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by Kahlil Johnson

Don’t own crap

10. Slash

Welcome to the latest story I'm involved with! A collaboration between myself and FirstSelector

This is a slight AU where the Teeth returned to the Bay in summer of 2010, caused mayhem and havoc then set up shop. Taylor's life didn't change too much from these events, even if the junior Teeth were slightly more agreeable at school than the Merchants had been. They still didn't lift a finger to help her when she was shoved into the locker. Her first night out happens a bit earlier than canon, causing a few interesting butterflies.

General Author's Notes:

FirstSelector:

Upon reading Here Come the New Boss by HowlingGuardian, I decided that I wanted to write a Butcher fic of my own. I experimented a lot, writing a whole slew of little disconnected snips and scenes, trying to figure out what worked on the page. Some of those eventually became The XV Days of Christmas, while others just languished in my Google Drive. Eventually, Atlasofremembrance and I started plotting a major AU Butcher fic, going so far as to write a few snips and shorts from that universe (including Diphyodont).

In doing so, he convinced me to share my disconnected snip collection with some other authors; I was beyond delighted when Pendragoon asked if I was ever going to make anything out of them. She proceeded to assemble the snips into a fun, canon-adjacent story (with very different themes than the major AU fic), and I was lucky enough to help her turn my nonsensical ramblings into something actually readable.

Pendragoon:

Yeah, I got one look at the snips and basically was like a kitten seeing something shiny for the first time. Next thing we know we have around 11 chapters ready, coming close to 50k words and the question of when the hell we were uploading this started to get louder and louder from our friend groups. So here it is!

Awards:

1st place in the Favorite Version of Taylor in a Fic category in the 2022 Cauldron Awards

Updates:

Check out the Sidestory tab for Omake that are considered canon to the story. The Apocrypha tab for Omake that aren't canon but are still a hell of a good time. The Media tab for lots of fanart! The Informational tab for whenever we get around to actually finalizing the public Butcher list as well as the TV Tropes page!

Last edited: Mar 14, 2023

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Pendragoon

Jan 9, 2022

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Pendragoon

Pendragoon

She/Her

Jan 9, 2022

#2

Friday, April 1 2011

My plan had seemed perfect at the time: use my bugs so Lung and his gang didn't kill kids.

Now that I was caught in a three way battle with an enraged Lung and a swarm of bloodthirsty Teeth, I could only wonder if I skipped a few steps in there.

The first part went off without a hitch. Normal gang members were just that — normal. With no supernatural defenses or reflexes, they fared about as well against my swarm as any number of our ancestors would have, which was to say not well at all.

I wasn't using the worst of the worst in my swarm, because I was a hero and killing normal gang members by anaphylactic overload or necrosis were decidedly non-heroic actions. That wasn't to say that they were spared; my swarm had plenty of biters and stingers that were just as nasty. And, I reasonsed, they were going to kill kids. I would hold back from killing them, but that's it.

The swarm let me know each time a gang member gave up trying to fight or even escape the swarm and fell down. Some were curled into balls, either on their butt or their side, while others were facedown or otherwise lying prone. A few managed to run. Lung had, inexplicably, tried to fight the swarm with fire, and the resulting panic had downed almost as many of them as I had. The downed ones were still covered in bugs, but that was mostly so I could feel where they were.

The second part of my plan was to attack Lung himself. He was a regenerator, able to heal from damn near any injury with enough time, and my only real shot was to overwhelm his regeneration. I didn't hold back on him, reasoning that if I pumped him full of the worst venom I had, he would drop before he became unmanageable. A fully scaled up Lung was supposed to be the stuff of nightmares for heroes, given that he had once fought the entire local Protectorate and won.

I didn't fully appreciate how dangerous the man could be until he decided that he was done being stung by bugs and exploded. The resulting fiery shockwave wiped the ignorant smile off of my face and sent a new wave of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I didn't dare peek back over the ledge to see just what the hell had happened on the ground, but neither did I have many bugs left. Those that survived were mostly on or around the gang members, but even their instincts were attempting to flee the heat.

I was halfway through pulling the reserves in when the whole plan went sideways.

Unlike the Empire and ABB, the Teeth were a relatively new fixture in Brockton Bay, having arrived last summer. Strictly speaking, they were founded here and just 'returning home' following an extended banishment to Boston. Though they had claimed a swath of territory in the northern part of the city, they also roamed around, picking fights with the other gangs and setting their stuff on fire. The internet seemed to think that they would eventually settle down somewhere in the Docks, given that the Downtown Coast was more lucrative and Lung couldn't be there and the Docks at the same time.

So, naturally, while I was in the process of attempting to overwhelm Lung's regeneration with bugs, the Teeth had to roll in and start blasting. I saw them coming from two blocks away and tried to get bugs on them preemptively, but they were riding in the backs of several vehicles and driving quite fast.

Case in point, one of the trucks charged right down the street we were fighting on and rammed directly into Lung's back. At least, I assumed it was Lung, given that there was an enormous crunch followed by a furious roar and gout of flame. It was too much to hope that the impact had killed or even seriously harmed him, but it certainly had enraged him.

And that brought me here, looking up at a woman with straight black hair and a costume made of skulls. She had suddenly appeared on the roof, accompanied by a blast of flame, and it startled me so much that I fell over. Any pain I felt from knocking against the sharp metal of an air conditioner was immediately forgotten when I saw what happened.

Oh shit. The Butcher.

Either a brilliant strategist, bloodthirsty monster, or consummate professional killer depending on the source, the Butcher was the amalgamation of fourteen powers and consciousnesses that had led the Teeth for the last twenty years. The Butcher was the ultimate cape bogeyman, since killing the Butcher simply transferred the minds and powers of past Butchers to their killer. Some had tried to outwit the power, to no avail, but mostly it changed hands when one of the Teeth wanted the power and prestige.

My eyes widened almost comically behind my mask as I struggled to sit up. The Butcher gave me the smallest hint of a smile before turning, drawing her bow and rapid-firing arrows down onto the street. Based on the pained cries, Lung's night had just gone from bad to worse. The Butcher responded with a wild, manic laugh.

And then she was gone, just as Lung fired a gigantic blast of flame where the Butcher had been standing. I could feel the heat from where I was sprawled on the roof, and I had no doubt in my mind that Lung would give me the same if he knew I was up here.

Thoughts of retreating ran through my mind. There was a good chance that the enraged Lung would be too busy dealing with the Teeth to kill those poor kids, that the Butcher could beat him up to the point that he would retreat. But then nothing would stop him from coming back the next day and just finishing the job. And if there was anything about Lung that the Bay knew, it was that Lung got what Lung wanted.

I couldn't run and live with myself afterwards.

I also couldn't just let the Teeth rampage around. Now that Lung's attention was on the Butcher, I had been able to sneak my swarm back onto the battlefield and start trying to figure out just what the hell was going on down there. Given that several of my bugs died in midair or ran into nothing, I assumed that Vex was doing her force field blender thing. The other was covered in what my mosquitos recognized as blood, so that was probably Hemorrhagia.

The reserves for my swarm started to collect on the edges of the battlefield as I crawled across the roof. The Butcher knew I was up here, and the last thing I wanted was to give her or Lung a clean shot. At the moment they were ignoring me, but once my plague of insects descended on them, I would be back on their target list.

Sounds from the battle echoed off of the other buildings nearby, but it wasn't until I was back on street level and in an alley that I got a good look at what was happening. Lung and the Butcher were fighting, the former with claws and the latter with a sword. Incredibly, it cut through Lung's limbs with ease, earning pained screams from the dragon. More importantly, despite being fifteen feet tall and regenerating from most of the wounds, those from the Butcher's sword seemed to blacken and ooze instead of heal.

This was my chance. I waited until Lung sent another column of flame at the Butcher, then sent in the swarm.

Lung's first explosion had killed most of my less harmful bugs, and so this wave was disproportionately bees, spiders with nasty venom, and biting ants. The swarm engulfed two capes, unloading their venomous payloads with wild abandon into Lung while the bees stung the Butcher. I couldn't use the more powerful stuff on the Butcher for fear of killing her, but she was a known regenerator and the bees were the least bad thing I had left.

What little I had of less deadly options swarmed the other two capes and their unpowered muscle. Both Vex and Hemorrhagia fought back with their abilities, but the bugs could sneak around the former's force fields while the latter tried to encase herself in some sort of hard carapace. Either she couldn't multitask like I could or had some other limitation because she couldn't keep all of my bugs out. Both of them turned and ran down a side alley, as did a few more prescient Teeth.

I stopped on Lung the instant I felt him start to shrink. The Butcher's foul-smelling cuts gave my bugs direct access to his bloodstream, and they clustered around the bloody stumps of his hands while pumping as much venom as they could. I would have sent the bugs after the other soft spots if he had any, but his armor was pretty comprehensive at this point. He managed to get one last good blast of fire out, almost reflexively it seemed, and to my surprise it hit the Butcher dead-on.

At that, the fighting was finally over, so I dispersed the swarm and walked out of the alley. As befitted a major cape fight, the street was an utter disaster. Lung's flames had burned gigantic gashes on both the road and nearby buildings. I tried not to look too carefully at the downed gang members, given the blood and scorch marks by several of the bodies. The Teeth had, it seemed, shot the ABB members when they were downed.

Well, they were going to kill children, so I didn't particularly care what happened to them. And if the Teeth hadn't interfered, they likely would have been fine.

I was pulled from my thoughts by a wheezing cackle. It took me a second to identify it as the Butcher, who I thought unconscious. I took a few cautious steps towards the madwoman, and once I was next to her I found out exactly how bad she was injured. "So, little bug, who gets the gift? You, or the dragon?"

"Gift?"

"Bee… allergy," the Butcher coughed out, and she managed one final wheezing chuckle. My eyes grew wide and I scrambled for one of my epipens, but my panicked flailing wasn't nearly fast enough. "Until… next time…"

And then I saw stars.

When I came to a minute later, there were people screaming in my head.

It didn't take me long to realize why.

This was going to complicate my career as a hero.

The other fourteen Butchers were shouting incoherently at each other and at me, and I reflexively pushed them away like the sensations from my bugs.

To my utter and complete surprise, it worked. I didn't hear any voices in my head. Oh, they were still there — when I focused, I could feel the fourteen distinct presences alongside the tens of thousands of bugs that remained after my assault. It took a minor amount of my concentration to keep them silent, and I had the distinct feeling that it would be second nature after not too long.

While I lay there on the ground, my brain started processing all of the sensations my new powers were feeding me. Simultaneously, memories of the past Butchers started bubbling to the top of my mind, giving me context and control over everything.

If I hadn't had spent a week in a psych ward while my brain rewired itself to process all of the sensations of my bugs, I probably would have been disoriented for far longer. As it was, I was able to push away the worst of the unpleasant memories, resolving not to think about them until I was in a better headspace and able to go slowly. The last thing I really needed right now was a crash course in Butcher's pain projection, with demonstrations.

Out of curiosity, I tried letting off the pressure on one of the voices. My brain automatically attached a name to the voice, associating it with one set of memories.

"Well this is certainly a fascinating turn of events," Damascian said, voice oddly formal. A quick search indicated that she always talked like that. "What I would have given for your ability to selectively mute the members of our collective."

"Er, yeah," I said, sitting up. "Maybe it means I won't go insane?"

Damascian laughed, the sound at odds with her tone. "Perhaps, though one might reasonably argue that rushing into a confrontation with Lung means that you should already be out in the bughouse."

"The what now?" Was she making fun of me?

"Ah, it's a euphemism for insanity." The grab-bag Tinker hummed to herself, but twelve other voices snickered in the dark recesses of my mind. "It will be impossible for you to keep the remainder of the collective silenced permanently, but I would recommend dealing with Alkaline or Ironsides first. They are, shall we say, less problematic."

"Oh? What about Reflex?" He had been the only hero Butcher.

I got the feeling that Damascian winced at my question. "He's… not usually available."

There was definitely something important there, but that could be considered later. I eased off of the pressure of the two Damascian suggested, and they were immediately not happy.

"What the fuck is this?" Ironsides bellowed, and I swore I could hear the echo. "You fuckin' control bugs!"

"Yeah well none of the rest of us was a Master," Alkaline said. "Figures that the first time things go wrong, we're stuck with a hero."

"She'll get offed in no time," Ironsides said dismissively.

"I don't share your confidence," Damascian replied. "She could have killed Lung, Vex, and Hemorrhagia in addition to Quarrel."

"Ambush tactics," Alkaline said. "Stratego would be proud. You should let him talk."

"Sure, why not. He's the Thinker, right?"

"Well, I was the Thinker," a deep voice rumbled. "And as much as I am not thrilled about being stuck in the head of a novice, I am looking forward to how our powers interact."

"Ooh I didn't even think about that," Alkaline said. "Real time battle map? This will be awesome!"

"Ah, but our intrepid young host is a hero," Damascian said.

"What's wrong with being a hero?" I asked. All of the Butchers — muted and not — just laughed at me in response. "What?"

However, before any of the Butchers got their laughs sufficiently under control to answer, I heard the distant rumbling of a motorcycle with my newly enhanced senses. "Armsmaster or Miss Militia," Stratego supplied instantly. I nodded, following the instinct to have my bugs spread out over the nearby blocks. I would know as soon as they arrived.

The heroes turned the last corner thirty seconds later, I did my best not to stare in wonder as they approached. Armsmaster didn't even stop before launching himself off of his bike, landing not ten feet from where I was sitting near the unconscious Lung and Quarrel's corpse. He held his halberd out in a defensive posture, providing cover for the rest of his team to get into position.

Huh, Stratego's power was pretty interesting.

The Butchers complained loudly in my head, and I almost missed Armsmaster's question in my haste to keep them clamped down. "Are we going to fight?"

Fight? I blinked a few times, looking down at how I was sitting on the ground. I didn't need Stratego's power or Knockout's memories to know that I was in a compromised tactical position, but luckily I could teleport if anything pinged on Reflex's danger sense or Damascian's minor line-of-sight precognition.

Miss Militia, Assault, and Battery arrived while I was thinking about my new capabilities, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a poster-worthy formation and eyeing me warily. "Uh, no. I'm a hero." I pointed to Lung, ignoring the raucous laughing in my head. "I pumped Lung full of insect venom, so you might want to get him something before he dies."

"Who the fuck cares?" bellowed a particularly nasty voice. Butcher, the original — I pushed him back down into the abyss with as much force as I could muster.

The heroes traded glances before Armsmaster reached down and poked Lung with the end of his halberd. At the same time, Assault leaned down next to the dragon and put his fingers on Lung's neck. "Alive, but weak," he said. "You did a number on him…?"

"Assault!" Miss Militia barked, pushing the four heroes back. "That's Quarrel!"

My mind went numb, totally blank except for the jeers and laughs of my new mental roommates. Of course, none of my powers or suspicious new instincts stopped working, so while the emotional part of my brain locked up completely at seeing the fear on the heroes' faces, the rest of it was evaluating their fighting stances.

Defensive postures.

Hands on foam grenades.

Several paths to retreat, including possibly scuttling both motorcycles to slow me down.

Yep, they were afraid of me.

It was totally natural and the correct response when facing a cape as dangerous as the Butcher, but it hurt. These were my childhood idols. I had their posters on my bedroom walls and t-shirts with their logos. I had looked up to them for as long as I could remember, modeled my own career after theirs, and now I was looking down the barrels of their weapons.

Why me? Why couldn't I have just saved some kids and run away?

I hung my head and sighed. "Uh, yeah. Did you know she had a bee allergy?" I couldn't keep my newfound resentment out of my voice.

"You have no idea how much we made fun of her for dying in such a dumb way," Ironsides added unhelpfully.

"Wait, really?" I murmured. "Did she not know either?

"She thought the regeneration would fix it!" Alkaline replied. "But hey, we all died to some stupid oversight, so…"

I couldn't help but wonder: what stupid oversight would trap me in the head of Butcher XVI?

"Um, hello?" Assault said, pulling me back to the present. "What's your name? We don't really want to call you 'newbie hero' on the reports, you know." The red-clad hero's light tone was at odds with his tense posture.

"Um, I hadn't picked a name yet. I didn't think I would need it this soon."

"Christ," Battery muttered. "Was tonight your first night out?"

"Yeah," I said, chuckling bitterly to myself. "Some start to my hero career, huh?"

"Skitter."

"Swarm is way better."

"Hive?"

"Locust and Mantis are too specific."

"I'm telling you, Swarm. It's accurate."

"Those are all villain names," I muttered.

"You're Butcher XV, girl," Ironsides barked. "You can't exactly go as Ladybug or —"

Alkaline shouted. "My money's still on Skitter. Let's put it to a vote!"

"It's my name, so I'll pick," I retorted.

"If you pick something stupid we'll make fun of you," Ironsides said.

"Then back into the dark you go." To my surprise, they thought that was a credible threat.

"Uh, newbie hero?" Assault said.

I jerked my head up and found all of the heroes staring at me. They had a variety of confused or sad expressions on their faces. "Oh, sorry. Need a name, the others keep suggesting really edgy things."

"I'll admit," Armsmaster said. "Based on your costume alone, I would have guessed that you were a villain as well." The other three rounded on him with annoyed expressions.

"Oh," I said, unable to keep the sadness out of my tone. Here I was, on my first night out, and not only did I become Butcher XV, the heroes assumed I was a villain just based on my looks. "I made it myself. I know it looks less heroic than I wanted, but I really looked up to Alexandria as a kid. Once I saw how it looked, I just didn't want to start over again and delay things even more."

Miss Militia winced. "I can… see the resemblance. And it looks professionally made. How did you do it?"

"What about Widow?"

"Spider silk," I replied. In my head, I could tell that I suddenly had Damascian's total attention. "The armor plates are made from chitin and shells glued together. The silk is knife proof and possibly bullet proof." I chuckled sadly. "Not that it matters, now. I'm bulletproof without it."

"Oh, I like that."

"Skitter, you dipshits!"

The reminder sent the heroes back into their weird funk, and they shifted uneasily while looking to Armsmaster for direction. The Protectorate leader, on the other hand, was muttering subvocally into his communicator, though I doubted that his attention left my seated form for long.

Battery broke the silence, nodding once at an unheard command. "Well, we have a van coming to pick all of these guys up. Can you give us a statement, and maybe tell us about your powers?"

"I recommend against revealing your secrets," Damascian said, pushing some memories of her clustermates to the foreground of my consciousness. One of them was a Protectorate cape, and constantly made trouble for the Teeth during her tenure. If the muted, angry rumblings were any indication, the others agreed.

"I control insects," I said, looking down at a group of cockroaches scurrying past Quarrel's corpse. "Not a very heroic power."

"What's your range, and maximum number you can control?" Armsmaster prodded.

"A few blocks, and I haven't found a ceiling yet," I replied. The heroes glanced around uneasily at my explanation, yet another reminder of my current situation.

"It's a shame you can't see through their senses," Stratego mused.

"I've tried. It gives me a headache." As though to prove the point, I focused on the sounds that my swarm could detect with whatever auditory senses they had; to my surprise, it was somewhat less confusing than the last time I had tried it. Still unintelligible, but I felt that there was… something?

"Does the pain blocking work on Thinker headaches?" Alkaline asked, but Ironsides shrugged.

"I'm… not actually sure." They descended into quiet conversation.

"Well, we wish you the best of luck," Assault said, only Battery to hiss, "Assault!"

"What?" he said, sounding genuinely concerned. "Haven't had a hero Butcher in a while, and she seems to be doing pretty good so far."

I jerked my head up at his response, and all four heroes twitched at the sudden movement. "Wait… I can still be a hero?"

Once again, the Butchers were laughing at me — I had a feeling that I would need to get used to that behavior — but the heroes weren't much better. They looked guilty and awkward, only managing a response after a minute of tense silence. Armsmaster shifted the grip on his halberd and said, "I'm not sure you appreciate the difficulty with that, Butcher —"

"Don't call me that," I hissed, then immediately brought a hand to my mouth. Had I just interrupted a famous Protectorate hero?

"Well, if you don't like any of our suggestions, ask Chisel or Sanguine for ideas," Alkaline complained. A moment's thought pulled them out, and to my surprise they weren't particularly nasty. Not that they were saints, to be fair, but Chisel was levelheaded while Sanguine was kind of easy going.

For serial murderers, that was.

"This is wild," Sanguine said. "You're going to drive ol' Butcher nuts!"

"And we might get something productive done if we don't have to yell over each other," Chisel continued. "That being said, what about Weaver? It's suitably heroic while making people think 'spiders'. Plus it ties in nicely with how you constructed your badass armor."

Stratego rumbled in agreement. "It avoids describing your power, which gives away a huge tactical advantage."

"She's Butcher XV, dumbass!" Ironsides barked. "Literally everyone is going to know how her power works tomorrow, because she told the damn heroes!"

I swatted at the irate disembodied voice and focused on Chisel's suggestion. Weaver was… definitely a less edgy name than anything else they had suggested, and it did actually sound vaguely heroic. I wasn't pleased that I was using a name picked by the Butcher, of all things, but it was the best I had heard yet.

"Call me Weaver, instead."

"That's a nice name," Battery said, giving me a pained smile.

Assault rubbed his chin in thought. "Which one came up with that name? It's pretty good, actually."

"Chisel," I replied. "Uh, Butcher VIII. I've got most of them muted, since they're mostly just screaming incoherently at me."

"Muted?" Armsmater asked, genuinely surprised. "That's not possible. If this is some elaborate prank…"

"April Fools Day ended twenty minutes ago, Armsy," Assault said. "I don't think any of us are laughing."

