To guest on chapter 5:
First, let me assure you that I am in fact mentally stable and not projecting onto Taylor. Every bit of suffering you see in text here is, in fact, a calculated move.
Second, while you bring up many ways to address Taylor's problems, I'd like to remind you of a few things that giver her less agency than you appear to think she has:
1. Taylor does not have a cell phone. Her Mom died because she was talking on the phone while driving, and as a result she and her father are not fans of the electronics. More to the point, this is 2011, not 2018. Smartphone saturation has not yet reached more than 75% of the population.
2. The Slaughterhouse 9 literally kill cites for entertainment. They earn the name murderhobo in a way that only the most depraved versions of the Joker even come close to. While Taylor is considering murdering her classmates, many people do that without having brain parasites that want them to actually go through with it.
3. Taylor knows the ins and outs of her power, and cannot forget the pain, which she uses the most in her daily life as a coping mechanism, which is not kosher with her shard. As a result, she has less control over her emotions, just as Amy in canon did. When she thinks of her power, she thinks of pain, and as a result thinks of showing kids the values of self harm as opposed to the values of being selfless.
4. Lastly, Miss Militia doesn't have confirmed perfect memory. She just remembers the trigger vision perfectly. Is her power family friendly? No. Is she in America, where guns are more or less a fact of life? Did she have a perfect story backing her up? Did she have literally the greatest PR team in fiction working to make people forget she could mow down people left and right?
Let me clarify: the Protectorate can make Murderbeam McGoreface a family-friendly power. Failing that, they can find a job for anyone. Taylor could totally join the Protectorate/Wards. She just doesn't want to, for a variety of reasons.
Also, good news! Actual plot kicking into gear!
I run home, ditch my school supplies, and start looking for clothes I actually like. After scouring my wardrobe and finding nothing but grey sweatshirts, dark tees, and sweatpants, I give up and pull on a baggy sweatshirt over a quick-remove bra and sweats over a pair of briefs. I then pack my bag with paper, pencils, and some money before striding out the door, hopping on a bus, and heading downtown. I get off a few blocks away from my destination and strip in an alleyway. After making sure the bag is hidden, I armor up and walk to Longshire Park.
It's a deceptively large patch of green nestled among skyscrapers and office buildings with a pair of well-cared for swing sets, free of graffiti. Wide tracts of grass and dandelions surround the play equipment which typically have enough frisbees flying around to mess with radio signals.
But what really makes it something special is the view of the bay it has. Through some accident of zoning, no building nearby is allowed to be taller than twenty feet. Conveniently, the park has a hill significantly higher than twenty feet with a flat top. Prime wedding location, if you don't mind the occasional shot ruined by a cape in the background.
I walk into the park, ignoring the gawkers and the cape nuts trying to catch sight of a Protectorate hero departing from the Rig. I aim for the pretty side of the hill, angling my body to indicate a lack of interest in talk, and, wonder of wonders, the masses take the hint and leave the new cape alone.
I sit down near the top, able to fall onto my back or lean forward onto my knees at will. A few other people, some couples, some parents with toddlers, eye me with something like suspicion. I nod back and that seems to be enough to get them to calm down.
I look out over the sea and just try to process for a minute. Emma. I can't get over how little empathy she has. How do you systematically torment your former best friend for more than a year and still find new ways to hurt them? And how does none of this blowback on her? Mom helped her scraped knees too. Doesn't that count for anything? Does she just not care? Maybe I register as so little to her now she doesn't think it's wrong. Then why keep at it? Why bother to make my life in particular hell? Surely there's someone with lower self esteem who will go and off themselves after enough punishment.
I roll the problem over and over in my head, projecting and picking roses, using the pain as a reminder to keep on topic. I drift from motivations, to causes, to potential horrors, to old horrors, lost in misery. Before long I have an even dozen roses. I select one and begin playing with it, seeing how far it can flex before it breaks.
"Neat trick."
I turn towards the voice, noting that the hill is empty now. Some ripped shirtless guy with Nazi tattoos on either shoulder, greasy blond hair, and a metal wolf mask oh shit it's Hookwolf!
I jump to my feet, aiding myself with my shell, trying to recall the nearby streets. I'm pretty sure I'm faster than him, and if I can break line of sight maybe I can-
"Easy there Rosie," he says, smirking.
Rosie? The cutsie name shocks me out of my panic. Okay. Hookwolf is standing in front of me, and he hasn't tried to kill me yet. I take a moment to close my eyes. In. Out. Mask up. When I open them again, I stare at the Nazi, holding the bouquet of the roses defensively across my body.
