and way more force than I'd have managed otherwise.

The door slammed inwards, then immediately popped open as a tall brunette with curly hair spilled out. I recovered quickly enough to catch her, but nearly got dragged to the ground in a tsunami of rotting filth, puke, and bugs. I gagged, but muscled through as I called up Claire's memory of the layout of the building. Checking her for a pulse and finding one, I winced at the filth and began dragging her towards the infirmary. I wondered if this shithole even had anything that would help— Something else in my brain twisted and new skills I hadn't had that morning sprang to mind.

Everything I suddenly knew of first aid told me to get the filthy clothes off her, get her cleaned up, inspect the wounds, and dump her in a goddamn moonshine distillery because she needed all the alcohol to kill whatever the fuck was in that locker and not get some sort of blood-based infection. That, or call Panacea, but I didn't exactly have the Dallons' phone number. Or a phone of my own. And I knew Taylor didn't own a phone.

'First things first. Infirmary. There should be a phone there.'

I slung the taller girl up into a fireman's carry—my now much stronger body capable of handling her weight easily—and ran. 'At least that tells me what two of my powers were. Power Sight and Peak Condition. At least two Skills too—Martial Arts and First Aid, so far.'

I made it down the stairs and to the infirmary, throwing open the door and setting Taylor on a bed. There was no school nurse—not in Winslow—nor was there anything in here that the gangs could use, except some gauze and alcohol. That, and a phone behind the desk. Picking it up, I dialed for an outside line, then walked my fingers across the magic three digit answer to all non-parahuman emergencies: 911. I waited patiently for the operator to pick up and get his spiel out of the way. "My name is Claire Carnelian. We're at Winslow High and there's been some sort of bio-terror attack. A student was locked in a locker full of I don't even know what."

"Ma'am, please slow down. Do you believe a parahuman was involved?" he asked.

I considered my next words carefully. "I am one hundred percent certain a parahuman is involved, yes. Going to need an ambulance, and cops to deal with the locker and take pictures since a minor is involved and there are some definite liability issues. Going to need to quarantine that locker. There might be something in it that could affect the school. Also, not certain, but if you've got Panacea's number or can get the PRT to give her a call…"

"Where," he cleared his throat, "Where is the locker located?"

"Third floor, 'A' corridor. The girl who was locked in is in the infirmary, second floor, west wing, room 201," I told him. Almost as an afterthought, I added, "Also, I would like to report two assaults, a kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, one attempted rape, and a case of self-defense."

"Uh, what," the operator stammered.

Sitting opposite the locker with my shirt over my nose, I took a moment to reflect on my current situation. I came to a swift decision. My shirt, sports bra, underwear, and pants were all too tight. They felt painted on now, where they had been comfortable before.

Heels clacking up the hallway drew my attention. I glared as Blackwell approached. The woman flinched and stopped several yards away.

I had taken a moment to wash as much of the funk off in the bathroom as I could and had figured out why Emma and Madison were terrified of me, and Sophia seemed leery. My irises, which had been green this morning, now glowed like molten gold. Apparently, drunk!John had taken a stage 1 Case 53 drawback. It was entirely cosmetic, so I didn't mind. Who doesn't want glowing eyes? Sounds cool right?

No, the bigger issue was that it was a flashing neon sign proclaiming I was a parahuman—and I was being outed to, well, pretty much the entire school and anyone who cared to look. Also, well, it was one of the shittiest possible choices. Not even a real 'case 53' choice, from a literary standpoint, because it doesn't truly inconvenience the bearer. Normally. Except in this case, Worm being Worm, it was basically bait tempting someone to kidnap me for my powers.

Drunk!John had fucked me again.

'Fuck it. Never drinking again.'

"Ms. Carnelian, I have some men here with me to clean—"

"Nope," I shot back. "You aren't destroying evidence. Anyone other than the police or the PRT—who I called, by the way—approach this locker and you're going to be in for a nasty surprise."

Blackwell's lips curled into a frown. "Young lady, you will do as you are—"

"Fuck right off," I countered.

"I'll have you expelled!" the woman screeched.

I stood, pushing myself up off the wall I'd been resting against. "Ms. Blackwell, I've had about enough bullshit for today. The school is responsible for this entire mess—both the assault on Ms. Hebert and the one prior to that on myself. You can have your cleaners handle it after the police take their crime scene photos, because I guaran-damn-tee that if Ms. Hebert wants to prosecute, even if her father can't afford it, I can find a lawyer who will take the case against you and this school and doesn't give a good goddamn how deep your pockets are or if there are extenuating circumstances such as other parahumans involved."

Blackwell flinched as if struck. "Now, Principal Blackwell, please leave this to the professionals. The police will be here shortly."

The woman's jaw clenched and she spun on a heel, shoes clacking loudly down the hall as she left. Shaking my head, I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and settled in to wait for a few more minutes. Eventually, the pitter-patter of great big combat boots came from the direction of the stairs. I looked up, spotting a group of several men in tactical gear and carrying what Claire's memories recognized as containment foam sprayers.

"UNKNOWN PARAHUMAN," one of them shouted as they began stacking up to provide overlapping fields of fire. "GET ON THE GROUND NOW!"

I raised my hands and slowly dropped to my knees. "My name is Claire Carnelian, I'm the one who called in the assault and the locker—"

"STOP TALKING! GET ON THE GROUND!"

For a moment, I considered ignoring him. And then common sense kicked in and I remembered Rule One of dealing with police: you don't argue with cops, period. Police have the right to give you legal orders during an arrest or emergency situation, which this qualified as, and ignoring them or disobeying a lawful order was illegal. Unfortunately, not everyone thought that rule applied to them and thought arguing with, disobeying, running from, or resisting the guy(s) with the gun(s) was a good idea—and wound up getting themselves shot.

I was already in enough trouble as it was, I didn't need any more. Sighing in resignation, I dropped face down and assumed the position—fingers laced behind my head, legs crossed at the ankles, forehead resting against the linoleum floor. As I heard a couple of sets of boots moving closer, a radio piped up from one of the men. "This is Shadow Stalker. Suspect is a parahuman with unknown powers—but possibly Master or Thinker. Observed her carrying another girl at a full sprint, so potentially Brute as well. Suggest foaming her."

"Oh for fuc—"

Foam sprayers coated me from head to foot and my vision went dark. The foam began to harden and swell almost immediately and, surprisingly, breathing wasn't a problem. I just couldn't move. Or talk. Or see. Or hear much. 'I hope they at least listened to me about the locker and Taylor.'

With nothing much else to do, I settled in to wait. My stomach rumbled and I was reminded painfully that I had forgotten to get breakfast.

'Just... fuck today. Absolutely fuck it. Worst. Day. Ev—' I blinked, or tried at least, considering my eyes were foamed shut. 'Oh, fuck you drunk!John.'