I flexed on the myriad metaphorical muscles in my head, activating Alkaline's power and filling my cupped palm with liquid from the hammerspace. "Oh for fuck's sake," I yelled, spilling the fucking blood on the ground and wiping my hand vigorously. "Blood? What the hell, Quarrel? Why couldn't the Butcher have pleasant powers? Although… I suppose I fit right in."

Chisel, who had been conversing quietly with Damascian, snorted at that. "Given that we don't have to listen to Butcher's screeching, Fester's bitching, or Knockout's boasting, I'd say your power is pretty nice, Taylor."

As though to prove that point, I stopped trying to scrub the fresh bloodstains from my costume and simply summoned a small swarm to eat the stuff right off of the fabric. Then I finally pushed myself to my feet, ignoring how the heroes took a coordinated step backwards from me. "So, um, what now? I guess you're not going to give me the Wards pitch…"

"No, we're not," Armsmaster replied. "But you seem to have things, ah, under control, so why don't you tell us what happened here?"

I described the fight from my point of view, which prompted another round of annoyed yelling in the back of my head, but that was already calming down to the point that I could tell that the past Butchers were really not pleased by the fact that I could ignore them. However, even the more level headed ones were quick to offer trigger-happy commentary, and I had to push both Damascian and Ironsides down after they tried to convince me to execute the remaining ABB forces while I had the heroes' attention.

"One thing that you're going to learn is that leaving your enemies alive just gives them another chance to fuck you up," Alkaline observed, and Stratego rumbled in agreement.

"I'm a hero," I retorted, cutting off my explanation of where Vex and other Teeth fled. "We're not killing everyone."

Chisel rolled her metaphorical eyes. "They were trying to kill kids. And you can communicate mentally with us, you know."

I can?

"Uh, Weaver?"

"You ruined it!" Sanguine laughed. "I wanted to see how long it would take her to figure it out."

Oh fuck you too!

"Weaver?"

"Huh?" I said, finally noticing Assault waving his hand at me.

"We're basically done here," Battery interjected, though I noticed that Armsmaster seemed to be rather agitated concerning the limp form of Lung strapped to the back of his motorcycle. "You can go, if you want."

I wasn't really in a rush to head home, all things considered, but I still hadn't unmuted more than half of the voices in my head and the last thing I wanted was for dad to start asking questions. "Uh, okay. I think I'm going to try out the teleport, which is kind of loud."

"Pyro is insufferable about how great her power is," Alkaline said. "Unfortunately, I agree."

"We know," Assault laughed. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, kid. Don't forget that, and good luck."

I nodded in thanks, then felt out the phantom sensation that allowed me to teleport, and my head spun for a second. Hey guys… can I really use my bugs to target the teleport? I didn't bother waiting for a reply, taking a not-step that twisted my normal senses around as it left me in a ring of expanding heat. It took me the better part of two blocks in an instant.

"The implications…" Stratego breathed. The others murmured in agreement.

I teleported a few more times just for my own amusement before walking the rest of the way home.

Author's Notes:

The current plan is to upload a chapter every few days till we get through arc 1. After that we plan to settle into weekly uploads going forward.

Last edited: Jan 10, 2022

1297

Pendragoon

Jan 9, 2022

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Threadmarks Inheritance 1.2

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Pendragoon

Pendragoon

She/Her

Jan 11, 2022

#95

Saturday, April 2nd 2011

"The Butcher can't be a fucking hero!"

I was so glad today was a Saturday.

Being a Noctis cape was a huge boon, too, as I had been up all night dealing with the raging assholes in my brain who were dead-set on making my life miserable. Case in point, I had to push Marauder back down into the dark, joining Fester, Quarrel, and Butcher in their mostly-silenced, obscenity-laden screeching.

"Maybe they should use their time in isolation to improve their rhetorical technique," Damascian said with vicious satisfaction. "We're clearly not changing Taylor's mind."

"Don't pretend that you're not enjoying this, bitch," Ironsides snapped. "The Teeth —"

"Almost went broke when Quarrel stopped selling Tinkertech," Chisel cut in. "Damascian might not have wanted the job, but at least she didn't try to hire Jack Slash."

Sabertooth literally growled at that. "It made sense at the time."

"No it fucking didn't, you moron!" Pyromaniac yelled.

"You're just angry he wouldn't firebomb the PRT headquarters," Stratego replied, "which made even less sense."

Shut the hell up!

To both my and my mental roommates' surprise, most of them actually did shut up, though there was residual grumbling that I chose to ignore. In the several hours since I had come home and snuck back into my room, I had slowly let off of the pressure on the other voices and tried to get a feeling for how they reacted to being stuck in the head of a hero.

Generally, they were pissed.

Extremely pissed.

But the threat of being muted was apparently very real for them, as their entire existence now consisted of watching through the current host's senses and trying to convince them to go along with their own goals. To do that, they needed to be able to talk, and being stuck down in the dark meant that I could mostly ignore anything that they said.

I was already getting rather pissed off at the muffled stream of curses and insults.

In fact, I was pissed off enough that I had started pacing and cracking my knuckles, two habits that I had slipped into so naturally that it wasn't until one of the Butchers made an offhand remark that I realized that I didn't usually do either of those things.

Well… this is my life, now.

In an attempt to stop fidgeting, I had tried to get a handle on Chisel's power by practicing reshaping pencils from my desk. Whenever I activated her power, my mind was filled with details about the materials comprising the object I was changing. The actual reshaping was a bit like playing with putty… just with my mind. In fact, it was almost like moving big swarms of bugs, if they were all stuck together somehow.

The other power I had experimented with was Quarrel's accuracy power, much to the displeasure of its owner. Her power felt stretchy, somehow, which I discovered by flicking beetles at other bugs. Space bent and twisted to ensure the projectiles hit, and attempting to have the bugs fly off the path resulted in them spinning in headache-inducing ways to ensure they reached the end of the 'tube.'

Then I found myself with a knife-shaped pencil, rolling it on the backs of my fingers, and I was once again reminded how my life was about to become vastly more complicated.

A quick glance at my clock revealed that it was nearly nine o'clock in the morning, which meant that Dad was likely to be up soon since he slept in on weekends. I had spent nearly six hours arguing with the previous Butchers, and while my resolve had not wavered (much, holy hell could they be annoying), I had made a few concessions about my heroics for the Butchers' mostly willing help.

Specifically, if I avoided the Teeth, they would use their several decades of experience to help me take down the other gangs.

Under any other circumstances, accepting the help of thirteen crazed supervillains to take down another group of differently-crazed supervillains would have been completely absurd. I wasn't necessarily opposed to using whatever tool was available to me, but I sincerely doubted that the independent hero Weaver had much to offer a group like the Teeth.

"Hey, don't put yourself down, miss biblical plague —" Pyro started, only to be interrupted by Knockout.

"That's all she ever does!" he bellowed. "We'll be stuck here while Taylor loafs around hating herself —"

I punched him back down into the dark with a snarl. Anyone else want to comment on my life?

"Yes," Sabertooth said, so I muted him, too.

"How any of you managed to function as capes is a mystery to me," Damascian said, and I couldn't help but chuckle a bit to myself at the comment.

Still, the others seemed to understand, and so I could turn my full attention to my insects in the basement while the Butchers just complained quietly amongst each other. After so long creating my costume, it was almost second nature to direct my swarm of little workers to clean the blood off the gloves and do minor repair work on the scratches from falling over on the roof.

"Your power is absurd," Chisel mused, following the work herself. "Maybe you should have called yourself Queen, what with your army of bugs."

"I'm glad I can't feel nauseous because this is disgusting," Ironsides complained. "Did we have to do this before breakfast?"

"I could go for breakfast," I agreed, then froze — I had been trying not to respond to the voices out loud, for obvious reasons.

"Omelette?"

"Bacon sandwich!"

"Reheat pizza!"

"Don't call that shit 'pizza!'"

I wasn't expecting that level of enthusiasm from the others. You guys really like food, huh?

"YES!" came a chorus of agreement.

After some consideration — mostly to avoid cooking — I pulled out a few slices of pepperoni pizza and threw them into the microwave. Knockout and Alkaline started a surprisingly vitriol-laden argument when they saw the pizza in question, as the former was from Brooklyn and the latter loved deep-dish despite growing up in Boston. Out of pure, twisted curiosity, I let them rant and rave in my head, along with the others who tossed in the occasional comment or insult.

"… disgusting pizza soup! How am I supposed to hold the stuff in a fistfight?" Knockout bellowed.

"It's a ranged weapon! Get sauce in their eyes!" Alkaline retorted.

Stratego, of course, asked the natural question. "Why are you fighting in a pizza shop?"

"Clearly you've never been to New York," Damascian grumbled.

"Why not just eat the pizza first?"

"What was that, Taylor?"

The pizza argument was immediately forgotten in a howl of jeers and laughter as I spun around in my seat, finding my Dad standing in the door to the kitchen. He looked like he hadn't slept very much at all, with dark circles under his eyes and droopy, exhausted posture. Still, his expression perked up when I turned to face him, morphing into something strange and unreadable a moment later.

"Just, uh, thinking about breakfast," I said, stuffing one of the slices into my mouth before I accidentally spoke out loud again.

"See, you can use pizza to deflect things!" Alkaline laughed.

I had to turn away from Dad to avoid smiling too obviously while eating, which he luckily took as a sign to stop staring and shuffle into the kitchen. "So, Taylor," he said awkwardly, "you seem rather awake. Did you, uh, make coffee already?"

Right, being a Noctis cape meant that I was unnaturally alert in the morning. "Nope. I just slept well, I guess?"

Dad gave me a look that I couldn't quite figure out, then moved to the coffee pot. "Well, that's… good. Have any plans for today?"

"Feeling bad for your—" was as far as Fester got before I punched her into the void.

"If you want to go 'hero' tonight, at least practice with your new powers," Chisel advised.

"Not really?" I lied. "I want to drop by the library for some school stuff, then I might go for a walk."

"Just make sure you stay safe, Taylor," he said, brandishing this morning's newspaper alongside his coffee mug. I missed whatever he said next when I saw the headline:

Quarrel, Lung Killed in Cape Fight; ABB Leaderless, New Butcher in Town?

What?

I had killed Lung!?

The Butchers roared in approval in my head, offering congratulations that I barely heard despite their volume. Even Quarrel got in on the celebration, because no matter what happened afterwards, Lung had died to the Butcher. Lung, who had apparently fought an Endbringer?

"No joke," Stratego rumbled. "I met a cape who saw the battle."

I would have been just as thrilled had the Butcher in question not been me.

"Taylor?" Dad asked, jerking me out of my own mind. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just… surprised. Lung was a force of nature, you know?"

"As opposed to a biblical plague," Pyro snickered.

I winced slightly at the description of my powers, turning it into a grimace while standing up. "School on Monday will be interesting, I guess." Before Dad could ask any more awkward questions, I rushed up to my room.

I did actually spend two hours in the library, as I told Dad, but I spent it on the PHO wiki instead of homework. The Butchers had fought damn near everyone who could put up a fight at one point or another, but I wanted to refresh our collective knowledge of the local cape scene before I went back out.

One thing that all fifteen of us agreed on: I had been crazy lucky to survive last night. My total lack of preparedness should have been my undoing, and it was only Quarrel's single-minded bloodlust when it came to Lung that had kept me alive.

So while the Teeth had a pretty good idea about the local cape scene since showing up last summer, I didn't want to walk into my next fight as ignorant as before. At the Butchers' prompting, I had also studied the other heroes, since I would hopefully end up working with them. I pointedly ignored the taunts about fighting the heroes, instead.

"Thank whatever gods constantly shit on Bet that Vista is a Ward," Knockout muttered while I was looking over the Wards.

Why does that matter?

Alkaline snorted. "Wards versus the Butcher? How bad does that look?"

"Taylor here didn't get the memo!" Fester sneered, but I only gave her a halfhearted shove. The irritating woman cackled, but I was rapidly becoming bored of her awful commentary. She was like Emma, except that I could actually do something to her. Well, I could do something to Emma, a lot of things actually. Especially now…

We looked over the rest of the Wards team, and apart from Clockblocker, there wasn't anyone we were particularly worried about. Browbeat and Aegis were meatheads; Kid Win could be dangerous but inexplicably wasn't. Shadow Stalker was annoying, but the Butchers had her number — the Ward was weak to electricity. Finally, there was Meteor, who set herself on fire and then mirrored damage onto her attacker as burns. She would also be annoying.

As I closed the computer up and left the library for the Docks, the Butchers' advice rattled around in my head. As a general rule of thumb, Masters and Thinkers were high priority targets in cape combat, and the others had decided that I counted as both.

To demonstrate the point, they were having me tag everyone in my range with bugs, which in turn fed into Stratego's battle analysis power. It was surprisingly easy to use, as I had discovered last night — the flood of information about ambush points, retreat routes, attack patterns, and everything else slotted right into my head with the positions of all of my bugs.

"How? Seriously, how? You're processing everything simultaneously! There's more than a million bugs in your swarm!" the Thinker himself complained.

"You could fight blindfolded!" Knockout cheered. "I want to see the looks on their faces!"

Alkaline rolled her eyes. "How can you see with the blindfold?"

"Fuck you!" he bellowed back, but I was too caught up in wrapping my mind around Stratego's power to care about the ensuing argument. By the time I found a sufficiently empty warehouse in the heart of the Docks that was unlikely to be discovered randomly by any passerbys, almost all of the voices were shouting and yelling like I had just inherited.

Quiet! I snapped, and wonders of wonders, they did. Mostly.

"We don't —" Butcher tried, and I put my foot down before he could get anything else out.

"So, power testing. What first?"

The resulting silence was deafening.

"Knockout's super strength is due to his force fields," Damascian offered.

"You bitch!" the brawler in question yelled, and I punched him back down into the dark.

"Explain."

Over the next few hours, I started to get a handle on some of the less immediately destructive among my new powers. Knockout possessed a fairly versatile close-range force field, which usually wrapped his body (and thus increased his strength) but could be formed into dinner plate-sized discs to block projectiles. The super strength part was… dangerously hard to feel, actually — it was like noticing my clothes. The shields, on the other hand, manifested around me with a spatial sense similar to knowing something was nearby because my hair brushed it. Except the hairs were a foot long and stood straight out from my body.

Fester's power, on the other hand, felt like slime oozing from my hands. There was none of the feedback of Chisel's power, thankfully; things just broke down into black smoke and drifted away. It was telling that the power didn't feel any different to use on people or objects, according to the more helpful Butchers.

Alkaline's power, surprisingly, had a lot more control than I had originally determined. Pooling blood in my hand was as simple as willing it out of the hammerspace. Adjusting the flow rate and shaping the output into a spray were considerably more difficult, and it felt like I was grasping one of the invisible ends of Quarrel's space-warped tubes. With my mind.

I played with Sabertooth's animal-morphing power a bit, but it had weakened significantly when Pyromaniac took over. Worse, I had to use the collective's memories to actually use it, as I needed to know exactly what I wanted to change and I didn't know very much about animals. Pointed predator's teeth and big cat claws ended up being easy, eagle eyes harder, and actual wings nearly impossible.

All the while, the collective made snide remarks on my ability to use their powers. Their commentary, however, only strengthened my resolve to use all of these powers for good.

My second night out in costume was, at least so far, dramatically better than my first. Given that Lung was dead, it was impossible for tonight to be worse, but the Butchers had (somewhat begrudgingly) helped me put together a plan that went beyond 'send in the bugs and pray.' Specifically, I was going to hit a loaded ABB safehouse in a boarded-up grocery store that I had scouted out with my bugs earlier in the day, and if I did things correctly, I wouldn't even be in danger.

Unfortunately, as I had discovered last night the teleport did not lend itself to stealth. Thus, I had to climb up to the roof of the store across the street from my target under my own power. Of course, with the super strength, durability, endurance, and regeneration, I barely noticed the strain. It was almost a slap in the face that all of my morning runs had amounted to nothing, but I was happy to grasp any silver-lined straws that I could get my hands on.

"I hate this stealthy shit," Pyro complained, as she had been doing all night. "Just set it all on fire and be done with it!"

Instead of offering a retort, I focused on creeping across the roof, crouched down so that I wouldn't inadvertently give away my position. In reality, I didn't need to be this close — my range was almost four blocks — but I didn't want to teleport in blind if the raid went sideways. More importantly, while the Butchers howled for blood in my head, they were my powers now and I was going to do things the way I wanted.

"You all underestimate good strategy," Stratego said with a sagely tone. "You won't be disappointed once the last domino falls."

"So you keep saying," Knockout whined. "It's getting old, some of us want to jump into the action already!"

"If you punch one of them, maybe he'll shut up," Chisel added. I rolled my eyes and pushed them all aside so I could focus on my plan.

I knew from the beginning that getting the Butchers' help with my heroic activities was going to include a great deal of dismissing less-than-heroic suggestions. The only way that this was going to work was if I could rein all of those impulses in, demonstrating that I had restraint and strategy to go with the powers instead of violence, shows of force, and more violence.

I could do this, collective metaphorical eye-rolling in my head or no.

In the store, my bugs were providing me with an excellent real-time mental image of the layout, the thugs, and where the goods were located. They were listening, too, giving me information on who was talking or the general noise level even if I couldn't make out individual words.

Stratego's giggles were an ominous rumble in my head.

Another advantage I had was that the Protectorate hadn't announced how Lung and Quarrel died, just that they did. I was sure their higher level reports contained a full dossier on me by this point, but the ground level grunts probably didn't know about my bugs yet.

"Could just grab one of the dumbasses and work them over a bit if you really want to find out what they know," Fester suggested with unrestrained glee. "Nothing makes a man sing quite like having his dick rot o—"

I slammed her back into the dark even as she cackled the whole way, but the memories she had shoved to the front of my mind lingered like the smell of rotting garbage. Several of the Butchers seemed to find particular enjoyment with dredging up their most depraved moments and showing me, though I had discovered that the worst memories were not always the insane violence.

No, the worst was knowing that my mother would have — and had — bought Fester a beer while they had both worked for Lustrum. My cursed inheritance had even stuck its slimy tentacles into my memories of Mom, who had apparently been bi and rather adventurous in her youth. Even though I desperately wanted to hear her voice, it wasn't worth… everything else.

"We actually tried to talk Fester into tracking Annette down after she inherited," Sanguine said in a horribly fake seductive tone, so I slammed him down alongside her.

Next one to suggest anything involving my mother gets to spend a week in the dark!

Miracles of miracles, they all dropped the subject.

"Can we just get this over with already?" Marauder complained, and while I was loath to let him order me around, he had a point.

So, I reached out to the swarm I had been collecting in the walls of the old building and had it descend on the people inside. Shouts of alarm turned into screams of pain and horror almost immediately, despite the fact that I was being very careful to keep my bugs from actually injecting their venom when they bit the gangsters. The bites and stings were certainly painful enough that I felt no need to risk another Quarrel situation when I only had three epipens on me.

Of the twenty six men and three women working in the now un-safehouse, ten of them simply collapsed to the ground and tried to shield themselves from the swarm. The rest panicked, followed by most of them running into the silk triplines I had set up in the hallway and doors. Eight of the gangsters managed to escape by trampling their friends that had discovered those triplines, and my swarm gave a half-hearted attempt to follow them.

I watched from my rooftop as black bands of bugs chased the men before dispersing back into the environment. Those gangsters that remained of the formerly mobile were curled into the fetal position, so I covered them with my swarm to remind them I was there even as my spiders began to bind them up.

"Was… was it really that easy?" Butcher, of all the voices, asked. "Christ kid, you just took out an entire safehouse in seconds, without even lifting a fucking finger!"

"Holy fuck…" Marauder muttered. "That was fucking beautiful."

I ignored the chatter in my head about how terrifying and beautiful my power was as I set the rest of my swarm to work. My spiders were using silk to bind the individual bills while my fliers worked together to ferry the money outside. My bugs deposited the cash into the duffel bag next to me, and I was astounded how quickly it was adding up. I was glad I listened when the chorus said I'd need that second bag.

Five minutes later I'd emptied the building of any cash I could find and decided it was time to get down there and clean up. My first move was to carve myself an entrance using Chisel's power on the locked door, then I gathered up the bound gang members and left them in a pile on the front steps. I did another pass through the building to make sure everything was clear before preparing to destroy the drug stash.

"Hey wait a second, I know how you feel about this stuff, but that's a lot of money to toss away," Sanguine tried.

I don't care. You aren't going to talk me into reselling this shit, and I'm not using it either.

Pyromaniac's explosive teleport wasn't hot enough to set most stuff on fire, but using it point-blank next to a stack of powder wrapped in plastic was enough to set the stash ablaze. Of course, the flaw in my plan was made evident when the fires started to spread almost instantly.

"HAHAHAHA! YES! BURN!" Pyromaniac cackled.

My first instinct was to call the fire department, which garnered annoyed grumbling from the Butchers. They never cared about collateral damage, but I had to be better than them. An almost subconscious search of my costume yielded no cell phone with which to call the authorities, a fact that was made all the more obvious by the Butchers laughing at me.

"Seriously, what kid doesn't have a cell phone these days?" Marauder sneered.

"Your former adversaries will likely possess one," Damascian pointed out. "And it will give you the chance to save them from imminent immolation."

A convenient bug let me teleport into the middle of the street, only to discover that the webbed-up ABB goons were in the process of being freed by reinforcements, all of whom had knives and looked like they would rather be anywhere else. My swarm was mostly depleted — note to self, bring more offensive bugs in the future — so I switched to one of my much less flashy and more pedestrian ways to stop crime.

