A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

The shower was a godsend.

It was in a large way a purifying event, a cleansing of the horror that she had been exposed to during the day. Despite the lukewarm water, a fault in the water heater that had never been fixed, she couldn't have asked for better. Part of her mind realized that it was largely a cathartic event, something to just reset her emotions and bring her to some sense of normally, but she really didn't care.

She was clean, not filthy with blood and ruin. She was content, not scared and helpless.

She had taken a longer shower than normal, but she really didn't care. If any day called for some deep soaking then it was today. When she was finally finished she was only mildly surprised that dinner had been finished for a good minute.

Despite her earlier emotional display, dinner was largely a normal event, both father and daughter exchanging tidbits about the events of the day.

Taylor's, of course, was heavily edited. She had never told her dad about the bullying, though she suspected he had an idea of what was going on. How could she even begin to tell him about the workshop, or how she got there for that matter.

How was my day? Oh the usual: social ostracism, the continued betrayal of my best friend, and favoritism by the teachers. I did wind up getting shoved into a bio-hazard of a locker, died, and got powers, so that was new.

She ate her spaghetti as she considered the scenario, the pasta just slightly chewy for her taste.

It would have been funnier if it wasn't so sad.

After dinner they watched TV for a bit, her dad explaining a recent development in the slowing dying Dockworkers Union that he ran. There was news about some gang activity: a drug bust by the police, some minor skirmish between some villains, and a recent shootout between the ABB and the Merchants. Really, it was nothing new, nothing different. Another day and more people died from the monsters walking the streets, a rot that the city just couldn't seem to excise. The major gangs were a cancer, groups of normal thugs and Parahuman villains that hurt and maimed for just an edge more control over the city.

Her hands clenched, nails lightly biting into her palms. They were monsters that fed on the anguish and pain of others. Like Emma. Like every other bully.

She excused herself, citing homework that she had to get too, and retreated to her room before she did or say something stupid.

A spare notebook, one of the many she had laying around, found itself in her hands, a pen lightly tapping on the front page as she pondering the problem before her.

What exactly were her powers?

If she was going to do something about the gangs and the violence that consumed her city then she needed to get a hold of what she could do.

-Some kind of super strength. Something biological, stress through the muscles. Some kind of Brute rating? A light enhancement, something beyond peak psychical conditioning.

-Healing factor. Regeneration. Fixed eyes and cleared skin. Is it always on? Does it only react to wounding? How far will I heal? Finger? Arms? Speed of healing?

-Aggression. Wounding causes anger. Something for combat? Forces the combatant to fight harder. What's the point? How far does the anger go?

-Enhanced speed. Short term swiftness. Able to dodge or dash VERY quickly. Also biological in nature: tiring after so many repetitions. How fast can I go? Can amount of dashes be increased by conditioning? Is relativity a thing? Fast moving Taylor = slow moving world?

She took a minute, looking at the page filled with black notes, gathering her thoughts. The prior stuff was easy to mention, things that really weren't all that special in the cape world. In a city where people flew, turned into dragons, and fired high powered lasers, her skill set really wasn't anything special. Really, it was just a Brute rating, maybe something significant if she could figure out how fast the healing was.

Really, it was the next part that was more than a bit unnerving. No Parahuman that she knew of had a skill set even close to hers.

-Workshop. Exists in separate world. Unknown how to travel back and forth. Has various tools and implements. Can I make weapons? Armor? Tinker rating? How do the tools work?

-Workshop world has odd characteristics. Books with various known languages. Have other people been there? Are the books meant for me? What do they say? Do I share the Workshop with others? Can they come and go? Time flows differently in Workshop world. Advantage? Disadvantage? Exited the Workshop world through sleep. Method of transportation? Connected to dreams?

-The Doll and the statue. Clearly based on human design. Did the statue come first? The Doll? Both? Who made them? Did anyone make them? What is their purpose?

-The creatures. What are they? Can they understand human speech? Where did they come from? Carried a scroll written in English. They're messengers, things meant to help. Possible Master rating? What could they do? They came through a portal. Are they separate from the Workshop?

She squinted her eyes at the page, a deep unease beginning to form. The creatures, the messengers, where unexplainable. More, they could seemingly enter the Workshop at will, using whatever Mover power they have. Where did they come from? What nightmarish reality would conceive of such strange and horrifying creatures.

She felt a chill roll over her, like an air of foreboding that she only just realized, far to late to escape.

She shook her head, attempting to clear her mind. They were messengers, helpers. That was good enough. She didn't want to think about the rest.

After a minute she returned to the page, musing on whether or not to add a small addition, before finally driving forward.

-What's with the small hats?

A satisfactory nod followed the note. It really was something to be answered, considering the oddity. She could handle that small mystery.

Her small grin died as she considered the last note, something she really didn't want to put down. She still had a hard time coming to grips with the reality of her situation, half worried that she was gonna turn into a zombie or something. Really, nobody she knew of could do this. No one. The Butcher was close, but even then it just took on the body of its killer.

She swallowed hard and continued.

-Revival. Died in locker. Awoke in the Workshop field. Clothes were repaired of damage. Includes damage outside of scene of death. Body likewise fixed. A hard reset of all items on person at time of death. Long term effects of revival? Alive or dead? Is the event repeatable?

She stopped, swallowed hard, and tried to keep her hand from shaking. It was an uncomfortable thought. She had died and been reborn in a world not connected to her own. It was event that was as scaring as it was freeing. She had come back, enjoying the world with literally fresh eyes and a new sense of purpose. Really, even if getting back to the Workshop was as simple as she was thinking, then she could leave her worries here.

But she couldn't. She had died and been revived, by some strange twist in her powers. Even if she didn't remember the exact moment of her death, it haunted her, taunted her with its finality. It left a deep worry, beyond the thought of becoming some kind of monster that hungered for flesh. Now she had a fear of a separate kind, one that shook her to the core, a thought that brought up long buried emotions of just after her mother's death.

-Can I even die?