"What do you want?" I ask, putting only a little contempt in my voice.
"You in the Empire," he says simply, still smiling. "Also to say thanks for killing the gook. Motherfucker was a bitch and a half to fight."
"Not interested," I respond, mind racing, trying to think of ways to hurt a writhing mass of metal. Pull him apart? Bone is weaker than metal, so I couldn't do it without making a lot of bone. Pin him down? He could flow through the cracks and flay me. What about putting a bone inside of him and expanding it? Maybe, but he could just eject it and-
"Okay," he says, shrugging.
Just like that?
"What?" I ask, a note of incredulity creeping past the mask. Did Hookwolf just take 'no' for an answer?
"Yeah," he says, looking me in the eye. "If you don't want to join, forcing you's asking for a knife in the back. Better to let you figure out who you can trust on your own. You'll come around to the right thinking eventually," he says, showing some teeth in his smile, "And we'll be waiting with open arms."
"What if I'm black?" I ask, still a little off balance from the surprisingly polite Nazi.
"The fact you had to ask means you're not," he says, turning around. "When you're ready to join, walk into an Empire bar in costume, don't start shit, and ask politely. One of us'll show up." He walks down the hill, passes through the tree line, and disappears from sight.
Well then.
I drop the mask and go back to looking at the river, worldview partially shattered. I just had a civilized talk with a literal Nazi about joining their team of villains, and it went better than my attempts to ask the principal of a school to look out for bullies.
I grow another rose and snap it off. Nazi is the operative term here. Hookwolf is a racist murderer. Don't put on rose colored lenses because he asked nicely. They want my power, plain and simple. If I wasn't white, then they'd want me dead. I repeat the mantra, snapping off a rose at the end of every repetition until I internalize it.
I will not let criminals convince me they are just.
It takes almost an hour for people to return to the park. Two of them come up the hill, both in skin-tight bodysuits. One's a woman in grey and blue, the other a man in red. Assault and Battery. Assault gives me a once over and grins.
"So who left you waiting at the altar?" he asks. Battery sighs and smacks the back of his head.
"Hookwolf," I respond. Assault manages to express both shock and awe with half his face covered, while Battery simply raises an eyebrow. "He wanted me to be a Nazi. I said no," I say, answering the unspoken question.
"Good partners don't ask their partners to change their core beliefs," Assault says sagely. "Plus, his hair looks nasty as hell."
Battery sighs. "May we talk with you?" she asks, gesturing towards some empty space next to me. "We want to clear some things up about last night."
Last night. Right. Lung. Mask on.
"I'd be more than happy to answer your questions," I respond evenly. Battery has bursts of super speed and durability, while Assault absorbs and redirects kinetic energy. If I want out, all I need to do is cover him in bone and run. I could probably win a foot race with Battery, and if she takes the time to free Assault I'll be long gone. Nothing to be lost by talking.
Battery sits down to my left, with Assault laying back against the grass beside her. She takes out a small device and presses a button. A red light blinks on and she begins talking.
"This is Battery, interviewing the parahuman known as 'White Rose' about the events of the night of April 11th in Brockton Bay. White Rose, do you have anything to clarify?" It takes a moment for me to realize she's pointing the recorder at me.
"Uh, no," I respond lamely. Was there something I was supposed to say?
Battery nods and goes back to talking. "The Protectorate responded to an emergency call reporting a cape fight between Lung and an unknown in an abandoned area. When we arrived on scene, Lung was still fighting 'White Rose' and had progressed to the point where forcing him to retreat was infeasible." At what point is forcing Lung to retreat feasible? "As a result, we decided to run interference so that that White Rose could flee. We were unsuccessful, and Lung caught up to the new cape." I shudder a little when I remember Lung looming over me. "At that point, Assault destroyed Lung's left leg above the knee, then White Rose stabbed Lung through the eye and filled his cranial cavity with bone, killing him. Do these events sound accurate?" she asks, turning to me expectantly.
I open mouth, then hesitate. Does this count as an admission of guilt? I have no idea if this counted as self defense. I did go out looking for a fight. Maybe that makes me at fault? Assault leans over Battery's shoulder and offers an encouraging smile.
"Relax, we're not going to try and arrest you. We just want to clear things up," he says, speaking lightly and cheerfully. "Once we have all the facts, we'll have a team of lawyers look them over and figure out if what you did was justified. If they think something needs addressing-" meaning that I have murder charge "-you'll have a day in court. If not, we let it go and inform you. All said and done, it looks a lot better if you help the process along," he finishes, retreating back to the grass.