That is to say, I punched them.

Following instincts that I definitely had never developed, I practically launched myself towards the cluster of gang members. My right hook caught the first target directly in the ribs, and I nearly tripped in horror when he was sent flying.

"Kay! Ohh!" Knockout bellowed.

"More like FATALITY!" Marauder answered.

Right, I had a half dozen Brute packages mixed in with the rest of my powers. I could probably kill a man with a well placed flick of my pinky finger if I really wanted to; a memory of Knockout doing just that quietly slipped into mind. Suddenly I felt sick — I'd almost certainly just killed someone by accident because of this damn inheritance.

"Oh boo hoo, not like it would be the first time for you," Quarrel mocked. "Won't be the last time you kill someone either. Grow up, you snivelling baby."

"Just throw the corpse into the fire. They'll never know!" Pyromaniac said with a wink.

Their jeers were bad, but it was Chisel's calm commentary that sent chills down my spine. "Taylor, you won't be able to keep this charade going for much longer, not if you keep making mistakes like that. The heroes will never forgive you."

I pushed them all aside as I tried to focus on the fight and being nonlethal. I delivered a weak kick to a leg, hoping that would be enough to put them down without grievous injury, but the sound of snapping bones told me that wasn't happening. Turning to the three remaining men, I let out a sigh and hit them with Butcher's pain projection. They screamed in agony, but such a limited burst shouldn't cause any long term damage. At least I hoped it didn't.

Looking at the aftermath of my efforts, I let out a weary sigh and hurried over to the man I'd first punched. He was still alive, but in bad shape. Sanguine's power practically leapt to my fingers when I touched his bloody form, revealing just how much damage I had caused with my negligence.

He was, politely, fucked up pretty bad.

However, he would probably survive if the paramedics got here soon, so I quickly rifled through the pockets of the pain-blasted goons and found a cell phone. I called 911 and let them know about the burning building and injured gang members — which reminded me to move the stack of goons away from said burning building — before teleporting back up to the roof where I had stashed the money.

As I hoisted the duffle bags of cash, it occurred to me that tonight was still arguably better than my first night out.

Author's Notes:

Pen: I am particularly proud of tying Fester to Annette through Lustrum's movement as it has led to some hilarious moments and took the character from just the annoying bitch that Taylor constantly mutes into someone that actually grows on her, even if she is a disgusting perv.

Last edited: Jan 12, 2022

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Pendragoon

Jan 11, 2022

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Pendragoon

Pendragoon

She/Her

Jan 13, 2022

#144

Sunday, April 3rd 2011

I needed a phone. Of my numerous issues from last night, getting a cell phone was the most easily fixed. Later, I could find a place I could start working on controlling my new strength, or maybe even start Tinkering. Hitting that safehouse last night netted me over a hundred grand; it was insane to think about having that much money, but I had counted it twice. Now I just had to figure out a believable way to help Dad with the bills.

I don't think he would appreciate me handing him one of the duffels now in our coal chute with a smile and a wink. Though, the look on his face would be all kinds of priceless.

"The man has turned obliviousness into an art form. You would be astounded by what escapes his notice," Damascian said.

"Totally, kid. Just leave a fat stack of cash under his pillow, he won't have a clue!" Butcher suggested, and I shoved him down into the abyss. The bastard always threw out the ideas that would lead to me being outed.

"Can't say that I blame him," Pyromaniac complained. "Last night was cool and all, but your life is boring as shit."

Sorry to disappoint.

I really wasn't. Hell, in some ways, it felt like a civic duty to disappoint the voices in my head. Today, that meant shopping on the boardwalk, but I was also going to scout for a safe place for my workshop. I'd considered the boat graveyard, but the absolutely enthusiastic prompting from the peanut gallery suggested that was a sure-fire way to encounter people I would rather avoid at the moment.

So, cell phones first. Following the Butchers' memories, I grabbed a nicer touchscreen model for my primary number. It stung, a little, to break the rules about cell phones, but I was already hiding six figures worth of cash from Dad — nevermind that I was the motherfucking Butcher. Compared to that, buying a cell phone was practically nothing.

Three basic, prepaid flip phones joined the fancier illicit device in my basket as I went to the register. Due to the sketchy nature of buying burner phones, I had put my hair in a braid and donned heavy sunglasses to obscure my identity a bit. At the same time, there were enough capes working out of the Bay that most retailers knew not to ask questions about purchases like this.

"More like the Teeth would remind them why they didn't ask questions," Sabertooth said, and I could practically see his predatory grin. "If they give you any lip, maybe they could use a similar reminder."

I rolled my mental eyes at him and gave him a shove into the dark. He wasn't really wrong, and I had the memories to back it up, but I didn't want to encourage them to keep suggesting non-heroic actions.

Once I finally had my new phones in my pockets, it was nearly lunchtime and I was getting hungry. Given the Butchers' enthusiasm and varied opinions about food, I could channel their desire for control into something mostly harmless — letting them vote on what to eat. Discussion was a dramatic step forward from their usual shouting and struggling, so I let them argue in the back of my mind while I sat on a bench and explored my new smartphone.

"Taylor, pay attention. Hottie checking you out."

I glanced up at Fester's prompting and saw a very attractive blonde girl with her hair in a similar braid to mine, piercing bottle green eyes, and adorable freckles…

Wait, adorable?

I was too shocked by the thought to control my eyes, which reflexively flicked up and down her figure, lingering on her —

Then my brain re-engaged, and I sighed externally while rounding on the others in my head. Great, so I like girls now too? Some warning would have been nice.

The chorus snickered at me, and Chisel shrugged her metaphorical shoulders. "What? A bunch of us are either straight men or lesbians. Broadening your sexual horizons is just another perk of the job, as most Butchers end up bi, but I've seen your memories of Emma before the cuntstain stabbed you in the back. A pound of coke says you would have hooked up by now if she hadn't."

Chisel's explanation was so calm and straightforward that it took me a second to process the implications, and in the meantime I found myself looking over the girl again. My first impression was right — she was fairly attractive. Her dark blouse was simple and tasteful, clearly high quality but not in a way that flaunted it. Similarly, her skirt and leggings were professional and likely quite comfortable.

"Those leggings, the hint of thigh, oh she has to know what that does to a girl," Pyro swooned.

"Never mind what we could do to her," Sabertooth growled.

"You should go say hi, show her a good time," Ironsides suggested.

You idiots aren't being subtle.

"Duh, we want to get laid," Knockout said.

"So get over there and do what it takes to fuck her already!" Butcher demanded.

I shoved them away even as the others continued to throw their own opinions of the girl into the mix, pointing out the features they liked, or what they wanted me to do to her. I was pushing them down with each comment but it was almost like playing whack-a-mole.

"Watch her eyes," Stratego rumbled suddenly, deadly serious. "She's got more going on up there than she's letting on."

"What, you think she's a cape?" Marauder snickered.

"It's possible," Knockout said, and the others' attention all turned to him. "What? Brawl enough, and you learn to look for those sorts of tells."

"Which you would promptly ignore," Alkaline retorted, and I pushed the ensuing argument into the back of my mind. Then I met the gaze of the possibly-cape in question, noting the minute flicker of her eyes as she took in every detail about me. As an extra precaution, I switched to bloodsight, trusting my sunglasses to hide that I'd done so. Nevertheless, as soon as I activated the power, she took a sharp gasp and her heart rate spiked.

"I was right, as usual," Stratego declared. "Almost certainly a Thinker of some sort."

Now that 'checking out cute girl' had become 'cape combat in civilian clothes,' there were a number of ways things could go down. The safest option was for her to turn around and walk away; in my predecessors' case, they might have thrown a smirk or a wink. One of us could also attack, which would be disastrous for both of us.

I certainly didn't expect her to go bug eyed, drop her latte, and flee into the crowd as fast as she could.

"Muahahaha!" Alkaline cheered, echoing the rest of the collective. "Never had someone run before we even did anything!"

Shut up, I said, giving everyone a shove. She may have just outed me! I was vaguely aware of my bugs twitching wildly in my worry and irritation, but I might have just lost my secret identity, never mind my nature as Butcher XV.

"For fuck's sake, she was so scared of you that she showed her hand and ran away. She's not going to out you," Fester complained. "Now, can we get food already?"

I still took a minute to calm down, forcing my bugs to relax as well as getting my own breathing under control. There wasn't anything I could do immediately, so I put both Fester's surprising usefulness and the girl herself out of my mind and focused on the immediate issue. Fine, food. Where are we going?

"Pizza," Alkaline tried, but I cut her off.

Nope, not falling for that one again. Specify crust type, sauce and toppings minimum when discussing pizza. We all agreed to that rule after last night's disaster.

It turned out that knocking over an ABB safehouse was hungry work, and I'd been suspicious when the voices were all in agreement over getting pizza. I should have listened to my instincts, because once we were inside the only open joint in that end of the city, the entire chorus began to fight over the various options. I ended up muting the lot of them and leaving with what they had pre-made for walk-ins.

Nobody was satisfied that night.

"Could always go for the Challenger. I was the last Butcher to have that pleasure," Sabertooth said. It was a tempting idea, and I wasn't lacking for money any more.

I'll save that one for another day, I'm trying to avoid attention right now.

"Is Chen's still open?" Reflex asked softly, stunning all of us. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. A quick search of the collective memories found that he hadn't said anything since Damascian was dealing with her clustermates.

I'm pretty sure it is. Any objections to this one?

I was pleasantly surprised when I got thirteen answers back. Chen's it was.

"As far as initial bases go… I've seen worse. This will be sufficient," Damascian said, trying to mask her distaste.

I didn't believe her for a moment. The warehouse was a dump, but there were plenty of leftover bits of machinery to use and enough floor space for me to practice in. Picking a place by the Dockworkers' offices let me keep an eye on dad, and even provided a tiny bit of security in the form of out-of-work dockworkers.

Out of the handful of places I scouted over the last hour, this was probably the most secure option that needed the least work. The only other place worth a damn was within range of what I was fairly certain was a villain's lair. It was also in ABB territory and risked being ransacked by either the Teeth or Empire as they moved in.

The downside to this one? There was a small but finite chance that I would run into my dad. When the Teeth had returned last summer, the resulting clusterfuck had lit a fire under the Dockworkers to organize some self-defense for their tiny slice of the city. Several of the Butchers remembered a time when they had to threaten longshoremen to ship illegal goods, and it seemed like the remnants of the group were not so eager to be on the receiving end of that again.

Ironically, the Teeth had inadvertently made the area around dad's office safer by taking out the Merchants at the beginning of their conquest of the Bay. Skidmark's abrupt demise had been the end of gang activity in the area, as the Teeth had little need of boats until they were much more established in the city. On the flip side, there was a small chance that someone in the DWA would poke their nose into my workshop out of curiosity.

"Vex turned Skidmark into salsa, shit was hilarious," Fester cackled, reminding me just how the Merchants' leader had died.

The image was… slightly disturbing, but I didn't push her away. I had seen the damage the Merchants had done, even as a small gang of glorified vermin, and I had no sympathy for Skidmark. Launching himself through a jumble of Vex's force fields as he tried to run away was exactly the end he deserved.

As soon as I had set foot within range of the building, I had directed a sizable swarm to gather inside, pulling them in from all around the Docks, and promptly set them to work. It was rather amusing to have bugs removing old cobwebs and sweeping dust; a cleaning crew of unparalleled precision. Once I was satisfied that my 'workshop' space was clean enough, I set down my bags and began to pull out some of my earlier purchases.

"Couldn't you have bought less shitty knives?" Chisel complained. "Just touching them feels like an insult to a proper blade."

"I am quite sure Taylor will forge a peerless armory of her own," Damascian said with a chuckle.

That's part of the plan at least. I swear you spoiled them with how much they're bitching.

Damascian really had spoiled them, for all that she had not wanted to be the Butcher in the first place. A dozen cheap knives — and one rather nice blade — set me back more than five hundred dollars, none of which could hold a candle to what I could make now. A touch of Chisel's power helped refine and reinforce the mass-produced blades, but it was like putting a bandaid on a disemboweled…

Damnit.

The Butchers all laughed at me for letting my thoughts drift in line with their own. With all their collective memories floating around, I found myself using unpleasant metaphors and turns of phrase even worse than what I occasionally wanted to do to Emma. I was no stranger to holding my tongue or staying my hand (and swarm), but the Butchers really made me work to not slip into their own bad habits.

"Just go back to the Teeth, you could avoid all the prep work needed." Ironsides sent memories of Quarrel's workshop, and the dozens of knives and arrowheads, the custom guns, not to mention the already built bow she had as a backup…

Nope, not happening!

The collective groaned as I focused instead on my immediate priorities. The first of those was to remove the prescription lenses from my mask, followed by extending it around the back of my head to allow only a braid or ponytail instead of all of my hair. Chisel's power could handle the tasks easily, but I still needed to make new panels of the material to reshape.

"Just make a helmet from scratch," Chisel said. "It would likely be less work at this point and with my power, wouldn't take much longer than reworking your current mask."

"You could also buy some safety glasses to remake the lenses," Alkaline added.

She wasn't wrong. New project for another day then. I set the mask aside, making a mental note to look into the materials.

The next thing was to make a Tinkertech sharpener for my substandard knives, since making a full set would require a forge at the very least. I also took the opportunity to practice pulling my punches, hitting oil drums until I could consistently only leave dents behind. I then put a bit of reinforcement into the back of my costume, made harnesses for the knives, and started sketching ideas for a new bow, but after all of that I still had two hours until Dad expected me home.

I swept the leg out from the man in ABB colors and then spiked him into the asphalt. The collective cheered, but I was too caught up in the rush of the fight to care or notice. The man had only bounced once when my danger sense flared — the prickling, almost stinging pressure on the in-danger part of my body was amazingly straightforward. When I teleported to escape the incoming projectile, I found a dumbass with a fucking RPG launcher. He had already fired before my reappearance knocked him and his friends around like bowling pins, resulting in a sizeable explosion where I had just been standing.

Fuck the Empire with a rusty rake. Stopping this gang fighting shit was why I became a hero.

Most of the (mobile) goons fled their makeshift barricade when I arrived, so I sent my swarm after them while quickly zip-tying the stragglers and stacking them in the corner. With the ongoing firefight, I probably wasn't as gentle as I should have been with my prisoners.

"Eh, fuck 'em, they're Nazis," Sanguine said.

Working on it.

Another teleport dropped me among the ABB that were still putting up a fight. I did my best to pull punches and hold back my strength, but with Stratego's memories of martial arts, they never stood a chance regardless. Much as I was loath to admit it (and as useful as bug control was), there was something satisfying about getting up close and hands on.

"See! Now just wait until you can do the same with blades! The rush is unlike any—"

I slammed Marauder back into the dark. The Butchers had adopted a pretty transparent strategy — slowly introducing me to more and more violent memories so I would get used to the idea of hurting people. However, despite knowing what they were trying to do, I really couldn't be squeamish about breaking bones. I drew the line at dismemberment and slaughter, because I refused to become a murderer.

"Oh but Taylor, you already are," Quarrel sneered, sending me her dying moments, seeing my own mask looking back at me as she couldn't breathe. I shoved her away, too.

Memories of Lung then came unbidden: his barely breathing form, the headlines the following morning… Two lives I had ended. They were right, damnit, but I wasn't going to let that be a justification to add more to the tally. I wasn't going to become another Butcher. I was Weaver, and I was going to be a Hero.

"Keep telling yourself that, brat." I stomped Butcher into the void just as I stomped on one of the ABB grunts and felt ribs shatter.

Shit, not this again.

I ignored the muted cheers in the back of my mind, focusing on the gang member wheezing painfully at my feet. My kick had likely punctured his lungs at best, and he was probably going to drown on his own blood in short order. It was a terrible way to die, and —

Wait, blood.

As I had done the night before, Sanguine's power informed me about just how much internal bleeding I had accidentally wrought on my target. Like the bloodsight, it was easy to see big puddles of blood. Trying to focus on the details of his circulatory system, however, gave me far too much information about… everything. Veins, arteries, vessels, organs — my head spun as I tried to find and fix all of the places where blood was leaking. It was sobering to know how devastating a single kick could be to an unpowered goon, which only spurred on my panicked, ham-fisted attempts at 'healing.'

"Does this mean you'll punch more people if you can just put them back together?" Knockout asked with glee.

I pushed him down as I considered what I could do with this newfound power application. Maybe I could go work with Panacea at the hospital?

"Please don't," Pyromaniac groaned. "I hate hospitals with a passion."

"The smell of antiseptic makes me want to vomit," Alkaline added, supplying a memory from her trigger event that made me wince.

I'm not a fan of them either, alright? I just want to do something to help others that isn't punching people or blowing shit up.

"Or drowning them in spiders and bees?" Fester provided with a snicker.

While I had been frantically trying to undo my own lethal mistakes, my bugs had successfully run down the stragglers and remaining combatants. My spiders got to work binding their arms and legs, and I had flies checking them over for injuries that might be dangerous. A few had gunshot wounds that I treated with a hemokinetic touch. The second time was easier, possibly because I was expecting the rush of information.

Sanguine, your power is awesome!

I could feel him preen at the praise. "Damn right it is! I just wish I'd thought of using it like this, so many good Teeth might have pulled through instead of becoming meat."

Rest assured, I'll be getting a lot of use out of it.

"Yeah, by being a pansy ass little—"

My danger sense flared and I reflexively teleported up to one of the nearby rooftops. An instant later, a crossbow bolt shot through the space I had previously been occupying and clattered against the asphalt. The Butchers roared in anger that someone would attack them in such a cowardly way, compounding my own anger and surprise that someone would shoot at a hero like me.

"What the hell!?" I snarled, unsheathing a knife while scanning through my bugs to see if I could find the attacker. A bug landed on someone crouched on the roof above where I had been standing, only to vanish for a moment and reappear further back from the edge.

"Shadow Stalker," Quarrel growled.

"Shit, the Wards. Fucking killjoys," Sabertooth complained.

"We need to leave, the heat for fighting them isn't worth it," Stratego insisted.

My mind reeled at the idea that I was being attacked by the heroes, something not helped by the Butchers offering unnecessary commentary about how I could deal with the ex-vigilante. Pushing them down into the dark took the edge off of my anger, and a few deep breaths later I was able to form a response without yelling. I'm not fighting the Wards. I'm a hero, remember?

"Yes, you're such a goody goody hero," Butcher said sardonically. "Tell that to the actual heroes."

Maybe I will, asshole!

I shoved the prick back into the dark as I scanned the area with my bugs, trying to determine if Shadow Stalker was here alone or on one of her off-the-books solo patrols. Damascian and Quarrel both had found the ex-vigilante annoying but manageable, and they both appreciated her unnecessarily violent takedowns.

My flies picked up someone in the air, and a quick check revealed Aegis in the distance, moving to catch up. Not a solo job, then. On the rooftops next to me, I saw space flex and warp as a tiny blonde in green made a mockery of physics alongside a hulking muscle man. That would make them Vista, the youngest yet longest-serving Ward, and Browbeat, a rather competent Brute who joined after an early run-in with the Teeth.

"Prepare your swarm. Shadow Stalker already tried to drop you once," Stratego advised. I gave him a mental nod as I did just that, keeping my bugs to the shadows where they wouldn't be noticed.

I wasn't particularly thrilled to be expecting an attack from other heroes, but at the same time I really couldn't argue with the crossbow bolt that had nearly gone into my back. Forcing down a residual spike of anger, I jumped up onto an air conditioning unit and gave the flying Ward captain a wave, my shadow stretching behind me like some huge monster in the setting sun.

"I think you broke him!" Pyromaniac cackled.

"Perfect opportunity!" "Shoot him!" "Take the bitch out!"

I forced all the voices away — I refused to let them ruin this for me, Shadow Stalker's attack or no. Aegis visibly snapped himself out of the shock of seeing me, and cautiously flew down to meet me. On the next rooftop over, my bugs found Shadow Stalker lurking behind her own ductwork. She had both crossbows pointed at me until I landed a wasp on each; I could barely pick up noise from her helmet before she promptly holstered them.

Space twisted again, depositing Vista and Browbeat on the far edge of the roof just as Aegis touched down between us. Between my own power, Quarrel's, and Pyromaniac's, I was very thankful for the pain immunity that kept me from getting headaches. It let me keep a strong posture when Shadow Stalker floated up.

"Careful of the brat," Pyromaniac warned. "She can fuck with my power."

She pushed the relevant memories forward; sifting through them took only moments, but a small detail nagged at me. I think she messes with the targeting, not the teleport itself.

Metaphorical eyes blinked back at me. "How the hell did none of us notice that?"

Probably because I use my bugs for spatial awareness instead of whatever your power is doing. It brought me an odd sense of pride that my powers, as awful as I first believed them to be, synergized so well with those of the other Butchers.

While I had been communicating with my peanut gallery, the Wards were talking to their own. They all took a few steps towards me — surprisingly, without too much hesitation — and I leaned on Stratego's power to get a read on their battle readiness from their postures. Aegis was all false confidence, and Browbeat was obviously using his powers to stay still, but Vista and Shadow Stalker almost seemed relaxed. Neither let their guard down, however — they were clearly ready for a fight.

"In what fucking world is the middle schooler the biggest threat?" Marauder grumbled.

Wasn't Alkaline only a bit older than me? I thought, which prompted a round of laughs from the others and annoyed ranting from Marauder.

