Yeah, yet another chapter I'm not happy with that I simply pushed out because I was tired of it sitting in my google docs collecting dust and me pecking at it at 1 or 2 in the morning. Hopefully I can get into the things as soon as my job stabilizes, because, hooray, I'm no longer doing 60-90 hours a week. I'm just getting dragged into things like my friends want to do things that I'm not exactly keen to do because I want to write and my workplace is hemorrhaging employees because the company was stupid enough to go into Chapter 11 Bankruptcy which means I have to cover those hours, yay.

Anyways, here's hoping y'all don't have to wait another three months before I post something.

As a further aside, I'd kill for a beta, or just someone to bounce ideas off on this. I seem to do better when I have someone to discuss what I want to do, and they can either tell me it's a good idea, or tell me to put my head back to the grindstone.

Awakening 1.06

In the two class periods, and accompanying two hours of joint study time, there was one unequivocal fact that Amy Dallon could readily admit.

She did not like Taylor Hebert.

If she were honest with herself, her enmity of the brunette wasn't out of personal feelings. Her classmate had been respectful, polite even. If anything, this entire interaction felt nauseatingly business-like in how it was being approached.

At least until it came to the core reason of her dislike for the other woman was Taylor's insistence that the advent of parahumans and the subsequent creation of the Protectorate had left a lasting negative impact upon law enforcement, and the fact that from every data point she had so far provided would support this observation.

And there was a darker part to Amy, the one that had to patch up those harmed by parahumans, either personally or as collateral during the scrums between heroes and villains, that actually found herself agreeing.

Nonetheless, she really didn't want to be here, she lamented as she viciously struck down that dark thought. Resisting the urge to massage her temple at the growing headache, she only paid half a mind to her classmate as she droned on about crime statistics of several major cities as she mentally reviewed their discussion. How the girl knew all of this, or even took the time to research this made Amy idly wonder if Taylor Hebert wasn't actually a cape groupie. If it wasn't for the fact that the girl had been strictly professional and hadn't shown any sort of worship she would have been a shoo-in in her estimation.

Also a point against the fact was how Hebert didn't seem to hold any of the heroes in a good light, at least with the way she was presenting herself. It made Amy wonder exactly what it was that would cause her to carry such antipathy. But that wasn't exactly her concern.

What she wanted right now was for Taylor to just shut up and agree to at least write a goddamn paper that wouldn't get them excoriated by Mr. Fitzgerald (And Carol for that matter, she mentally shuddered at the idea of adoptive mother even catching a whiff of the subject matter they were discussing). Well, that and get the hell as far away from this girl as possible for the foreseeable future.

"Look," she finally spoke, wincing at the irritation that she was damn sure Taylor was noticing, "you may have a point, Taylor, if the data you are sharing is correct. However, that doesn't write our paper, and if we write what you want to write, then Mister Fitzgerald is not going to take kindly to the stance you want to take for this paper."

"He's a cape groupie," the flat, toneless response delivered with nary a flicker of expression was almost enough to make her shiver. Because it wasn't angry, it was simply matter-of-fact.

"No, he just has a younger brother in the PRT," she clarified, but before she could say anymore, Taylor seemed to stiffen, her expression turning thunderous as she got to her feet and began packing her stuff, "Taylor?"

"I'm sorry, but something has come up. How about we meet tomorrow and I'll have something put together that'll satisfy the project, or you can do whatever."

"What," Amy stammered, confused at what was going on, "I don't. What…"

"I'll see you at class tomorrow," Taylor hurriedly finished, closing her bag and hoisting it onto her shoulder.

"Wait a minute," Amy demanded, grabbing Taylor's wrist as the brunette walked by and promptly froze.

It was well-known what her powers were, the ability to heal the sick and wounded. However there were facets that were not as well known, well, at least ones that she didn't like sharing considering the ramifications if they were known. One of those was the fact that her was well and truly never 'off'.

While she could ignore the information that was provided if she accidentally brushed against someone and made skin-to-skin contact. In this case, however, her own power wouldn't let her.

What...what the fuck, she thought in a panic, even as her power logged everything it was encountering.

Primary, secondary, and tertiary circulatory networks. Unknown bioelectric energy being channeled in secondary and tertiary circulatory networks, interconnecting with primary circulatory network in critical sections. Secondary and tertiary networks interfacing with the nervous system, brain, organs, bones, and musculature. No corona pollentia. No, corona pollentia absorbed into secondary network.

Any further analysis was stopped as the arm was ripped away from her and she found green eyes boring into her, almost challenging her to say something.

However, when Amy didn't rise to the challenge, still coming to grips with what she had stumbled across, Taylor spun around and stalked away.

AND

I knew I was making a mistake as I stormed away from Amy Dallon, but I was too pissed off to think clearly at the ramifications of what I suspected had just taken place. No, pissed off would be too polite of a sentiment for what I currently felt. Anyone could be pissed off, it was such a simple thing to be.

No, I was absolutely livid.

Why? Because one of the paper clones I had assigned to surveilling the PRT Headquarters in order to ensure when they shipped Hookwolf out, I would be there to assist if the Empire 88 chose to intervene, had once again witnessed Sophia Hess enter the building. This wasn't the second time, either, it was the fourth time since I had begun maintaining surveillance on the building.

I had been willing to write all of this off as coincidence. Maybe a family member worked there, or something. In fact, three times she had left, seemingly irritated by something. It had actually been a source of amusement for my clones and myself.

However, that changed this fourth time, as not an hour after she had entered the building, Shadow Stalker had left with Kid Win on patrol.

When my clone witnessed the events, everything just clicked, it made a sickeningly horrifying sense, after all. I didn't want to accept it, but everything fit so perfectly I would have to be deluding myself, especially as I put it together with my clone watching and comparing Sophia and Shadow Stalker.

Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.

It explained almost everything. How they could get into my locker, why the administration showed complete and utter disinterest in my plight. It wasn't just Emma and her connections, which while they helped, were only part of it.

It was Sophia fucking Hess. A Ward of all things.

If I wasn't so goddamn furious right now, I would be laughing hysterically at the irony of it all.

Because this instance, right here, was why the very imprint of Konan upon my memories despised the Protectorate. They may have talked this big game of maintaining law and order, and being there for the common man against the threat of parahumans, but they were nothing more than another on a long list of hypocritical and abusive organizations that flaunted their power and tread those who didn't have power underneath their boot.

After all, what was the worth of one unpowered human compared to that of a hero.

Hero, I couldn't help but chuckle, such a cheap word whored out so easily.

It made me sick.