Battery coughs politely. "Do the events, as I have presented them, seem accurate?"
If I say yes, I'm giving them a handle on me. A crime they could suddenly bring up whenever they felt necessary. Armsmaster probably has video footage already, but personal testimony isn't something to be given out lightly. If it went to trial, I could probably cast doubt on whatever he has by pointing out that he's a master Tinker and could fiddle with the footage. I can't do the same with some shitty low-tech voice recorder. I spend some time thinking about how to proceed in order to leave myself the least open to future reprisals, examining the issue from every angle. Battery eventually pauses the voice recorder, but doesn't put it away. Halfway through my thoughts something twinges and I look down. I grew a new rose.
I think about how a criminal would act in this situation. The rose makes a little more sense.
In. Out. Mask.
I nod and Battery turns on the voice recorder again. "This is Battery, resuming the interview of White Rose. Do the events previously stated seem accurate to you?"
"Yes," I respond quietly. Battery clicks off the recording device and stands up, arching her back with a series of pops. Assault rolls up to his feet and flashes me a smile.
"Well, looks like it's about time for us to head out! Also, do you have a phone or something?" he adds, casting a sideways glance at me. "You know, just in case we need to contact you."
In case they need to ask me to turn myself in. I shake my head. "I've had a bad experience with phones."
Assault shrugs. "Well, we'll probably have this figured out inside of a week. Just to be safe, see if you can be free the Saturday after next. We can meet you here to discuss things. That, or we'll drop off the news when we next see you. Anyway, ciao!" he says, walking off down the hill.
Battery watches him go, before turning to me and extending her hand. I look at it. A small white card, with a number and the Protectorate logo. I take the card.
"Call if you need help," she says simply, adding a soft smile. "Or if you want to join the Wards." She walks off after Assault, and they too disappear through the trees.
I make a chair out of bone and sit down, basking in freedom and the midday sun. That didn't go nearly as poorly as it could've. I'm still waiting to see whether or not I'm going to be charged for murder, but it could be worse. They could've had Miss Militia tranq me from a hundred meters away, or used an aerosol, or simply broken open my armor and tased me into unconsciousness. That I'm still free means they're trusting me not to flip out and do something silly. I think about school, and my odds of keeping it together. Nah, best not risk it. It feels nasty, using my power as an excuse not to go to school, but I can't afford to screw up my hero career before it even starts.
But what to do for the rest of the week?
"How much?"
"Hmm?" I say, turning my head to face the noise. An older guy, with a nice shirt and slacks, tapping his foot. Fancy watch, glasses with a little silver horse on them, and an irritated expression.
"For the flowers," he clarifies, pointing to the bouquet in my hands. I look down at them. Yeah, I have a lot now. I guess I could sell them for bus fare or something.
"Two fifty," I say, idly growing a thin cone around the stems to keep the flowers from falling out. He hands me a trio of bills, grabs the makeshift vase, and walks off down the hill. Rude. At least he overpaid. I take a look at the two hundred-dollar bills and the fifty and-
Wait what.
I hold the bills up to the light, trying to make sure that this isn't an illusion. Nope. I have two hundred and fifty dollars in cash. They don't look fake, but I haven't seen hundred dollar bills in real life before. I feel a little giddy just thinking about it.
Then I realize I'm waving around a bunch of money in a public place and feel a little silly. I quickly make a pocket in my armor, place the bills inside, and seal it tight. Revenue stream acquired. I probably won't be able to sell flowers for two hundred and fifty dollars often, but even just ten bucks per bouquet would be nice. Heroing doesn't pay the bills, after all.
I lean back down in my chair, staring up at the sky thoughtfully. Now I just need a good name. White Rose Florists? Pretty generic. Plus, I don't want people to think I can only make one type of flower. Regrowth Botany? More academic than strictly necessary. Maybe cut the bone theme entirely. Go for something classy. Hmm, where do bones and roses appear together? Graveyards? How about Mourning Florists? A little morbid, but there have been worse ideas.
"How are you doing?"
Goddamn it if one more fucking person interrupts my thoughts today it will count as suicide by cape! I slowly turn to face the voice, keeping my movement as smooth as possible.
The voice belongs to a blond girl with freckles and green eyes, dressed in a pretty purple sundress. Not a cape. She looks a little pale. I close my eyes. Breathe. In. Out. Mask on. I open up my eyes and smile behind my mask. "I'm doing fine. How are you?" Courtesy for courtesy, now tell me what you want.
The girl grins in that reflexive way Emma would when she got nervous. "I'm doing pretty alright. Can we talk for a bit? My name's Lisa."