"Weaver?" Aegis asked, cutting through my ongoing conversation. I nudged the Butchers back into the dark and shifted my focus back to the junior heroes. As a precaution, I had my swarm vibrate with my words to help mask my voice.

"Sorry about that, I was a bit distracted for a moment."

The tension in Aegis' shoulders increased ever so slightly, and even I had to admit that I sounded a bit creepy. The Butchers, of course, were laughing at how I clearly unnerved the heroes by just talking, but I was more focused on the fact that they were apparently expecting something like this from me.

Shadow Stalker's surprise attack made a bit more sense through that lens — after all, I was technically Butcher XV, and I still had to prove to them that I was a hero.

Ironsides gave me a mental nudge. "Keep a close eye on Vista and Stalker. One of the brat's favorite tactics is to twist space so that Clockblocker could freeze someone in place. I wouldn't be surprised to see them try that with Stalker's bolts."

Noted. I'll keep that in mind.

"We got a call about a gang shootout, lots of heavy weapons. I take it you dealt with them?" I could hear the nervousness in Aegis' voice, which was really not doing much for his appearance as a leader.

"Yeah, I came across them while on patrol," I said, hooking a thumb back towards the intersection that was still smoking from the battle. "Dumbasses brought an RPG with them, so I didn't get to be as gentle as I would have liked."

Aegis nodded. "Browbeat, Vista, go secure the scene and report in. Stalker, could you get a statement from Weaver?"

Another nauseating twist of space later, I was alone on the roof with one of the few Wards the Butchers had ever wanted to recruit. "You know, it's kind of rude to shoot other heroes in the back."

"It was a tranquilizer bolt, don't be such a baby," Stalker retorted. "Besides, you're the Butcher. I doubt it would do anything."

"Then… what?" Chisel murmured.

I relayed the sentiment. "Then why shoot at me?"

"Thought you were a villain," Stalker said with a shrug. "Your costume is badass, don't get me wrong, but I shoot first."

"Well, I don't disagree with that," Knockout said.

"She's just jealous," Ironsides added.

"And ask questions later?"

She crossed her arms, glaring at me behind her mask. "Meh, that's usually Aegis's job."

My retort was as flat as I could make it. "I can't imagine why. Afraid it will ruin your dark, mysterious image?"

To my surprise, the Ward bristled at the retort. "Look who's talking, Butcher —"

"Weaver," I said immediately and with extra swarm-voice. "My name is Weaver."

"Sure, whatever. So, how many of those bastards did you kill?"

"Not enough!" Fester yelled, earning a punch into the dark.

"None," I snapped.

"Funny, Aegis says that we've got enough dismembered limbs down there for at least two bodies, maybe three. Browbeat's about to lose their dinner, apparently."

I pointed down the street, where Vista was looking over the Empire group. "They were firing off RPGs, for fuck's sake! Of course some of them are dead!" My earlier anger boiled back up, not helped in the least by the voices in my head cheering me on for getting credit for more kills or shouting to attack Stalker. I kept pushing them down, but I was struggling to keep them muted with my rising fury breaking my focus.

"Convenient," she continued in that maddeningly smug voice. "So do you have a statement on how you maimed two dozen pieces of gang trash and got three others killed? You can be honest, since it's not like they would force you into the Wards."

Is this bitch trying to piss me off? It feels like she's trying to piss me off.

"Oh absolutely," Butcher agreed. "Maybe you should remind her why she should be pissing herself in fear of us instead."

"We would all prefer greatly if she didn't do that," Damascian retorted. "The smell is atrocious."

The incongruous statement jolted me out of my cycle of anger, and I released all of the tension that had been building in my body. Need for respect or no, I wasn't going to attack a Ward over something so juvenile when I was just barely starting my heroic career. Instead, I shrugged and said, "Armsmaster pretty much told me I wasn't welcome."

"What, you want a leash? Don't be an idiot," she scoffed. "You can actually accomplish something as an independent, and it's not like your PR can get any worse."

That brought me up short. "Excuse me?"

"You're the Butcher, and shit like this?" she said, gesturing around us. "This isn't heroic, not like the PRT wants. They want heroes who look good for the camera. Sure, I'll applaud you, but as soon as you break the legs of too many deserving assholes, bam — you'll be labeled a villain."

"She's not wrong," Alkaline said cheerfully. "I played the independent game for a while, too."

"Everyone with half of a brain knows how the PRT works," Sabertooth growled, and Ironsides continued his thought.

"The first two letters are the only important part!"

I shoved the voices away. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm stable, and I'm a hero. I'm actually putting all of these powers to good use! Would it really be so hard to just let me do my own thing?"

Shadow Stalker laughed, laughed, at my question. "That's the thing, none of them believe you're actually stable, just taking longer to crack than most. They're just hoping you take out as many other villain capes as you can before you go nuts."

"Independent capes of any variety are anathema to the PRT," Damascian said. "Look at Stalker herself."

"And she hasn't lied yet," Chisel added.

You're not helping. They snickered, but shut up.

"You don't have to be such a bitch about it," I grumbled aloud.

Stalker shrugged again, looking down to where the other Wards were working. "Eh, someone needs to tell you how the world works. No reason to sugar-coat it, especially not for you. Besides, I've got money on you dropping the charade by the weekend, but Meteor thinks you'll crack by Wednesday. Think you could hold out that long for me?"

"Go fuck yourself," I spat.

She gave me the finger over her shoulder, then hopped off the side of the building before turning to shadow. I watched her float down to the ground before feeling through my swarm for an escape, only to have Butcher speak up.

"New plan. Stay a hero till Monday just to spite the smug cunt."

Author's Notes:

Pen: Be sure to check out the canon Omake by MaskedCritic! to see things from Lisa's PoV in that exchange.

Last edited: Jan 14, 2022

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Pendragoon

Jan 13, 2022

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Pendragoon

Pendragoon

She/Her

Jan 15, 2022

#219

Monday, April 4th 2011

Winslow. Fuck, was I really going back after the weekend I just had? It felt hollow, returning to my personal hell, but straight-up just skipping school? All that would have accomplished was admitting defeat at the hands of the bitches that were — in a way — responsible for my newfound status as the latest Butcher.

"How the fuck haven't you gone full Carrie on this shithole? Your power was practically built to do it!" Ironsides grumbled.

"Hell, what they did to Annette's flute was damn near trigger worthy. She loved that thing," Fester added.

"I swear, these bitches would fit in perfectly with our younger members. Think they offer tutoring on how to break a person?" Sabertooth said.

I wanted to protest that but Marauder cut in with something that chilled me to the bone. "Real talk, were any of our trigger events as disgusting as XV's?"

I expected that to kick off an argument, but after a few moments of muted mutterings there were no objections offered to his observation. It felt like the temperature plummeted as I scoured their memories in search of something I could use to prove them wrong, but my searching only reinforced what he said.

It wasn't as though their triggers were pleasant things — far from it actually — but mine? The revelation sent shivers through my body, the feeling not helped by the creep lingering silence in my head.

What? I figured at least one of you assholes would be mocking me over this.

It was Ironsides that answered my question. "Kid, you don't give capes shit for their triggers. Consider it one of those unspoken rules: you just don't do it unless you're willing to risk death. Trigger trauma is a very real thing and we can all relate."

As the weight of his words settled upon me, I made my way inside the school. A sea of red and grey greeted me.

"Damn, our boys and girls are out in force today!" Sabertooth boasted.

There certainly were more red jackets and hoodies paired with grey shirts or pants than I usually saw in the halls, which was saying something. When they had returned to the Bay last summer, the Teeth had blazed their characteristic path of devastation straight through the Merchants, torching them out of the cracks between the bigger gangs before taking the fight to the Empire and ABB directly. Their next move was to seize a bunch of territory in and around the Docks, mostly using it as a staging ground to raid everything nearby.

Neither Lung nor Kaiser had made much headway in attempts to uproot the newcomers, a task made considerably harder due to the fact that there were plenty of people willing to associate with a gang whose main activity was killing Nazis and sex slavers. By the time school started in the fall, red and grey were very much an 'in' style at Winslow. Even the speed bump when Quarrel took over in September had only helped recruitment at school.

"You should introduce yourself," Alkaline said with a snicker.

Fester did a shockingly accurate imitation of my own voice. "Hey everyone, I'm Weaver, you follow me now!"

"You've perused her memories of this rotting dungheap. Nobody would believe her in the slightest," Damascian said.

"Just cover everyone in bees! You can do it!" Knockout said, apparently quoting an Aleph movie.

I'm not joining the Teeth, so save your breath.

"What breath? You took mine away," Quarrel spat.

"I suppose she did. Smitten with our newest queen are you?" Fester teased.

I slammed both of them into the darkness before they could even begin that trainwreck of an argument. Thankfully, the rest of the chorus took the hint and settled down, but their commentary was replaced by a profound sense of unease. People in the halls were staring at me in confusion, instead of mockery, but I was just as confused as they seemed to be.

Stratego hummed to himself, a bass rumble in my mind, before snapping his metaphorical fingers. "Your posture is straighter and you're walking with confidence. If your goal is to remain undetected, you will need to adjust your gait."

He brought up a few of my memories from Friday morning, drawing attention to my hunched shoulders, slumped posture, and my shuffling stride. All of my new instincts were screaming that such a person was weak, a target, prey, and that it couldn't possibly be me. I was supposed to be the biggest and baddest around, not a wounded animal waiting to be picked off.

The worst part was, I wanted to be able to walk the halls with pride, someone that everyone looked to with respect and admiration. I didn't need my peanut gallery's comments to know that there was one simple action I could take that would give it to me and more.

Unfortunately, it was the one thing I absolutely refused to do.

I was not going to become a villain.

"But it's so fun!" Alkaline whined. "I tried that whole independent thing, it fucking sucked!"

"You are well aware that this is a lesson every cape learns for herself," Damascian said with a touch of sadness. "The heroes will never trust her, and those they can't trust, they will betray."

I'm still going to try.

"The Teeth will be waiting for you when you fail!" Butcher yelled even as I slammed him back into the void.

The rest grumbled as I shuffled down the hallway, but they might finally be learning that I wasn't going to budge on this topic.

Mrs. Knott's class was the same as always, just with added internal commentary. I completed the assignment quickly enough, then settled in for the rest of the period. Thanks to my recently acquired cell phone, I wasn't out of the loop on PHO about Friday's events; in fact, given how little had been made public, I knew considerably more than the 'in the know' crowd.

"I find it mildly suspicious that the PRT is withholding so many details about Lung's demise," Damascian said while I walked to my next class.

"They are hedging their bets. Taylor might not end up like the rest of us and they don't want to poison the well," Stratego replied. "Outing her now would risk driving Weaver back to the Teeth and they know it."

"That or they are thinking of a way to exploit her and remove the Butcher from the board all together," Chisel murmured.

Fourteen sets of metaphorical eyes turned towards me as I took my place in Gladly's classroom. Relax guys, I plan to be a hero, not a martyr.

"I sure fucking hope so," Sanguine said, his usual levity strained.

The now familiar chatter in the back corners of my mind resumed not long after I sat down, though I could tell that they were put off by the PRT's maneuvering. Gladly was droning on just as uselessly, saying something about how capes shape current events. Given how I was now an example of very current events, I found it much more interesting to listen to the Butchers' comments from having lived the stuff that Gladly only pretended to know about.

The discussion was serving as a great distraction, as I shared this class with one of my tormentors and I had to resist the urge to hit her with one of my now numerous options. Madison Clements was sitting just two rows over from me on the back row of the room; I had a single fly resting between her back and the chair, clinging to her cutesy pink top.

There were five minutes left in the class when I felt Madison stand up from her desk. She didn't try anything on her first pass, but I hardly needed Stratego's power to see her plan as she made a beeline for the pencil sharpener. I was almost impressed when she managed to palm a handful of pencil shavings while emptying the container in the trash, and she gave me a sickly sweet grin while starting down my aisle.

"This dumb bitch is gonna be that obvious about it?" Alkaline asked incredulously.

"Just land a wasp on her hand. That'll make her drop them!" Knockout said happily.

I'm not using my offensive bugs for this and you all know why.

"Then pain blast the dumb cunt!" Butcher cried out.

I pushed him back into the void and ran through my options. The Butchers were suggesting everything from flicking a spitball directly into her eye to burning down the school after webbing the doors shut, and I realized that I could modify one of their less awful ideas.

"Clever," Chisel commented as I rushed to put my plan into action.

Winslow's budget cuts for the facilities department were coming in handy while I scuttled one of the numerous roaches in the ceiling through a hole and right above Madison's head. With the aid of the fly on her back, I had the roach fall just as she walked underneath, and I did my damndest to not laugh when it landed on her nose. Madison's eyes crossed as her brain registered the insect now staring right back at her, antenne twitching, and her momentary confusion ended with a piercing scream.

The pencil shavings went airborne and she smacked her own nose, aiming for my partner in mischief as it jumped away to avoid her panicked swipes. As Madison flailed, she tripped over her own foot and fell back, landing solidly on her ass with a thump.

My laughter echoed the chorus as the entire room erupted over little Maddy's mishap. She was cradling the back of her head, having smacked it on the desk behind her in her unfortunate fall. The pencil shavings she had intended for me were now falling like fresh snow all over her as my roach made it safely under one of the shelves along the back of the room.

"Muwaha holy crap, that was amazing!" Alkaline barely got out amidst her laughter.

The rest of the room's enthusiastic agreement with that statement cut out when Gladly finally managed to try to assert control over the situation.

"What's the meaning of this?" He was on his feet and hurrying to check on his little pet, who was now groaning and playing it up. "Are you alright, Madison? What happened?"

With mounting dread, I watched Madison's attention turn back to me. "Taylor tripped me."

"BULLSHIT!" The chorus cried out and devolved into ranting and raving that I couldn't parse.

"Taylor, I must say I'm disappointed in you," Mr. Gladly said as he helped Madison back to her feet; he gave me a conflicted glance. "Madison, please go see the nurse. Taylor, I'll be seeing you after class."

My blood was boiling with a blind fury not entirely my own, and for once I was seriously tempted to give in to the demands of the voices. It took far more effort than I would have liked to push them all back into the dark — their emotions were too in tune with my own right now.

"Mr. Gladly," I forced out through gritted teeth. "How could I have tripped her from this far away?"

He glanced again at Madison, who simply nodded. "Let's just talk about after class," Mr. Gladly said, thankfully unaware of my fingers now digging into the metal of my desk.

"Does it matter what I say? You've clearly made up your mind already."

Madison stopped in the door and was watching me now, but she wasn't my focus. No, Gladly had the full weight of the undivided attention of the collective, as well as my own. His survival instinct must not have been well-developed because all he did was sigh.

"I hate to do this, but I'll be seeing you in detention after school."

A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped my lips. "Detention, sure. For me." I made a show of looking at each and every classmate of mine wearing gang colors, from the girl with short, red hair that was combed over in a punk style and visible scars dressed in Teeth red and grey to the bald kid with a literal E88 emblem sewn into his leather jacket. "No wonder this school is run by the gangs."

As if to punctuate my point, the bell rang. I grabbed my bag and joined the masses as they hurried out of the class. Given the lunch situation at Winslow, I was tempted to head up to the roof for lunch and abuse my teleport to grab something a bit better than brake pad shaped meatloaf. Regardless, I'd have an hour to myself away from these people.

"Nobody likes her. Nobody wants her here." That was Julia.

"Think she spreads her legs for the Teeth?" Another asked.

"Probably the only way she'll get laid now that the ABB is falling apart."

"I sure as hell wouldn't want her."

I stood there for a moment and watched as Emma, Sophia and Madison were all conversing as they usually did, trading petty insults aimed at me with their groupies. It was so old at this point that I barely noticed it. For the Butchers, however, it was something new.

"Could they at least decide if you're a whore or too ugly to get any? Consistency is important when tearing someone down," Alkaline said.

"Their types don't give two shits about that," Fester countered.

"If I were her, I'd kill myself," one of them announced.

At that exact moment, Mr Gladly had stepped out of his classroom, and he clearly heard what they said. He gave me an unreadable look as the girls continued uninterrupted.

"Fuck that coward with a rusty tire iron," Knockout hissed.

"So glad we don't have gym with her. Could you imagine seeing her in the locker room? Gag me with a spoon."

Gladly just shook his head, adjusted the folders in his arms and walked away.

Way to prove my fucking point.

"Since it's clear they ain't doing shit to help —" I pushed Marauder down, knowing full well what sort of thing he would suggest.

"Just kill them already!" Butcher demanded. I shoved him down too.

"You would think they would have learned by now…" Chisel said with a mental shake of her head.

"Just walk away if you aren't going to fight back. It isn't worth it to torture yourself like this," Alkaline added.

She was right of course, I should just walk away.

"Oh Taylor!" Emma said, coming over to me. "Is everything alright? You seem upset."

"Upset you haven't dropped dead," Quarrel spat.

The rest of the Butchers began to offer up their own retorts, some of which I gave serious consideration to saying aloud. It was nice to have backup even if they were literal voices in my head.

"So upset that you're going to cry yourself to sleep for a week straight?"

Any retort I might have planned to use died on my tongue, the words ash in my mouth as even the Butchers fell completely silent in a moment of perfect clarity. Any stray hope I held that Emma might come back, that we might become friends again, I felt it all shatter in that very instant.

"Taylor…" Fester said very carefully. "She's talking about Annette."

She is.

"I see. Would you kindly end her sad excuse of an existence?"

It was an extremely tempting thought. My swarm was taking the brunt of my emotions as I pushed everything away, creating chaos as millions of insects moved in response to my emotions. How dare this bitch twist my love for Mom into a weapon!

There were so many ways I could end her, and the collective was positively eager to suggest things. Brute strength was the easiest option, I could just reach out and snap her in two, or rip her limbs off and watch her bleed out, maybe even beat the other two with them in the process.

I could hold her under Butcher's pain blast until her mind broke. Sanguine showed me several creative things I could do with her blood, even suggesting I make a new flute from it. Every option put forward would be brutal, effective, and more importantly, painful. She deserved it all and more for what she had said.

Mere seconds had passed as she continued to grin at me, watching and waiting for the reaction she wanted. A single shed tear would be enough for her to run with it, so I would give it to her as I narrowed it down to an all too satisfying end that was befitting of the little traitorous bitch.

"Be better than us."

The words were like a splash of ice water on my raging fury, spoken so softly that they should have been lost in the chaos of the chorus. It was a voice I'd only heard once before: Reflex. Butcher III. The only other Butcher that called themselves a hero before the madness claimed them, and I'd almost allowed them to do the same to me.

I then pushed everything away, including the Butchers. Coming that close to violence was a stark reminder of the knife-edge that my life had become; the realization combined with ignoring all of my other numerous sensory powers left me feeling oddly detached. Of course, Emma was still watching, waiting for that first tear to fall. She wasn't going to get it, not anymore.

Thank you Reflex, and my apologies Fester, but she's not worth it.

That triggered another round of muted protests in the back of my mind, but I ignored them to take a single steadying breath. "No, I can't say I've been that upset since my mother died."

I didn't wait for Emma's reaction, but as I turned to leave, I did hear a few gasps of realization from the rest of her cronies. Of course, Sophia wasn't going to just let me walk away, but I turned on Damascian's precog sight, and the ghostly pre-echo gave me just enough warning to take a calculated stumbling step. From the outside, I hopefully just looked clumsy, but it tangled my legs with Sophia's just right so that she fell over with a squawk.

Parting shots or no, I was thoroughly done with today and all of its petty bullshit. I spared a last glance for the crowd of useless bystanders, catching the eye of that red-headed Teeth girl from Gladly's class. There was an intensity to her eyes that reminded me of what I now saw when I looked in the mirror. While the Butchers did find her vaguely familiar, none of their memories could put a name to the face. I don't know what she saw when she looked at me, but I doubt it was anything pleasant.

Once I was safely outside Winslow, I combined bloodsight with my bugs' jumbled mess of senses to look for witnesses. Content as I could be that nobody would see me from the alley I'd ducked into, I targeted a bug about two blocks away. Pyro's teleport carried me there with ease, and before anyone could figure out if that had been a gunshot or something worse, I made several more jumps until I was deep in the Docks, devoid of people.

When I was finally sure that I was alone, I let myself fall backwards, landing with a thud on the gravel as broken glass and used needles tried and failed to pierce my bulletproof skin. Only then, as far from other people as I could manage in a city like the Bay, did I allow myself to sob quietly.

It was hard, letting myself react instead of pushing my frustration and sorrow out into the swarm. The illusion of control was easier to believe if my bugs were freaking out instead of my body, and I was already habitually hiding my emotions to prevent the Butchers from leaking out.

Once I was certain I wouldn't snap at the tiniest things, I began to ease off my pressure on the chorus. Wisely, they kept their commentary to themselves as I lay there and watched the clouds drift by.

I lost track of the time as I tried and failed to be introspective; finally I had to ask. Why is my life such shit?

The Butchers were silent for a moment before Alkaline prodded my attention. "You looking for a feel good answer or an honest one?"

I thought about it for a moment. Honest please.

She took a metaphorical breath. "You're a doormat. You take whatever shit is sent your way but never stand up for yourself. You expect others to be like you and do the right thing, but the world doesn't work that way."

I wanted to protest that, to argue with them, but I had asked for honesty. I would listen to what they had to say right now, even if I hated what I heard.

Fester gave an indication she wanted to speak and Alkaline 'stepped back' to allow it. "Taylor, you remind me a lot of your mother. She was one of the most stubborn bitches I have ever met, and you clearly got it from her. It's a double edged sword, though. You've put up with a hell that would have broken most people. Any one of us would have killed them for disrespecting Annette like that, but you didn't. You came damn close though, and they have no idea."

"No shit, I wanted to turn them inside out for that," Sabertooth said.

So what? I should just beat the shit out of them?

Several of them laughed.

"Nah, you're way too soft for that still," Knockout said.

"Perhaps it would be wise to work your frustrations out on the Empire or ABB," Damascian offered.

"Alternatively, go claim your place with the Teeth and teach those brats why standing around was a mistake," Sanguine said.

It was probably a bad thing that I didn't dismiss that last one out of hand. After several moments I made my decision and hopped to my feet, stretching out my joints and getting a few satisfying pops.

Let's grab something to eat, then maybe spend some time Tinkering, and after that see what we can find. Maybe we'll get lucky and nail another warehouse before I need to be home tonight.

It probably wasn't a good thing that the collective cheered.

Author's Notes:

Pen: Probably not the epic showdown that everyone wanted from Butcher Taylor vs the Trio, but rest assured, this isn't the last time she steps through the doors of Winslow in this fic. ;)

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Jan 15, 2022

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Jan 17, 2022

#321

Wednesday, April 6th 2011

"Another one gone, another one gone," Alkaline sang.

"Another one bites the dust!" Knockout finished.

A large warehouse was just beginning to burn in full as I stood atop a building overlooking my latest conquest. And conquest it was — I was racking up a very healthy nest egg of cash and weapons, enough that pretty soon I would be able to call myself a millionaire.

It said a lot about my situation that I barely twitched when a loud explosion tore through part of the roof as something combustible made itself known. In my head, Pyromaniac cackled. "Burn baby burn! Disco inferno!"

How many ABB holdings does this make now?

"Seven, if you count the brothel on Monday," Stratego said. "You'll need to increase your surveillance of Empire locations soon, the ABB has been rendered effectively extinct. The remnants will die out without our interference."

"Wanna try for eight before you have to be home for breakfast?" Fester asked.

A quick check of my watch showed it was ten after three. Skipping school had been doing wonders for my heroics, allowing me to work almost around the clock. The results spoke for themselves. Scouting locations in civvies during the day and hitting them at night was a winning strategy so far. That it kept me from murdering the bitches three was just a bonus.

I might have time to scout something, but I'd have to wait until dad goes to work to actually hit the place.

"Boo! Hit it anyway," Butcher demanded.

My eyebrow rose under my mask. Did I just hear someone say I should hit the Teeth?

The collective rioted at the suggestion and I had to laugh. It was part of the agreement we had come to over the last several days. They don't give me shit for my heroics and I avoid hitting their precious Teeth until there's nothing else left in the Bay. We'd renegotiate things from there. So far, it was working out quite well for us and when they got bitchy or crossed one of my lines I would just threaten them as I had just done.

I could hear the sirens in the distance, which marked my cue to leave. I didn't feel like dealing with the night shift Protectorate at the moment, Miss Militia tended to put me on edge in most of our recent encounters and I wasn't looking forward to yet another dissertation on excessive force.

I turned and felt for a good bug to target when my danger sense screamed at me to move. Picking a bug at random, I teleported to a distant roof and spun to reorient myself. From my new vantage point, I was able to watch as the figure that had tried to knife me turned to dust.

Oni Lee! Useful shit only.

"He was aiming for a kidney, he's going lethal from the start," Alkaline said.

"Then we should do the same!" Sabertooth cried out.

I meant strategy! I mentally yelled as I teleported yet again, this time away from a fucking grenade. Weaknesses. Anything!

"Stop being a pussy, you can take a knife," Butcher mocked and I slammed the prick into the void. As though to prove the point, Oni Lee materialized next to me, striking immediately with a knife that didn't even manage to cut my spider-silk costume. I grabbed his arm and tried to use Fester's power on him, but he dissolved into ash almost instantly.

Of course, he had only teleported behind me, but my teleport delay had reset and I was able to jump to another roof and draw a knife of my own. It wasn't the best example of Damascian's tech, since I was still working with substandard materials and tools, but it was deadly enough for this sort of work. Come on, I'm sure you guys must have fought Oni Lee before!

"You could try to get in a lucky hit," Ironsides suggested. "Damascian's precog —"

"Our adversary is well aware of the limitations to my power, after our initial fights," the Tinker retorted.

My danger sense pinged, and I swept backwards with my knife without a second thought. Oni Lee still ended up hitting me, but my blade nicked his arm enough to draw blood. He crumbled into ash before the blood hit the ground; despite that, I felt a grin stretch under my mask. "So he can be hurt."

"Of course he can," Knockout said sarcastically. "No one is invincible."

"Except Alexandria," Chisel replied. "Remember that time in Philadelphia?"

"Shut the hell up," I muttered. "Ok, new plan…" I trailed off when some of my bugs smelled blood, and it wasn't the ones hiding in my hair. In fact, it was a group several rooftops over, and a quick check revealed that there was only one person on the roof — and he teleported as soon as my swarm got too close.

We played cat and mouse like that for a few minutes. I would try to sneakily bring in my bugs, and Oni Lee would puff away into ash as soon as he detected them. Still, I managed to get a few bugs onto his costume, and to my surprise, the bugs went with him. That gave me just enough warning to spin around and face the crazed teleporter when he tried to appear behind me, and he stumbled backwards in shock when I lashed out with my own knife. I didn't hit him, this time, but he vanished all the same.

"I hate this fucker," Sabertooth growled.

The others chimed in with their agreements, and I nodded along while doing my best to swarm Oni Lee with more bugs. He tried to jump me twice more, and both times my preemptive warning meant that I was in a position to block his strikes — once with a force field, and another with my own knife.

However, when I tried that a third time, his knife cut through my own in a shriek of protesting metal. I barely managed to teleport before his new armament could be brought to bear on my armor. Spider silk was good, but a blade that cut through metal —

"Where the fuck did this bastard get one of my knives?" Damascian demanded.

"If he had one of those, why wait till now to use it?" Alkaline pondered.

"Are you sure it's one of yours?" Sanguine asked, but the Tinker just snarled at him.

The collective's spike of anger fused with my already considerable frustration about this fight. "Fine, fine, I'll get the knife back." Oni Lee teleported on top of me almost before I had finished the sentence; I twisted around and put my fist through his chest.

The clone exploded a second later.

Getting caught in a grenade explosion was not fun. The blast threw me backwards, and while I didn't feel pain, being sent skipping across the roof was uncomfortable and disorienting. Another clone dropped a grenade almost before I had rolled to a stop, and I had barely pushed myself up before that one went off and threw me onto my back.

When the mad bomber tried for a third grenade, I used my own power to teleport down into the dark interior of the old brick building that we were using as a battleground.

"Those bugs sure are handy," Stratego rumbled.

"Yeah," I mumbled, wincing as my ears recovered with a pop. Outside, Oni Lee was teleporting around the perimeter of the building like a madman, making a complete circuit in the course of several seconds. When he stopped for a moment, I took the opportunity to sneak more bugs onto his costume. Interestingly, he swatted at any that landed on his mask.

"Think he gave up?" Alkaline asked.

Stratego shook his metaphorical head. "No. He's obviously looking for a way in."

"So why not just teleport?"

I considered Alkaline's question for a moment, then glanced around in the darkness. Now that my eyes had recovered, it was clear that the lack of light was due to something other than flash-blindness. "I think his teleport is line-of-sight."

"That… makes a lot of sense," Quarrel admitted. "How didn't we notice that before?"

While the Butchers descended into insults, I started moving my bugs to actually do something about the threat. It was relatively easy to order all of my bugs to seek out humans nearby, which immediately swarmed the ABB goons who were inexplicably hanging out by their burning storehouse. They ran, and I realized that I needed Oni Lee to remain in my range.

So, I returned his earlier favor and teleported on top of him.

Unfortunately, my immediate punch to the kidneys went into a clone, but my taunt could not have been more effective. We began our dance again, with me striking repeatedly while he tried to both stab me and drop grenades at my feet. The grenades, in particular, were causing a great deal of destruction that I only avoided by staying on my feet. In his inexplicable, single-minded fury, he never seemed to notice that I was building up a swarm on his costume.

He certainly noticed when I had them attack his eyes.

I made sure to teleport as far as I could as soon as I gave the order, which proved fortuitous when he threw several grenades in my direction and teleported one last time. I wasn't expecting him to lose his vision that quickly, but given his complete disregard for collateral damage, I needed to finish this fight sooner rather than later.

"Are you sure you don't want to be a supervillain, Taylor?" Marauder asked, only to cackle as I forced him down into the dark.

"How the hell else were we going to stop him?" The collective laughed at me, so I just waited out the last few bites of eyeball before teleporting up to where the assassin was twitching on the ground. Unbidden, thoughts of the brothel from Monday night percolated to the front of my memory — Fester's doing, I realized. I knew what she wanted, and I knew that it was a bad idea, but…

"What would your mom say, Taylor?"

Goddamnit. Fester didn't need to show me any more memories of Mom to know how she would have reacted, at least in her college days. The girls, the drugs…

I unleashed the pain blast on the sex-slaving bastard and tried not to smile as he writhed on the ground.

By the time I was done, Oni Lee was comatose on the ground. I busied myself with reclaiming Damascian's good knife and fitting it into a sheath so that I didn't think about what I had just done to the other cape. Despite seeing the horror of the ABB firsthand, I still wasn't totally convinced that what I had done was justified, but I had stopped the crazed assassin and extracted some well-deserved revenge.

"You did a good thing," Alkaline said as I carried him back across the roof, towards the street where I had webbed the remaining stragglers. "Thanks to you the ABB is done. Be proud of what you've accomplished."

The chorus chimed in with their agreements, and it felt good to be recognized by someone for doing some good in this cesspit of a city. The ABB were human traffickers and slavers, and I had uprooted them in full in under a week. It was all thanks to me.

Before I could get down to the ground, Miss Militia rolled up on her bike ahead of two PRT transports. Assault and Battery disembarked from one while an entire squad of troopers came out of the other. Well, I suppose I should turn this asshole over to the heroes.

"Letting the bastard live will bite you in the ass, can't wait to see it happen either!" Butcher cackled as I plunged him back into the void. Fucking prick.

I hauled Oni Lee over my shoulder and jumped off the rooftop. My freefall lasted only seconds, but I still wasn't used to the sensation — my own instincts still wanted me to scream. I landed feet first on the concrete sidewalk, sending cracks outward like spiderwebs with the sharp retort of splintered concrete. Miss Militia spun around, her power shifting into an impressively large LMG in her hands, which she immediately aimed directly at me. I couldn't help but gulp.

"An M240, not my first choice but still a solid piece of kit," Pyro said.

"I miss the minigun…" Ironsides complained.

"Who do you think has it? PRT or our boys?" Alkaline wondered.

"Hold your fire!" I yelled. "I have Oni Lee ready for pick up!"

The patriotic cape did not, in fact, lower her gun. When she spoke, her voice brokered no argument. "Set him down gently then back away, Weaver!"

I frowned under my mask but did as she instructed, raising my hands as I stepped back. I knew from my inherited memories that I would get an instant's warning if she switched to something truly dangerous, but I still didn't want to chance it. Militia signalled and the squad moved in; her gun plus the guns of the squad members not wearing medic stripes tracked me as I continued to move off to the side. Having one of your childhood idols point a gun at you? It wasn't pleasant, that was for sure. Especially when I hadn't done anything wrong.

"Welcome to the world. Where you can do everything right and still get shit on," Ironsides said.

The squad surrounded the disabled assassin and pile of goons; the medic rapidly got to work. I could tell when they removed his mask — not just because my bugs were still under it, but by their reactions to the sight. One of them threw up on the spot. There was frantic yelling from the one holding their radio mic but I couldn't parse the words.

At that, I noticed the bugs I had on Assault begin to move rather quickly towards me. When I turned my actual eyes upon him and between his gait and posture, I hardly needed Stratego's power to see that he was ready for a fight. Since I had no intention of fighting heroes, I did what I could to relax and appear unthreatening, including dismissing all visible signs of my swarm… even if all they did was hide in the dark shadows of the street.

The red-clad hero stopped about six feet away. "Weaver, can I have a word with you?" His voice was so different to how it had been on Friday.

"There's a complete absence of levity in his tone," Stratego pointed out. "He seems agitated and has likely been told you've fallen to our influences."

"He's not entirely wrong though," Butcher said with a chuckle.

"If only," Sabertooth mumbled.

I pushed the pair into the dark.

"Dumbasses. You would think they would have learned by now," Chisel mused, shaking her metaphorical head.

"How can I help you, Assault?" My voice was shakier than I would have liked, so I pushed more of my reactions off into my swarm. Bugs skittered and died in the darkness.

Thankfully, my reply seemed to relax the scarlet hero. "You've been busy."

I nodded. "Yes sir. Just doing what I can for my city, you know, taking out drug dens, saving girls from brothels…"

Assault tried and failed to pinch his nose through his visor, which made the voices in my head chuckle; at least, those not sneering about the word 'sir.' He muttered something under his breath before he turned back to me. "You really see nothing wrong with what you've been doing?"

I tried to think of something, anything, that could explain why he would be asking that but came up blank. Alright, anyone got something for me on this one? The sudden clamour of the chorus was almost deafening, I threw them all into the void on reflex. Alright, gonna try that one more time… Ironsides, your thoughts?

"Sheesh, wasn't expecting all of us to jump in like that. Best guess? A difference in methods. You've been exceedingly direct with your actions, and efficient in a way they simply aren't thanks to the bureaucracy they oh so love."

Ah. "I suppose I have gotten results in a way you don't quite approve of?"

"That would be putting it mildly, Weaver. Let's start with why you felt it necessary to maim Oni Lee."

I let out an extremely undignified huff. "The bastard tried to knife me with one of Damascian's Tinkered knives. I didn't take that too kindly. And besides, how else was I supposed to stop a line-of-sight teleporter? He was switching to grenades when I finally dropped him… and, well, I remembered that brothel."

Assault paused for a long moment while he considered that. "My superiors will see it as excessive."

"The amount of government dick you suck is excessive!" Quarrel shot back.

Marauder shook his head. "What a fucking shame. Madcap was fun, back in the day."

I blinked as he shoved a series of memories forward — Marauder had been bound for the Birdcage? And Assault had been a villain? The idea stoked the flames of hope in my chest, because if the heroes could forgive him, maybe they could work with me.

"Weaver?" the hero in question asked, dragging me back to the present.

"Sorry. I, uh. I just wanted to stop him, permanently. Besides, why do you care so much? He's done way worse to his many victims, and now the ABB won't sell girls into sex slavery anymore."

"Your mom would be proud," Fester tried, but I ignored her.

"Could you at least put an effort into toning things down?" Assault asked, and he almost sounded pleading. "I can tell you're nothing like the previous Butchers, but my superior has a stick up her ass and isn't convinced. I need something I can point to that shows you're in control that doesn't involve arson and ambulances at every turn."

I rolled my eyes, not that he could see it. "Let me guess, taking down the Empire wouldn't help her opinion of me either?"

Assault just shook his head. "Maybe if you dismantled the Teeth instead. It would at least show you aren't working in their favor."

I reflexively shoved all of the voices away, but their shouting was still noticeable. "They're last," I said forcefully. "Part of my agreement with the collective. They don't bitch about my heroics, I don't break their Teeth."

I could tell that wasn't the answer he was looking for. "Is there anything I could say that might get you to change your mind?"

"Nope. Does that mean we're done here? I need to get started on my recon of Empire territory."

He seemed resigned as he spoke. "I guess we are. Stay safe out there Weaver."

I smiled at that — he was one of the good ones. And, now that I had seen a bit of his history, I knew why. "Thanks, I'm glad someone is in my corner at least."

With our conversation over, I targeted a bug about a block away and teleported. It was a short jog to retrieve the cash I'd liberated tonight, and soon I was chaining teleports back towards my base. I'd be busy the next few days, then I would topple an Empire.

I couldn't wait!

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Jan 17, 2022

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Jan 19, 2022

#442

Friday, April 8th 2011

"You're going to need backup for this one," Stratego observed; his was the only voice I had unmuted at the moment. "No amount of recon and planning will make the risk worth the potential reward."

I get it, they keep a rotation of their Capes on hand around the clock. There just isn't a clean option here, not solo.

"If you go into this alone, there is a very good chance we'll have XVI before the night is through."

You just want me to return to the Teeth.

"Ideally? Yes. However, I appreciate what you've accomplished, and I don't want to risk XVI being another meathead or bloodlust driven neanderthal." His words brought me up short. "Please Taylor, don't throw your life away on this."

I grit my teeth in frustration as I paced in my workshop, mostly because I knew Stratego was right and it hurt. The Empire simply ran a tighter ship than the ABB. The few places I'd located were either too small to be worth the time and effort, or they were major hubs with an army's worth of normals and several Capes to defend them.

I would need a team if I wanted to accomplish anything of worth in my crusade against the Bay's resident racist dickheads. Unfortunately, the heroes I met never seemed willing to work with me, most treated me like a ticking time bomb about to snap. Others however… my respect for New Wave all but died after meeting Brandish.

"In all fairness, she's had a stick up her ass since the Brigade days," Sanguine said.

"More like our damn minigun," Alkaline joked.

"She can keep it then," Butcher said.

I couldn't help but snort, and soon we all began to laugh. Brandish really had been a colossal bitch when we met yesterday afternoon, insisting she was going to arrest me for excessive force and destruction of property. The Butchers had been particularly unhelpful at that meeting, especially Sabertooth, suggesting a string of extremely distracting lewd comments. I understood that they didn't like the Brigade, but there was a smidgen of begrudging respect for being the only heroes to have survived in the city since the Teeth left.

Unfortunately for Brandish, her complaints fell upon the deaf ears of the Protectorate. I had tentatively hoped that the heroes were finally warming up to me, only for the Butchers to point out the heroes' fixation on my new weapons. The machete at my hip and numerous knives on my new thigh harness were far from the best I could create, but I still had yet to get a good forge set up. I was also carrying several of the handguns I'd recovered from the ABB to use in a pinch, each in easy reach. Lastly, my personal favorite: a folding compound bow I'd Tinkered up from a store-bought hunting bow.

"What can we say, we appreciate being armed to the Teeth." Alkaline said with a chuckle. I let out an audible groan.

It might have been excessive, but after Oni Lee, I wasn't going around unarmed anymore.

"It wouldn't have been such a joke if her daughter's PHO nickname wasn't Collateral Damage Barbie," Chisel said while evoking the memory of a montage video that had been set to an Aleph song about wrecking balls. I started chuckling to myself, which turned into another full-fledged laughfest in my head.

It was strange — I was starting to consider some of the voices to be my friends, or at least people I could talk to without being mocked or scorned. Mostly. And I wasn't even crazy, because there really were voices in my head.

"You should hit one of the smaller Empire holdings tonight," Alkaline suggested.

"The Empire needs to know that the Butcher still stalks them," Sabertooth said, sending the impression of a predatory grin with his words.

Alright, but just the one. I need to get out to Coil's territory to start getting information on him as well.

"He's just a nobody with a lot of cash," Knockout said.

Who holds territory without any known capes, I snapped back. I refuse to be caught off guard because we dismissed him as a threat.

"Finally," Stratego said with relief. "I've been insisting he was a threat since the Teeth returned to the Bay."

"Waste of time, chasing ghosts," Sabertooth grumbled.

I'd rather go on a fool's errand than be blindsided.

Several more of the Butchers grumbled at that, but no outright arguments came. They were learning that once I set my mind to something, they had better have a damn good argument if they wanted to change my opinion.

It still surprised me how swiftly I could move around the city with Pyro's teleport — my bugs just made it almost broken. Less than five minutes later, I was in position; my bugs were ready and waiting, everyone was tagged, it was time.

So of course my phone began to ring.

"Who even has your number?" Chisel asked.

I looked at the display. The PRT apparently. The response was universal from the chorus: "Don't answer it!" However, I was curious, and that won out over caution. Besides, it was just a phone call, what harm could they do to me through a phone connection?

"More than you think," Chisel murmured.

"Hello, Weaver speaking."

"Weaver, just who we were hoping to reach," a gruff but feminine voice said. "My name is Emily Piggot, Director of the Protectorate ENE. I was hoping you were available to attend a briefing about threats in the Bay and to offer your input on some of our ideas for neutralizing said threats."

"Need I point out that you would be considered one of those threats?" Alkaline said, but I pushed her aside.

"Why me? Your people haven't been exactly welcoming so far."

She chuckled mirthlessly. "No, I suppose they haven't. I admit that I was… skeptical, I suppose, when I first read the reports after you took out Quarrel and Lung. That being said, you've proven effective at cleaning up the rest of the ABB. We have an opportunity here to take decisive action and I don't want to waste it."

The Butchers were crying out but I batted them back into the dark. They had always been against me being a hero. Finally, finally, someone was taking notice of my accomplishments! I wasn't about to waste the opportunity either. "When would this briefing take place?"

"Tonight, if possible," Director Piggot said. "Some of our information is time sensitive. Furthermore, New Wave will also be in attendance."

The mention of New Wave put me on edge. "I'm not, um, on the best terms with Brandish at the moment," I said sheepishly. "She tried to arrest me yesterday, after I took out that Empire safehouse."

"I'm aware. I can assure you we'll take every precaution necessary to ensure a mistake like that isn't repeated."

Something about the way she had worded that still left me unsettled. "Would it be possible to hold this meeting somewhere other than PRT or Protectorate HQ? I'm not going to lie, I'm uneasy about being in an enclosed space with a bunch of trigger-happy heroes."

Piggot hummed and went silent for a moment, I heard several seconds of keystrokes before she replied. "That shouldn't be much of a problem. I'll pass the word along to New Wave. Can you make it here in the next hour?"

I grinned. "I think I can manage that."

"Excellent. I look forward to meeting you, Weaver." The line went dead and I had to resist the urge to squeal in excitement.

"You are aware that Brandish will be present," Damascian reminded me. I stuck my tongue out, which was hampered by my mask.

"Everything about this suggests it is a set up Taylor… Please don't go," Stratego pleaded.

If I don't go it will look even worse. I need to do this if I'm going to be recognized as a hero. Besides, you all said I needed a team if I was going to take on the Empire, and this is my chance!

"Your naivety is going to be the death of you," Sanguine said.

Rather than continue to argue with the collective I instead reached out to my bugs, targeting one in the general direction of the PRT HQ and set out with a crack of displaced air and flame. I would make this work, I just had to…

"This is so obviously not a trap that it loops right back around into being one," Stratego said as I looked around the parking lot.

"It does appear to be a bit too on the nose to not have Thinker support involved in some fashion," Damascian agreed.

The parking lot was almost empty, just a few cars and PRT vans here and there with a couple of folding tables set up in the most open area of the lot. I could see Miss Militia, Brandish, Lady Photon and an overweight woman with short blonde hair that I assumed to be Director Piggot gathered around along with a few PRT troopers. My bugs didn't report anything else nearby, though I had barely begun scouting the inside of the PRT building.

"It isn't too late to run, kid," Fester said.

I'm not running, but I agree that a measure of caution should be taken.

"Holy shit, she can learn!" Knockout declared.

Asshole.

I focused on my bugs, drawing in a small swarm of gnats and other hard to notice bugs and keeping them spread loosely around me; some wasps were diverted to hide in the recesses of my costume as well as in my hair.

"Not a bad idea. Might want to start doing that in civvies as well," Alkaline said.

I nodded absently; that was a good idea, especially if I intended to return to Winslow at any point. Although, if things went well with the heroes, I might be able to eventually get a transfer to Arcadia. Rumors were just that, but most people agreed that there were Wards at Arcadia and that the PRT had considerable pull at the school.

Precautions taken, I stepped off the rooftop and began to walk into what was likely a trap. Miss Militia noticed me first, and I watched her gun momentarily shift to what the Butcher's memories told me was a semi auto shotgun before it shifted back to a knife and was returned to a sheathe on her back. Her fidgeting caused both members of New Wave to look up, as well as the director.

"Weaver. I'm glad you made it," Director Piggot said, her voice level.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I said cheerfully. Miss Militia and Brandish shared a look at my tone but didn't comment. "I've been trying to do what I could out there, but I've run into a few things that I can't do alone. Having some friends would be nice."

"It's good that you've learned to recognize your limits," the director said approvingly. "You've gotten results in your little campaign, and while I can certainly respect that, you have been rather… erratic. We were afraid you might bite off more than you could chew."

"It would certainly be easy enough to do that with the Empire. The place I was staking out earlier had no less than six capes working security tonight." I shook my head. "Too much even for me, with no backup and trying to avoid killing them."

"They're buttering you up, getting ready to drop something on you," Ironsides said.

"You have good instincts," Lady Photon replied, but I could see a hint of sadness in her expression.

"I'm not eager to become a voice in someone else's head," I said with a shrug, then I snorted at one of Pyro's jokes and decided to repeat it. "It's not quite as exclusive of a club as it once was."

Brandish looked at me with something resembling horror, but I saw Piggot's lip curl up ever so slightly. At least someone appreciates your humor, Pyro. Surprisingly, the voices only responded with a few distracted huffs.

"Several of the directors have expressed concerns to me, concerning your behavior. The more extreme tried to claim it meant you had already fallen into the deep end. I'm glad to see you have a good head on your shoulders. Hopefully this meeting will be productive then."

"They're playing you right now," Stratego said. "Have they said anything at all that wasn't directly related to you yet?" I froze at that and no, they hadn't. "I fear the purpose of this meeting wasn't strategies to deal with the issues at large, but to deal with you specifically."

"So," I said carefully. "I take it you want my input on the Empire targets I've scouted?"

"That would be useful," Director Piggot said. "However, I'm afraid there's a more pressing issue we need to discuss first."

A pit formed in my stomach as I sought out the farthest bug that I could, but then they all suddenly vanished from my senses as the world seemed to close in around me. Immediately I had my nuisance bugs start spreading out to give me a sense of the twisted space that now filled the parking lot.

"Vista," Damascian hissed.

"We told you it was a trap!" Ironsides roared.

"And you walked right into it like a dumbass!" Sabertooth added.

"What is this?" I growled towards the assembled so-called good guys, the bugs in my hair humming in sync with my voice as they took flight. "Explain."

Director Piggot sighed. "Dammit, I was hoping to ask this first before we had to use any countermeasures. Weaver, you possess a unique opportunity to remove the Butcher as a threat permanently. We would like for you to submit yourself to our custody and be placed in a secure facility."

"Oh sweet hell… They're wanting you to Birdcage yourself," Fester said shakily.

The chorus erupted at that, and much as I didn't want to at the moment, I silenced them all. I needed my head clear right now. "What facility would you be sending me to?"

"YOU CAN'T BE FUCKING SERIOUS!" several voices roared, exploding into my head with enough presence that I winced. Even Chisel was yelling, screaming for my attention and rattling my brain like the cage of feral animals it now resembled. I did my best to wrangle them into the darkness, but their outrage and horror was filling my otherwise-numb emotional void — somehow, I knew Fester was right, but —

Director Piggot sighed, unaware of the mental firestorm my brain had become and my half hearted attempts to put it out. "You would be sent to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center."

Her admission — they really wanted me gone that badly? Wasn't I a hero? — was like an erupting volcano in the cold, icy corner of my brain that was still my own. I clenched my hands hard enough to hear the armor panels creak (the bugs in my hair tangled themselves up in their panic), then SHOVED all of the voices into the void.

They went, but their outrage remained.

Much like how Dad would still be here if the heroes dumped me into the Birdcage.

The heroes wanted me, a hero — a fifteen year old girl whose only crime was finally putting down the monsters in my hometown — to lock myself in a box.

Just like those bitches at school.

My response came out in a hoarse whisper. "No."

"Please consider this carefully, Weaver. Whoever comes after you might not be a hero, or they might not have your unique ability to control the voices. You need to take advantage of this —"

I was barely aware when my hand slammed onto the table, causing the three heroes to jump and level weapons at me — Brandish hefted a pair of glowing axes, Lady Photon's hands came alight with purple energy, and Miss Militia took aim with a frighteningly large shotgun. "No! The PRT wants to take advantage of me!"

"Traitors!" Fester's shout echoed up from the depths of my mind.

Piggot held up her hands in a placating gesture that rang hollow. "By doing this, you would be one of the greatest heroes in the history of the Protectorate, ensuring that the Butcher never harms another innocent civilian."

"You'll be the hero? No. She will be the hero. The PRT will be the ones getting credit for taking down the Butcher. No one would even remember your name!" Ironsides bellowed, rising up from the dark.

Piggot's matter-of-fact tone was what finally set me off, but my anger didn't explode. No, it fed on the hurricane of panic and despair in my mind, the storm whose eye I had been trying to occupy with my thoughts. "Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do? I'm not even sixteen yet! I was bullied — every single day! — until I triggered with these horrible powers," what little I had of my swarm swirled around me as I felt my eyes sting with tears, "and I still tried to be a hero! Now you want to send me to hell on earth for trying to be the better person!? Even after I inherited, I never so much as landed a fly on any of the people who… who —"

I couldn't breathe.

The world was closing in on me.

People were talking, in my head, nearby… but I didn't hear it. I was trapped, unable to focus; the world around me turned to static, empty yet clouded. The monsters in my mind rattled in their cage, and I grasped for something — anything — that would help. My hands were wet, what insects I had buzzed, I felt fangs in my mouth; I clenched my hands and the wetness began to decay. Then a cold spray hit me and I was engulfed in liquid.

I tried to fight, but the ooze solidified.

I tried to teleport, but the space nearby was knotted and tangled.

Then I was in the locker, with voices screaming and laughing and there was a high-pitched sound and my brain —

Let me out!

"Stop screaming, assholes!"

I didn't want to die.

"Taylor!"

Someone… anyone…

I was wet and cold, and it was hard to breathe. And when I did breathe, it brought the scent of rotting, festering blood to my nostrils.

"TAYLOR!"

The piercing cries for help ceased and there were no other voices, an incongruous moment of blissful silence.

"Oh thank god. Taylor, please focus. We won't let this be how your story ends." A girl's voice, one I recognized.

A friend.

Alkaline?

A relieved chuckle echoed out. "Yeah girl, it's me. Glad to have you back."

What happened? I remember that bitch asking me to… I let out a choked sob. Why does this shit always happen to me?

"Not sure and definitely not the time. You spiraled pretty hard there and they foamed you. You used a few different powers in your panic, hence the… unpleasantness. Vista still has the space around us as a funhouse mirror, so we need to think of another way out of this mess before Armsmaster brings out his next gadget."

What good does it do me? Even if I escape they'll continue to hunt me like a villain…

"Hey, none of that defeatist attitude," Fester cut in. "You have us, and I can tell you right now, we will never abandon you."

"Not that we could if we wanted to," Butcher grumbled.

"Butcher, for once, just shut the fuck up!" Alkaline hissed. "We all agreed I'd do the talking, so let me handle this, alright?"

You're cooperating? Without me forcing it?

"Desperate times," Alkaline chuckled. "When you started to panic, they foamed you. Armsmaster is a Tinker, and he has probably been working out a way to sedate you safely ever since you inherited. Or, they're securing a transport to the Birdcage. Once I'm sure you've got your head back on your shoulders, we can work on a plan."

What if they're right? A few groans followed by a shushing sound. Without support, I can't help this city, not on my own — and the heroes just demonstrated that they'll never work with me.

"Well, if you're looking for a team…"

No, I'm not going to the fucking Teeth.

"Taylor, could you just hear me out?" Alkaline's voice was pleading, I tried to nod but couldn't in the foam. She understood all the same. "Yes, they're villains, but they would be your villains. The Butcher controls the Teeth and they all know it. If they protest, you beat them down till they fall in line or they become the new Butcher. If you don't like how things are run, change it. They'll never be heroes like you wanted, but you could certainly use them to take over the city and rule it your way. The old way certainly hasn't worked out so well, maybe your touch is exactly what this city needs."

A sob wrenched its way out of my chest. What would dad think of me if I became a villain? What about mom? I don't want to become something that would have disappointed her.

A sharp laugh echoed through my mind. "Girl." Fester. "You forget that I knew your mom. We were in the same gang." She sent a memory of the two of them throwing molotovs at cop cars, bricks through the windows of some sexist company, and violently beating a rapist. "She was a card carrying villain, because she thought it was how she could do the best for her city, how she could make a difference… because she thought it was the right thing to do. Nothing says you can't be the same as your mom. You always looked up to her, but this was part of who she was."

I wanted to argue against that, to cling to my desire to do good, to be a hero… Mom had never hidden her past from me, just some of the details, promising that she would elaborate once I was old enough… She was gone now, but I was still here. I was her legacy, that piece of her she left behind to make a mark on the world.

A high-pitched whining sound suddenly came from outside the foam, followed by Vista's space warping shifting in a way I struggled to parse. The whining increased in volume until it was accompanied by the sound of a tornado.

"Jet engine," Ironsides hissed. "Which means Dragon sent a transport to take us directly to the Cage." The realization set off a new round of clamouring to do something.

Fuck. I didn't want to go into that hell on earth. I just wanted to help people. Could I do that as Butcher XV? Could I turn the Teeth into something that was good for the Bay? I didn't know, but all I could do was try. It was better than rolling over for these bastards that wouldn't even give me a chance. I'd show them all what a mistake they had made.

I reached out for my swarm, finding only a small number of bugs… but they were still there. On the very edge of Vista's nausea-inducing effect, further than I thought my power reached, I discovered a handful of gnats; I targeted one and teleported, which dropped me onto a roof more than three blocks from the original ambush site.

Smiling in relief with the cheers in my head, I lurched to my feet, sparing a single glance for the scene behind me. Protectorate, Wards, and New Wave surrounded an Escher-like maze of twisted space that came unraveled as I watched. A Dragon transport appeared with Piggot and the table, with a freezer-sized blob of foam halfway up the ramp into the machine.

Of course, my teleport was the opposite of subtle. There was panicked shouting from the parking lot, followed by my danger sense flaring and the crack of a massive rifle. I tried to teleport again, but it wasn't ready and I was knocked off my feet by the backhand of god to my shoulder. My shoulder panel shattered from the impact. I barely managed to turn the fall into a roll in time to dodge a barrage of blinding lights crashing down around me as I sprung up to my feet.

Turning my back on my would-be prison, I bolted across the roof. More bugs had entered my range, so I grabbed hold of what I could and jumped to the furthest point I could sense, trying to get away even as space continued to warp and another shot rang out.

As I got my bearings from my jump, I could see New Wave's fliers fanning in the distance to watch for me, looking for the telltale flash of my teleport. It wasn't just Lady Photon anymore — others had joined them, but I couldn't tell who from three blocks away. I also didn't care too much at the moment.

I couldn't afford to sit still with how quickly they could cover ground, but neither could I safely teleport in the open. An idea struck me when I felt a bug in one of the places I would usually try to ignore — an abandoned bathroom. Bracing myself to once again be in a dark, enclosed space, I hoped that the walls would mute the explosion and block the flash. I repeated the trick as soon as my teleport recharged, moving from sequestered closet to unused office basement across the city.

A dozen jumps later and I found myself in the old trainyards, finally far enough that I felt I could relax for a moment. I set my bugs to cleaning my costume of the rotting blood I'd inadvertently covered myself in from Alkaline's hammerspace and rotted with Fester's power, but my mind was elsewhere as I considered the ramifications of what I was about to do.

Could I actually lead the Teeth?

How would I lead the Teeth?

Damascian must have sensed my confusion. "Your first order of business is a show of force. Following that, take refuge in audacity. You will find that the Butcher can flaunt the rules that so bind other capes, and it can be… amusing, at times."

Her declaration set off a round of cheers in my head, and I didn't even bother to mute them for it. "I'm not going to kill people."

"Perhaps not, but living well is the best revenge."

If the heroes weren't going to let me be anyone but Butcher XV, then I was going to be the most badass Butcher the Teeth had ever seen. Hell, I had already wiped out the ABB, something the heroes had long since given up on attempting. With planning and a team at my back, the Empire would crumble, too.

But that was all later. Tonight, I had a party to crash and an entrance to make. I intended for it to be memorable.

Brockton Bay had no idea what the heroes had awakened tonight, and even if I didn't think I had it in me to be a villain, I had the memories of those who were villains. I could certainly fake it. I would make this work.

I had to.

Sorry, dad. I hoped that I wouldn't come to regret this decision.

I would do what was necessary, even if I hated every minute of it.

I would become the Butcher in truth.

Me, Taylor Hebert.

Weaver.

Butcher XV.

Author's Notes:

FS: many, many thanks to manicMagician , who contributed massively to this chapter.

Pen: That's an understatement. Her feedback was amazing, helping us refine a few scenes and really nailing some of those emotional moments.

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Pendragoon

Jan 19, 2022

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Threadmarks Interlude 1.c

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Pendragoon

Pendragoon

She/Her

Jan 23, 2022

#874

Friday, April 8th 2011

When Chrissie first joined the Teeth after the gang finally returned home, life had been ticking along like clockwork — be gay, do crime, fuck up Nazis, embarrass heroes, profit.

Now that clock felt overwound to the point of breaking.

Quarrel had died a week prior, and Butcher XV had single handedly dismantled the entire ABB… without the Teeth. The longest anyone had held out before returning to the gang was twelve days. However, Butcher III had been an outlier, and everyone else had come back within three (save Damascian who needed to drive the distance, first).

"I still think we should send someone to just kill the dumb bitch," Reaver grumbled for what must have been the fiftieth time that week.

"That 'dumb bitch' is a Master with a fuckoff long range," Spree retorted, again, turning his back to the capes in the loft to lean against the railing and watch the fight happening in the arena below them. "But she won't last much longer. We'll wait and ow!"

Animos had picked up an empty beer bottle from the common area table and thrown it at Spree, smacking him directly in the small of the back before rebounding off of a chair and rolling off the ledge into the stands below. The Teeth had converted the box seats of a defunct sports arena into the capes' personal quarters, allowing them to watch fights in the pits below.

Now, though, their temporary leader's yelp of pain was lost in the cheers of the crowd, and his angry retort was cut off by Hemorrhagia asking, "Who won?"

Spree shot Animos a death glare before risking a glance over his shoulder. "Well, given that Big Robbie is holding a tattooed scalp, I'd say he did."

When no one immediately pulled out their wallet to pay out bets — sure, that Nazi had looked like a piece of work but Big Robbie was mean — Chrissie decided to reveal her own discovery about XV.

"Weaver doesn't talk like Quarrel," Chrissie said, immediately drawing the senior Teeth's attention.

"What do you mean?" Spree asked, shooting Animos a glare.

"Haven't you seen the videos?" They hadn't of course, so Chrissie pulled out her phone and navigated to one of the 'New Hero in BB?' threads that had popped up in the last week. She played the one of Weaver meeting the Wards from when their wayward boss attacked an ABB brothel Monday evening, having to restart it twice because the Teeth were too loud or couldn't see.

Spree yanked the phone from her hand and rewound the video, staring at the device with a dumbfounded expression. "What the hell?"

Chrissie shrugged, wondering internally if her phone would survive the next few minutes. "If I didn't know that she was XV, I would never have guessed."

The other Teeth capes froze for a long minute, sharing worried glances, before Hemorrhagia swallowed nervously. "You don't think… a hero, seriously?"

Spree shook his head. "No, I can't believe it. The Teeth… the other Butchers… they will drive her insane eventually. Right?"

The others murmured their agreement, but even Chrissie could tell that they were all bullshitting each other, plastering up a strong façade over their worries. Without the Butcher, the Teeth would be in a lot of trouble. Sure, Lung was finally dead, but the Protectorate and Empire both wanted them gone, nevermind whatever other posers would crawl out of the woodwork to fuck around.

Normally, Chrissie would welcome the opportunity to help those posers find out — the memory of Skidmark trying to escape through her forcefields and being reduced to salsa would forever make her laugh — but even if Weaver only stayed on the sidelines, she tied up a significant portion of the Teeth's battlefield presence.

"Well, maybe…" Reaver started, but trailed off when a curious sound filled the repurposed arena. It began as a quiet scratching and clicking, growing to a roar just as a tidal wave of insects erupted out of the walls and floors. Chrissie reflexively jumped to her feet, which let her watch in horror and anticipation as the veritable flood of bugs poured down through the stands surrounding the arena. People flailed in horror as the bugs wormed their way around their feet, only for the dark tide to flow together and ooze up into chittering, twitching swarm tentacles.

Out of pure, twisted curiosity — and knowing exactly what might happen — Chrissie stuck her hand into the nearest bug tentacle. She was surprised when the bugs didn't sting her, bite her, or anything unpleasant apart from simply bouncing off of her skin.

It was creepy as all fuck, but more importantly, their wayward boss had finally returned.

And if their enemies weren't afraid of insects already, then they would be soon.

From her perch overlooking the arena, Chrissie watched with fascination and mild horror as the bug tentacles and clouds converged on the arena before another biblical swarm descended from the ceiling and swirled around the room in the world's worst possible hurricane. She could just barely make out a churning pillar of bugs in the center of the arena before all of the bugs pulled back in an instant and revealed Butcher XV.

"What in the everloving fuck," Spree muttered. Chrissie hummed in agreement, finally getting a good look at their new boss in person.

Weaver's costume was badass: all blacks and grays with intimidating armored panels and a frankly unsettling insect motif; her mask sent shivers down Chrissie's spine. The small armory of weapons sheathed across her chest, back, and legs was expected, of course, but Chrissie was much more confused about Weaver's hair. It was tied up in a ponytail in most of the footage, but now hung free, writhing slightly.

Oh god those were insects.

It wasn't just her hair.

Butcher's whole body was crawling and skittering with her swarm, forming skittering patterns and paths that left no doubt as to how fine her control was. When she moved, Weaver almost seemed to leave an echo of bugs behind, which blurred her silhouette and made her appear part of the swarm herself.

Was Chrissie drooling? She felt like she was drooling.

"Teeth. I am Weaver, Butcher XV," the cape said, and like a chorus straight out of hell, the bugs buzzed and chittered along with her voice. "Lung is dead, and the ABB is disintegrating. Our next target is the Empire. We are going to seize the Bay, but there will be… changes."

"Oh fuck the hell yes," Chrissie hissed.

Weaver was everything she had wanted in a Butcher and more — and could even talk in complete sentences! Chrissie didn't even care what changes might bring, because this new girl was pants-shittingly terrifying. This city didn't know what it was in for. The Butcher was home, and it was going to be one hell of a ride!

Spree, however, didn't seem nearly as impressed as Chrissie, scowling as he leaned out over the railing. "Why should we follow you? You've spent the last week playing hero, throwing yourself against the ABB and Empire, so why should we believe you've suddenly decided to come back to lead us? How do we know this isn't an elaborate trap to take us all in?"

In response, Butcher XV teleported up to the repurposed VIP box and materialized damn near on top of Spree. Clones exploded from him in surprise, and the Butcher responded by laughing along with her horrifying bug echo. She lashed out immediately with the machete from her hip, severing one clone's leg before using the severed appendage to bludgeon the next. Between the ultrasharp blade and the grisly club, Butcher set about mowing down Spree's army of clones, occasionally swapping out her Spree-bat for less mangled limbs.

Chrissie spread a relatively light smattering of shields between her and the ensuing carnage, which kept her mostly clean from the blood and bits flying around while Butcher lived up to her name. Upon reaching Spree (who had backed into a corner), Weaver chucked the dismembered leg into his face and leveled her machete at his neck. "Are you finished? Or do I need to continue this demonstration?"

Spree shook his head quickly, looking up into the ominous yellow lenses of the east coast's most terrifying villain. For all that she had been a teenage girl, Weaver now looked like a queen-cum-headsman who had just slaughtered a battalion of usurpers. Her bloodsoaked costume only bolstered the image, the irregular plops of blood echoing the sudden silence.

Chrissie, having not been stupid enough to antagonize the living swarm, had to fight down giggles. She could not wait to hit the streets with XV leading the charge.

"Good," Weaver said, giving her machete a contemptuous flick and spraying Spree with the blood of his clones. The blade was suspiciously clean when she crammed it back into the sheath.

There was no warning when, a moment later, her swarm exploded back into the common area in a tornado of chittering and buzzing. When it cleared after a few seconds, Butcher was gone — no, wait, she was sitting in Quarrel's spot on the sofa, her costume miraculously clean. The other Teeth were giving the Butcher annoyed glares, but Chrissie was too preoccupied with the fact that Weaver had her bugs eat all of the blood and gore off of her armor.

Holy fuck was that cool to watch!

Chrissie couldn't wait to see how fast she could strip a person of their own flesh.

"Someone get me a beer," Butcher ordered, propping up her feet among the decaying remains of Spree clones in an obvious show of how many fucks she gave right now. "And someone clean up the rest of this shit."

"Sure, boss," Chrissie said first, claiming the easy job while the others leapt into action. "What kinda beer do you want?"

It wasn't until Chrissie was waiting at the fridge for Butcher's order that she remembered that bringing her boss substandard beer was asking for punishment. "Whatever's good," Weaver said eventually, and for the first time, Chrissie heard a crack in her fearsome façade. Was this Weaver's first time drinking alcohol?

That was definitely a thought for later. Chrissie grabbed the most expensive bottle in the fridge, an imported Belgian pilsner that was almost certainly Reaver's, and brought it to Weaver after twisting off the top.

Then Weaver pulled off her mask, and Chrissie recognized the girl's face. She dropped the proffered beer bottle in surprise.

Butcher herself saved her beer, hand snatching the bottle in midair faster than Chrissie could follow. With the alarm bells blaring in her brain, Chrissie barely noticed Weaver's slight grimace upon bringing the bottle to her lips, nor the tightening of her eyes as she downed half of the bottle in a single pull. Of course, when her mind caught up to what she was seeing, Chrissie blurted out a question that would almost certainly get her killed.

"Fucking locker girl!?" Chrissie shouted, and the newest Butcher froze inhumanly still.

"Vex, you know her?" Animos asked as he took a cautious step back, clearly unnerved as Weaver's full attention fell upon Chrissie.

"From school," Chrissie choked out, very aware of the deafening sounds of the swarm in the walls and floors. Before Weaver could kill her horribly, Chrissie reached up and yanked off her own mask. "Uh, Taylor, wasn't it? Gotta say, I'm really loving the new you."

Weaver — shit, Taylor Hebert was the Butcher — rose from the couch with ominous deliberation, keeping Chrissie pinned with her murderous gaze the whole time. In the back of Chrissie's mind, she wondered if the girl had always had the ability to flay people alive with a stare, or if it was yet another perk of the job. She took a step backwards as Weaver reached her full height and loomed over her, followed by two more from the force of her gaze alone.

Chrissie was vaguely aware of the other capes readying themselves for whatever violence Butcher was about to unleash, but she couldn't peel her eyes away from the other girl's green orbs. "The only reason you are currently alive is because I barely remember you," Weaver said, voice arctic. "But when you return to Winslow on Monday, you are going to ensure that no one else suffers like I did."

"Uh, boss —" Chrissie tried, but Butcher rolled right over her, grinning, and Chrissie couldn't help but admire the viciousness in her eyes.

"Those who prey upon the weak will be our targets along with the Empire and their ilk. Those who wish to be left alone will be granted their respite. I won't suffer to see another live through what I did. Those who break my word will see themselves broken instead. The Teeth will ensure it."

Weaver had raised her voice by the end of her rant, but it was unnecessary — her bugs were echoing her every word with their terrifying swarm voice as they swirled around her body in a cloud.

"Goddamnit, not this wordy shit again," Reaver muttered.

A scoff drew everyone's attention towards an unimpressed Hemorrhagia. "Care to dumb that down for the rest of the class, Miss English Lit?"

Weaver spun to face the other cape, which let Chrissie frantically mouth 'trigger trauma' to the rest of the room while their boss's back was turned. A look of horrified understanding passed over Hemorrhagia's face an instant before Weaver's beer bottle struck her right in the forehead, shattering in an explosion of beer and glass.

Before the senior cape could so much as stumble, Weaver caught her by the front of her costume in a flash of flame and held her bloodied face close. Chrissie could imagine those cold and calculating eyes glaring into Hemorrhagia's very soul.

"To put it in terms you may comprehend — stop being assholes!" Weaver roared, ignoring the pained grunt from the hemokinetic as Weaver sent her sprawling onto her ass. "Last time I checked, the Butcher runs the Teeth. And unless any of you want to try your luck where Lung, Quarrel, and the Protectorate failed…" She trailed off, turning her searching gaze on each of the capes individually. Every single one of them looked away first, including Chrissie.

Luckily, Weaver seemed to have found whatever she was looking for, and it didn't involve killing anyone… yet. Pronouncement done, she sat back down on the couch and used one arm to sweep a clear spot among the bottles and drug paraphernalia.

"Reaver, bring me another one of your beers. Spree, find me some paper and a marker so I can draw a map. Hemorrhagia, get off the fucking floor already." The named capes practically leapt into action; Weaver kept talking. "We're going to hit a major Empire storehouse tomorrow, and we're not just rushing in like a pack of drunk, half-feral wolves…"

As the adrenaline subsided from Chrissie's close brush with death-by-bees, a wide grin slowly settled on her face. Butcher certainly had a good reason to clean up their school, but that was a small price to pay for the rest of her badassery.

This was going to be awesome!

Saturday, April 9th 2011

Much to Chrissie's delight, Weaver had wanted to jump right into the action now that she was back with the Teeth. Their target tonight was the Empire (which had Chrissie excited as fuck), hitting a huge stockpile that was probably worth literal millions. The Teeth had already raided the place once, but were forced to retreat when the Empire mustered their capes. But now that they had a new Butcher…

Well, hopefully the boss was going to enjoy herself tonight. Weaver was only playing overwatch and backup, as she clearly wanted her minions to demonstrate what they could do; to show her that they had half a brain and could get results. Chrissie was determined to live up to those expectations. Hell, she wanted to blow them the fuck out of the goddamn water!

Chrissie giggled to herself. "Who's ready to kick some Nazi ass?"

Around her, various Teeth made excited noises or kicked at the webbed-up sentry that they had discovered in the alley while following Weaver's fireflies. Those same fireflies were now a slowly-flashing X, indicating to even the dumbest muscle here that they should wait. While they checked hopefully-cleaned guns, Chrissie was trying to imitate Butcher's bug-tornado by surrounding herself with a storm of force fields.

The unpowered Teeth with her were at least smart enough to leave her some space. It was no secret that the Empire had better minions, both in guns and training, but the Teeth made up with it with a 'we will fuck you up' attitude that couldn't be matched!

There was a reason most retreated from the Teeth, and it wasn't just that one of the most prized trophies was a tanned Nazi tattoo framed on your wall. In fact, several of the guys around her right now had bits of Nazis adorning their costume, including Big Robbie's three shrunken heads. Fucking insane bastard, but he was awesome to drink with! He had been with the Teeth back before they originally left the bay. The man lived and breathed Teeth and told the craziest stories of past glories.

The fireflies turned into five little clusters in a line, counting down the start of their part in the job. Chrissie dismissed her force fields with an excited wave — this was it, the start of something huge. Not just kicking the Empire in the balls and running away, but a new era for the Teeth and the Bay… assuming the drunk and high idiots around her didn't ruin it for everyone.

As though he had read her mind, one of Chrissie's drunken squad members proved what a dumbass he was by stumbling over and falling to the ground; she had to resist the urge to turn and hit him. The party was supposed to come after they made the bigoted Nazi fucks bleed!

Chrissie was the first one out of the alley when the countdown hit zero and turned into an arrow, her Teeth charged out of the alley behind her and down the street at the Butcher's direction. Chrissie's little squad practically fell on top of an unsuspecting group of Empire thugs defending a side door. They didn't stand a chance against the Teeth onslaught, but it wasn't their screams of pain that echoed through the Docks.

No, that was the Empire idiots inside, who were being chased by a fucking biblical plague of insects. Weaver said that she was going to shut down the lights, too, so the panicking neo-Nazis had little option except to make a break for the outside doors… right into the waiting Teeth.

Chrissie didn't bother to hold in her laugh when the first tattooed skinhead ran dick-first into her wall of force fields.

Shit got busy a few seconds later when Hookwolf burst out of the front door and tried to murder blend his way through Spree's oncoming tide of clones. Stormtiger and Cricket were backing him up, exactly as Weaver planned; the meat grinders were choked on an unlimited supply of meat. Animos rampaging on the inside of the warehouse should keep the Empire capes out while Hemorrhagia and Reaver looted the place of its merchandise.

Then Weaver's little signaling bugs pointed them past the door, indicating on the wall where their sapper (which was a weird as hell word, but that's what Weaver called them) should put the explosive charges. While he worked, Chrissie formed up a protective half-sphere as fast as she could — fast enough, luckily, to deflect gunfire from a group of Nazi thugs that appeared from around the corner. Their cries of "Shit, cape!" were the last thing they said before the Teeth and Weaver's bugs were upon them.

"We're clear," the sapper said, and Chrissie wasted no time getting away from the explosive charges. She flicked the detonator while she was still a bit too close, but her swiftly applied force fields helped direct the blast into the wall — she hadn't needed Weaver to tell her that trick. Gotta love how Aleph shows about busting myths can teach you so much useful shit!

"Come on!" she yelled with a wide grin, which thankfully dragged the other Teeths' attention back from where they were beating one Empire thug with pieces of another. They actually had an important task, here — the breaching charges had gone through a reinforced outer wall and into a hallway, which Chrissie promptly turned into a deathtrap. Fireflies blinking by the second door indicated a room filled with cash, and the Teeth hardly needed instructions to loot the place.

A sudden nausea made Chrissie stumble as she exited the room with a duffle of cash, followed by a pained howl when that asshole Cricket ran full-force into her razor wall blocking the rest of the hallway. While the Empire cape tried to pry her stuck armor from Chrissie's force fields, she opened enough of a hole for her foot and kicked Cricket solidly in the stomach. Fucking bitch ass cunt. The blow sent her sprawling backwards, but even downed, Cricket was annoying.

"Oh fuck," Chrissie groaned as Cricket pumped out another round of nausea-inducing… whatever, which made it that much harder for Chrissie and the others to escape with their bags. Stumbling and lurching, they re-emerged onto a street in chaos.

Hookwolf was still attempting to murder blend his way through wave after wave of Spree clones, but the tide was turning against him. Stormtiger was trying to help, but instead spent most of his effort dispelling the biblical swarm of bugs that had formed over the street. Weaver's control of the battlefield was breathtaking to behold and Chrissie found herself just taking it all in.

"Above and behind!" a cluster of bugs buzzed urgently, and Chrissie spun around to find two rapidly-growing bimbos jumping off of Rune's floating dumpster. Chrissie cackled like a madwoman as hundreds of force fields sprung into place right below the left bimbo, and the Nazi collapsed to the ground with a thousand painful cuts. Her screams were glorious!

The right bimbo, however, was deposited safely, and still growing. Worse, Rune levitated a whole storm of fuck-you chunks of concrete from within her dumpster.

Shit.

"Retreat," the swarm ordered. "Draw them away, I have a plan."

"You heard the scary boss lady!" Chrissie yelled, tossing her own bag to one of the minions. As they ran, small swarms moved beside the other Teeth, who then began to split off at orders she couldn't hear. Of course, the enemy capes were still following Chrissie and her swirling forcefields, which led Rune and Norse Barbie number two towards her conveniently parked escape Jeep.

"Fucking drive!" Chrissie shouted, vaulting into the back seat. Luckily the dumbass normie followed her orders, peeling out and speeding past the ongoing battle. Chrissie began to gather her force fields as Stormtiger eyed her jeep, but he was thrown back with an echoing CRACK. Chrissie couldn't help but gape as a six foot javelin pierced through Stormtiger's shoulder and pinned the bastard to the ground before the swarm engulfed him. Quarrel's love of the bow was still delivering the pain! Now if only Weaver had the minigun…

Chrissie was snapped out of her revelry thanks to the rude bitch raining concrete all around them and a Godzilla-sized Fenja (or was it Menja? Fuck, not important) chased after their car. Chrissie wasn't worried however, she knew Weaver wasn't going to leave her out to dry — her plan was going off perfectly so far after all!

She just had to hope their driver wasn't too much of a pussy and would actually follow Weaver's signals. It was equal parts terrifying and thrilling to be chased by an inflated pin up model in nothing but an open top Jeep, but Chrissie wouldn't be anywhere else. She lived for this shit!

Bugs relayed the next stage of Weaver's plan, and Chrissie just had to trust that it would work. Not that she had any doubts about their new Butcher — the girl was intelligent as hell, with a mind for strategy and shit. Weaver gave Butcher VII a lot of the credit since she was using his power, but that wasn't how it worked with the Teeth. Weaver was the Butcher now, so this was all her.

Rune began to scream right on cue. Chrissie directed her fields as instructed, using the clouds of fireflies as guides, and then Fenja cursed in what sounded like German (hard to tell when everything in that language sounds angry) as Chrissie's razor sharp shields shredded the unarmored portion of her leg like she'd gone through a cheese grater. The Nazi barbie went down hard enough that their Jeep bounced from the impact. Yes, Chrissie was indeed cackling as the driver muttered curses and skidded to a stop.

Weaver burst into existence between her and the fallen capes with her trademark flare. She was about a dozen feet in the air and seemed to hang there over the struggling bimbo. Lashing out with a fist, Weaver sent Kaiser's blow up doll back down to the ground with the extreme prejudice that only a Brute could deliver.

Weaver landed in a perfect three point stance that cracked the road beneath her, then she rose to her feet with a deliberate slowness. Chrissie's skin broke out in goosebumps at the sight of the fuck off swarm that exploded out of every crack and crevice to descend upon the downed Nazi.

What followed had her driver vomiting over the side of his door. Well, it seemed Chrissie was getting her question answered.

Fenja let out a much more panicked, bloodcurdling scream as the bugs began to feast. Bugs scoured the flesh from her left leg, starting from the cuts Chrissie inflicted right below her knee and worked downwards. Weaver easily dodged the giantess's flailing swipe with the pop of a short distance teleport, but soon the latter was shouting out cries for mercy and begging to be turned over to the PRT.

The Butcher didn't relent, nor did she even need to use Fester's ability; Chrissie imagined this would leave a longer lasting impression. The feast continued while Weaver remained inhumanly still and out of reach of the whimpering baby. Within a few short, yet impossibly long minutes the swarm dispersed. There was nothing left of her shin but bones as Fenja twitched and writhed on the ground.

Goddamn that had been fucking awesome! Too bad she hadn't thought to record it.

The Butcher's attention then turned to Rune, who had crashed nearby. Sabrina the teenage Nazi was still crying from what almost certainly had been a pain blast, or maybe a fuck ton of bees. Chrissie couldn't tell, given how layered her costume was. Weaver made sure Rune was aware of her approach, her movements slow and deliberate, yet completely relaxed.

"I want you to deliver a message to Kaiser for me," the Butcher declared, her chittering echo in full effect as Rune stiffened in terror. "I'm coming for him. Brockton Bay is mine and I will drive him from it. This is his only warning, for the Teeth ride to war."

Now that was how you delivered an ultimatum!

Weaver then left Rune and the debilitated Menja (still too confused to give a shit) to their own devices as Chrissie suddenly found the newest terror to grace Brockton Bay seated very closely beside her. Suddenly the cool night had gotten quite warm.

"Drive," she ordered the minion; once in motion, she turned her attention to Chrissie. "Good work. They didn't realize that the rest of us were a distraction until you had made it out with the cash."

"What about the guns?" Chrissie asked.

"Hemorrhagia and Reaver made off with what they could of the guns and drugs while we put on our little shows. Everyone is returning to the Arena as we speak."

Chrissie crossed her arms as she tried to wrap her head around the complexity of the plan that Weaver had just carried out. "The Nazi dipshits won't fall for it a second time, boss."

"Correct," Butcher agreed. "We'll need to step up our game."

Chrissie spared one glance back at the chaos they had left behind them, then burst into laughter even as the sounds of sirens in the distance signaled the PRT was on their way, too late as per usual. "Oh, this is gonna be fucking great!"

After the fun they had just had, Chrissie wanted nothing more than to take this girl out for a night on the town, Teeth style!

"For the Teeth!" Elliot — Animos, but they had all ditched their masks — shouted, hoisting his bottle overhead as the gathered members all cheered. "For the Butcher!" The rest of the Teeth downed their poison of choice and the revelry began in earnest. They had much to celebrate after all: there was a new Butcher, and she was sheer, condensed, nightmare fuel.

Thanks to Weaver's intel — Chrissie wondered how long it would be until the city sold out of bug spray — their single raid tonight had been wildly successful. The Empire capes had run around like chickens with their heads cut off while the Teeth stole the cash right out from under their nose. Kaiser would be feeling this one for weeks to come, but Chrissie suspected that the neo-Nazi fucks were going to have much bigger problems very soon.

Hopefully they were too stupid to actually read the writing on the wall, because this shit was far too much fun to give up on after only one night. Chrissie wanted them to bleed slowly; Butcher XV deserved the chance to play with her prey.

Weaver had (thankfully… finally?) taken her customary spot in the middle of the party, drinking alongside the rest of the team as though she had always belonged. However, Chrissie was already starting to spot chips in Taylor's façade even as the newest Butcher threw knives with pinpoint precision at a poster of Armsmaster. Her last throw was lazy and almost negligent, but Quarrel's power ensured that the knife hit the hero's visage square in the dick.

The grim smile that accompanied the ker-thunk of the dagger sinking into the plywood did little to shake the stoic determinism from Weaver's face. It was hard to be truly relaxed as a supervillain, but even among her teammates XV was still obviously anticipating… something. Chrissie had seen the look before, on the face of the girl who had suffered as one of Winslow's favorite punching bags.

Just how much of that beaten-down girl remained beneath the veneer of the Butcher that Taylor was so desperately projecting? Why had Weaver chosen now to return to the Teeth when she had wanted to be a hero forty eight hours prior? Spree's instincts had been spot on — the newest Butcher was nothing like her predecessors, dominating the voices to the point that she had been a hero, even for a short time. Chrissie tried not to wonder if Weaver would have turned them all in, had she been given the opportunity.

More importantly, her style was completely different from Quarrel. Instead of charging into battle with bloodlust, rage, and wild abandon, Weaver had calmly described the interior of the Empire distribution center and explained how to deal with the security. The subsequent attack had been much more coordinated than Teeth standard, which left the rest of the gang obviously confused… and now, hungry for more.

If this was the 'change' Weaver was bringing, Chrissie suspected that she might be around for a while — and Chrissie wanted to be there for every bloody moment of it!

Speaking of blood, Hemorrhagia had thrown a crystallized blood dagger of her own at the Armsmaster poster, painting the whole thing in a grisly red and prompting a round of laughs.

"Nice shot," Taylor said, and to Chrissie's amusement, the much more senior cape looked utterly confused at the compliment. The Butcher never offered comments, just grunts of what were hopefully agreement and punishment for slights.

Right, Chrissie really needed to find a way to get to know this new Butcher, especially if they were both going back to Winslow. Sure, there were rumors of Wards also attending that hellhole of a school, but Taylor was clearly the biggest fish in the pond and the Teeth were not going to let that opportunity go. Meek little Taylor, walking down the hall in Teeth colors, only for her to snap at someone deserving her wrath… The thought sent Chrissie into a fit of cackles. Monday was going to be a riot, maybe even literally!

Those cackles turned into an involuntary blush when she instead imagined what Taylor looked like under those colors, because holy hell she looked good in that costume. Her lithe figure, endless legs, and tightly corded muscle had set Chrissie's heart racing nearly from the moment she had seen Butcher up close and personal.

If she was being honest, so did the way Weaver had mowed down Spree's clones.

Chrissie downed the rest of her beer and grabbed two more off of a table before making her way over to Weaver — only stumbling a bit as the room spun around her like a damn traitor. She handed the Butcher the extra (and better) beer and threw an arm around her boss's shoulder, causing the terrifying girl to go completely still.

"I suggest you unhand me before I consider doing it myself." Faster than Chrissie could follow, and despite having set her weapon harness down, Weaver produced a dagger out of a hidden sheath and pointed at the offending limb.

It was now or never.

Chrissie laughed, only some of it forced. "Come on boss, you of all people should be enjoying yourself." The dagger twitched. "Seriously, take this chance to unwind." Another twitch. "Are you really going to just stand there glaring all night or are you going to fucking party?"

Weaver resheathed the knife, but to Chrissie's surprise, she didn't push the shorter girl's arm away. That might be because she was arguing with the other Butchers, which was accompanied by the usual distant staring and tiny mouth wiggles. "I'm fine," Weaver said eventually.

One of their unpowered lieutenants walked by smoking a blunt, which gave Chrissie an idea. She seized the opportunity, snatching the smoldering roll of paper right out of his mouth. "Look, boss," she said, shooing the man away and leaning in close to avoid eavesdroppers, "I don't believe those bitches in your grade any further than I could throw them, so I doubt you go around getting wasted at parties."

Weaver did her human statue impression for another long moment before nodding once.

"Right, so, I figure you don't know shit about drugs or alcohol. But see, you're the boss now, and that means doing shit the old you would have found uncomfortable." She wiggled the blunt. "Here. This is a… baby step, nothing too bad, and it might help you relax."

Butcher XV just looked at Chrissie, her face devoid of expression. It was hella creepy how she could just turn off her emotions like that — almost bad as her mask, actually. Without warning, Weaver plucked the blunt from Chrissie's hands and took a long hit… only to start coughing immediately after. Chrissie laughed again and slapped the Butcher's back.

"Gotta break in the new lungs I guess," Chrissie declared, waggling her eyebrows mischievously. Weaver's eyes widened in surprise, and Chrissie took the opportunity to grab her boss by the hand and drag her towards Chrissie's private room here in the lair. "Wonder what else you need to break in?"

That was when she heard the swarm.

Chrissie was engulfed by millions of insects in an instant, and though not one stung her, she was nevertheless proud for not immediately screeching in terror. Any sound she might have made was cut off when Butcher XV pulled her close, bugs buzzing ominously around them like a cloak.

"Just what are you playing at?" Weaver asked without a hint of echo from her bugs. No, not Weaver. This was Taylor speaking.

Chrissie just needed to be open and honest and hope to any bastard god out there listening that the mask didn't reappear in order to make an example of her.

"Listen boss, the others may be blind but… you're clearly uncomfortable as all fuck right now. If you want to… walk away, I guess, and unwind, feel free to drag my happy ass back to your room or mine. We don't even need to do anything fun, but these assholes will think you're living it up. Offer's open anytime you need it."

As the seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, Chrissie became increasingly nervous and worried for her long-term survival. Taylor was obviously conversing with the other Butchers, and Chrissie could only hope they were putting in a good word with their new boss. She was very much not trying to think about whatever the worst thing that could happen right now, even as Fenja's screams echoed in the back of her mind.

Yeah, that would be pretty fucking shitty reward for trying to look out for the girl stuck with fourteen assholes in her head.

The consolation prize was almost as bad — Chrissie squawked in surprise when her Brute of a boss suddenly hoisted her over her costumed shoulder like a ragdoll. No warning, no way to wiggle free… and no way to signal anyone else through the curtain of bugs.

Then the swarm parted, and Chrissie found herself back in the middle of the common area as Butcher XV held out her hand dramatically. A relatively small swarm (that was small, now?) lifted her mask on invisible threads and dropped it into her waiting palm. "Teeth!" Weaver shouted, the swarm chorus echoing her words. The room went silent immediately, including someone killing the music. "Tonight is a night for revelry! Celebrate as you see fit!" She gently jostled Chrissie on her shoulder. "I certainly plan to."

The Teeth cheered and whooped at the Butcher's declaration as Weaver confidently carried Chrissie through the parting crowd and into the hallway, escorted by her swarm. On their way out, Chrissie flashed a pair of middle fingers to the other capes — she hadn't been invited to celebrate when Quarrel took over. Then whichever asshole was near the music picked a new song, the speakers thumping out "I like big butts and I cannot lie," and the Teeth broke out into another round of cheers and lewd commentary.

Once they arrived in the relative sanity of her room, Chrissie shut the door behind them before leaping off Weaver's shoulder — she barely stuck the landing — and twirling to face her new boss. Here, away from the party and the noise, Taylor's unease was unmistakable. Chrissie had seen the exact stoic, suffering expression when that red-headed bitch cornered her earlier this week.

In retrospect, it was not surprising at all that the girl had triggered.

Damn.

Chrissie, however, was undeterred. "So, whatcha think?" she asked, darting over to the table she used for cape supplies and starting to remove her armor. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, but you can plop right down on that beanbag if you want. Or, if you're feeling adventurous, the bed."

"I… um, my armor," Taylor tried. "I'd rather not rip —"

"Here," Chrissie replied, abandoning her legplates to rummage through the clothes she had here in the lair. They were nothing fancy, mostly just loose, comfortable stuff for sleeping or wearing under armor. After a quick search, she tossed the longest shirt and shorts she could find in her pile of clean clothes to the taller girl.

Taylor held up the change of clothes. "Are you sure?"

Chrissie just waved her off, then made sure her back was turned so Taylor wouldn't think she was peeking. She wanted to peek, quite badly in fact, but there was little doubt in her mind that either Taylor or one of the others would notice. Then she would run away, and all of Chrissie's efforts to help Taylor get acclimated would go up in smoke.

That didn't stop Taylor from peeking, of course, so when Chrissie heard a sharp intake of breath upon stripping off her leggings, she smiled mischievously and made sure to give her butt a little wiggle. Soon they were both changed, and Chrissie got a very different view of Butcher XV, sans armor.

"Damn girl, do you run or something?" Chrissie asked, seeing the taller girl's legs for the first time.

"Yeah, I've been running to keep in shape," Taylor replied, absently playing with the end of her braid. Chrissie recognized the tic — Damascian would do the same. "So, what now?"

In response, Chrissie made a beeline for the big beanbag chair in the corner. Taylor briefly resisted when Chrissie attempted to drag her along, too, only to give in after a few tugs. The beanbag was big enough for both of them to sit comfortably and apart, but that was no fun at all. Taylor didn't seem to realize what Chrissie was doing until the latter was flopping onto her lap, which gave Chrissie front row seats to the scariest cape on the East Coast blushing an amazing color of red.

"You doin' alright there, boss?" Chrissie asked, twisting so that she was laying across Taylor's lap. "I can move, if you want."

Several emotions ran over Taylor's face in quick succession before she shook her head once. "It's, um, fine."

"Right," Chrissie said, wondering just what was going on in Butcher's crowded head. "Well, what do you think of your first Teeth party? Having fun?"

Taylor's expression hardened. "I don't have anything to compare it to. The others… but not me."

Chrissie's mouth moved before her inebriated brain had time to process that statement. "Really? We go to Winslow; people throw ragers like this pretty regularly." Sprawled out as they were, Taylor's sudden death glare was all the more intimidating. Her eyes seemed to bore into Chrissie, sparkling with danger and leashed violence — a stark reminder of how much the girl underneath her had changed. "Ah, right, sorry about that. I forgot you don't, uh, hang out with those people." Taylor shifted slightly, and Chrissie braced to get dumped onto the ground.

When that didn't happen, she carried on with her original plan. "Anyway, my first Teeth party was crazy! I sort of followed the Teeth when they went after the Merchants, and Skidmark tried to be his usual slippery self when Damascian put their feet to the fire. In retrospect, it was a hella dumb move, possibly getting between the Butcher and their target, but I had a great idea for a trap…"

Chrissie went on to tell about the rest of that crazy night — drinking the weird liquor that Damascian kept around, dancing on the table in the common room, and setting fire to one of the unpowered members' long hair, to name a few. By the end, Taylor had laughed a few times, and Chrissie counted each and every one of those laughs as a win… even the ones that were laughing at her.

Taylor was also being entrapped by Chrissie's siren call of cuddles, as the two of them sank ever lower into the beanbag. It was figuratively, and painfully obvious (with the Butcher, one had to specify) that Taylor was not completely sure what to do, so Chrissie made an effort to be a bit more clingy to make up for what she suspected was a very touch-starved existence.

"Um, Vex —"

Chrissie blinked in confusion. "Boss, we're in civvies, you can just call me Chrissie."

"That's a nice name," Taylor said.

"Wait…" Chrissie suddenly felt a pit in her stomach. "Did you not know my name? I thought that memories were part of the package deal when you inherit."

"They are," Taylor confirmed. "None of the Butchers remembered your real name."

Now it was Chrissie's turn to be confused, but it transitioned into hot rage almost immediately. For all of her dedication, for all they had been through, none of the Butchers bothered to remember her actual name? Those bastards. If they weren't already in Taylor's head, she'd be tempted to kill them herself and inherit just so she could tell them all of the ways they could go fuck themselves!

"Can they hear me?" Chrissie asked, and Taylor nodded. "Okay, none of this is meant for you, just them, alright?" Taylor gave her an adorably inquisitive look, then blushed furiously as Chrissie shifted atop her, cupped Taylor's cheeks and pulled her in close, glaring deep into her eyes. "You FUCKERS! I've been with the Teeth for months now, how the fuck do you not remember my goddamn name!? After everything I've done for the gang, this is how I'm remembered? Consider yourselves lucky that the new Butcher is fucking cute and awesome or you might be dealing with me for the rest of time!"

"Chrissie, could you put the forcefields away? Not sure I'm ready to be a voice in your head if that's how you'll talk to me."

She snapped out of the moment, realizing that yes, she had summoned dozens of her tiny razor sharp friends all around her, and that Taylor was now wound tighter than Spree after snorting a line of coke before a job. She dismissed all of them and sagged down as the tension drained away.

"Sorry, boss… blame those dumbfucks in your head. I don't like being ignored."

Chrissie lifted her head off Taylor's shoulder and looked down at the terrifying but vulnerable brunette; Taylor was sporting a deep crimson blush and staring anywhere but at Chrissie. She was also pretty sure that XV was taller than her by a noticeable margin.

Oh, right. Chrissie was still straddling the girl.

Rather than untangle herself, she decided to seize the opportunity and kissed the Butcher.

It was a gentle thing, barely a peck, but it was still a kiss. Taylor went rigid at the surprise contact, which was exactly the impetus that Chrissie needed to leap up from the beanbag and go looking for more drinks. "Hey Taylor," she said, flashing the other girl a cheeky smile, "want a drink of something? I need another beer or two."

"I, um, drink. Sure," she replied, very obviously distracted with whatever was going on inside her head.

Chrissie gave Taylor a little wave as she pulled open the door. "Alrighty, I'll be back in a jiffy!" She tried not to smile as she emerged back into the party, walking with a bit of a limp as if she'd just had a rough time with the Butcher. It was important to sell the illusion to protect Taylor (and wasn't that a strange thought), but it would also tweak the noses of the other capes.

Bass music washed over her as she opened the door out to the old concession space. The area in front of the bar had turned into a dance party, and Chrissie froze in her faked shuffling to stare out at the dance floor. She wanted to be out there, dancing and enjoying herself, grinding up against Weaver as her hands wandered…

Chrissie shook herself out of those thoughts. Taylor was still new to all of this; Chrissie couldn't push her too hard or she might run again. As she made her way to the fridge where the good shit would be, she absently noted Damien was doing lines of coke off some chick's exposed tits.

That prompted her to look around a bit more and she saw that Elliot had a guy and a girl on each arm that he was drunkenly leading back towards his own room and Alice was making out with Michael. Chrissie sighed in disappointment — it was looking increasingly like she was once again going to be the only one to not get laid at the new Butcher party.

A quick check of the fridge resulted in more disappointment. All the good beer was gone, leaving only fruity cocktails and the unlabeled bottles that Quarrel had found in Damascian's workshop. They were supposedly drinkable, but Chrissie didn't want to chance it. To be honest, she didn't want the fruity shit either, which was ironic considering how open she was about her sexuality.

She grabbed four different wine coolers and made her way back towards her room, keeping up that unsteady wobble as she walked. Before she could get to the hallway door, the wolf whistles began. She held up the bottles and cheered, "Round two bitches!" Chrissie hurried back towards her room as the crowd echoed the cheers behind her.

"Hey, sorry about that," Chrissie said as she snuck back into her room.

"No problem," Taylor replied, clearly preoccupied with… something. Her cheeks were faintly pink. "The Teeth, uh, really know how to party, huh?"

"Hell yeah we do!" Chrissie summoned a pair of forcefields to pop the top off of the first bottle, then offered it to Taylor. "You probably don't drink much, so I brought something you might like better. Wine coolers are mostly fruit juice. Do you like cranberry?"

"No," Taylor hissed, her voice suddenly and absolutely venomous. A look of trapped panic flashed across the seated girl's face before being replaced by that eerie void, though Chrissie didn't miss how Taylor was trying to put distance between the two of them. It didn't work, due to her being in a bean bag chair, but it was clear that something had triggered Taylor's flight-or-fight reflex.

Not for the first time tonight, Chrissie considered herself extremely lucky that Weaver was willing to take the first option. Still, damage control was the name of the game, now. "Shit, sorry boss, I didn't know…" She didn't know what she didn't know, but Chrissie still backed up and set the bottles down on the table. "Are you allergic or something?"

"No," Taylor said, voice flat. "Just a bad experience."

Chrissie almost opened her mouth to ask 'with cranberries?' before a half-heard rumor bubbled to the top of her brain. "Oh fuck me. That was you?" Taylor gave her a single, stiff nod. "Fuck. Well, I wanted to bring you something that you might like more, except those bitches have ruined that, too. I'll —"

"It's okay," Taylor interjected. "I was just surprised. Enhanced smell, you standing there… I'd like to taste it, I guess."

Chrissie gave the other girl a supportive smile, but still grabbed the lemonade flavored drink instead before easing herself onto Taylor's lap again. Taylor sniffed at the new drink, then took a long swig. "This isn't half bad."

"I know, right?" Chrissie said, taking the bottle from Taylor and gulping down some of the sugary drink. "Usually I don't go for fruity drinks, but…"

She trailed off, finding Taylor staring down at her with a confused and vaguely sad expression. It was probably a trick of the light, but Chrissie swore that she could see tiny specks of wetness pooling in Taylor's eyes.

"Why?"

"Why what, boss?"

"Why help me? No one else does," Taylor replied, voice turning small at the end.

Chrissie shrugged, snuggling closer to the vulnerable, terrifying parahuman. "Honestly, Taylor? You're probably the best thing that has happened to the Teeth in a long time. But I'm not stupid — you did something to the voices that leaves you in charge, so if keeping you happy keeps you around, then I'll do it. Clearly no one else is going to help you. Plus, you're pretty cute."

To Chrissie's delight, Taylor blushed bright red at the final comment, and in the momentary confusion that followed, she threaded her arm around the other cape's back. "The others are laughing at me," Taylor murmured, wiggling on the bean bag so she could lean her head on Chrissie's shoulder.

"Fuck 'em with a rake," Chrissie retorted. "You're the most badass, terrifying Butcher that we've ever had. They're just jealous."

Taylor let out an amused huff at that, which Chrissie returned with a tight hug. Taylor hugged back — hard, goddamn girl — and if Chrissie felt a few stray tears soaking into her shirt, she certainly wasn't going to say anything.

They sat in silence for some indeterminate amount of time, drinking wine coolers and snuggling closer as the bean bag chair turned into a donut. Chrissie couldn't help but feel giddy when she remembered that Taylor — Butcher XV, as if Chrissie could ever forget — was wearing her clothes.

She was sorely tempted to push things beyond a simple kiss tonight, but even the Teeth had a line in the sand for 'too crazy.' Her boss needed a friend more than anything, because Chrissie was pretty sure she didn't have any in the rest of her life. That would all change Monday, of course, because the entirety of the Teeth would be behind her. It was hard not to smile when thinking about the days to come, even if Taylor did give her weird looks.

Like Taylor could talk — she literally had voices in her head.

Given that Weaver was a Noctis cape, Chrissie was the first to yawn. "Hey boss," she said, freeing her arm from behind Taylor to stretch. "You're staying here tonight, right? Want to stay with me? No funny business, I promise, but I can get grabby in my sleep."

Taylor raised a single eyebrow. "I can't imagine what that is like."

Chrissie just chuckled at that, prying herself out of the bean bag to flop face-first onto the bed. "Come on, hit the light —" The light flicked off, and Chrissie's heart seemed to jump in her chest. "What?"

"Beetle." Chrissie's eyes hadn't adjusted enough to see by the glow of the electronics in the room, but it didn't matter — the mattress bent as Taylor's weight settled onto it, and Chrissie was so surprised that she almost forgot to help with the blankets. A few confused minutes later, and they were laying side-by-side.

Even with the lights out, Chrissie was absolutely certain that the other Teeth would leave them alone. There were few hard and fast truths in the world of capes, but 'don't barge in on the Butcher and their fuckbuddy(s)' was as close as one could get to 'don't break the Endbringer Truce.' Other good rules were 'don't kill kids' and 'don't unmask someone if you can't deal with the fallout,' but those were hardly relevant right now.

As they sat in the dark and listened to the party happening in the rest of the lair, Chrissie held out hope that Taylor would get curious, lean over, and start something. But just when she was starting to wonder if Taylor had fallen asleep, the other girl told her a horror story.

"They wanted me to send myself to the Birdcage…" Taylor's whispers were full of pain and tightly controlled anger. "I'm in control. They knew it, but they were afraid the next person in line wouldn't be as lucky. They wanted us off the board and when I refused, they tried to force the matter."

Holy fuck! Chrissie rolled over and pulled Taylor into a hug, she felt her tense for a moment before the dam broke and tears began to flow once more. Chrissie let her cry it out until the tears slowed, when Chrissie spoke, it was barely a whisper. "Fuck those self righteous assholes. They didn't deserve you."

"All I wanted ever since I was a kid was to be a hero. They took that from me."

It took Chrissie a long moment to collect her thoughts, and she silently swore to never repeat this conversation to anyone. "That's why you came back to the Teeth, boss? To spite them?"

"I needed a team. People who would have my back in the face of anything, especially assholes who want my power. The others reminded me I already had a team waiting for me to come home; all I had to do was step forward and claim it."

"Well shit. I can't speak for the rest, but I'm glad you did. I promise you this, I'll have your back no matter what comes your way."

The dull, rhythmic thump of the music continued in the background as they laid there in relative silence. Chrissie had almost dozed off when Taylor finally spoke again.

"The others… don't like my plans," she grumbled. "Even after tonight, only a few of them kind-of like me. The rest think I'm too soft."

"You killed Quarrel, Lung and blinded Oni Lee by eating his eyes with bugs. Never mind what you did to the Nazi bimbo just a few hours ago. How the fuck was that soft?"

"Because I refuse to kill the heroes for what they tried to do to me," Taylor said. "I'm not refusing to kill them because I still want to be a hero, I just don't want to deal with the attention that sort of shit brings. We have so much work to do and Legend showing up would complicate things needlessly. Besides, it's better to make the heroes irrelevant than to eliminate them." Taylor's voice was starting to rise at the end before she cut herself off, taking a deep breath before she calmed. "You should get some sleep, I'll still be here when you wake up."

Chrissie may have only been with the Teeth for most of a year, but that was more than long enough to know that Taylor's attitude was bug-fuck terrifying. The Butcher wasn't known for organization or long-term planning, and XV's power was stupidly powerful if she had the patience to use it correctly. Weaver would have been hell on wheels as a villain by herself, but with fourteen more powers and the Teeth? Nobody else even stood a chance.

But she could tell that Butcher XV was also a broken girl who needed someone there for her. If that person had to be Chrissie, then she would be glad to do it.

"I'll say it as many times as I need to — screw the others. You're the Butcher now, and you do what you think is best. If it's anything like tonight, then this is gonna be the Golden Age of the Teeth, and it will all be because of you."

Taylor was going to do amazing things alright, and the heroes were going to regret every moment of it for pushing her away. They deserved all that and more for what they tried to do to her, and if a few of them ended up more maimed than usual? Chrissie really didn't give two shits if a certain bitchy healer had to work a bit harder some nights.

As the emotional exhaustion from the whole damn day caught up to her, Chrissie twisted around and snuggled closer to the Bay's most awkward and adorable walking nightmare. Taylor hesitated before threading an arm around her, murmuring, "Uh, Chrissie…"

"Yeah boss?" she murmured quietly, enjoying the warmth.

"Thanks. For everything."

"No problem, Tay. See you in the morning."

Author's Notes:

FS: Credit to HowlingGuardian for the amazing mental image of Taylor's bug carpet trick, and to manicMagician for her amazing feedback on this chapter! Seriously, if this keeps up we'll have to credit her as a coauthor :)

The scene where Taylor announces herself to the Teeth was one of the earliest fragments I wrote, when I realized that there was so much fun stuff to see if she went villain instead.

Pen: Ditto on manic's help, she really put in some work on the beta front! Also, holy hell this chapter exploded. What started as a small snip (the above mentioned fragment, barely 200 words in total) in the original doc turned into almost 10k words for this fic. (Make your over 9,000 jokes now) The scene where Weaver announces herself to the Teeth, that was the point I knew for sure that I wanted to work on this project. The bit that cemented it however? That will be the second arc's interlude. ;)

Extra note: That Empire raid went through around a dozen different drafts by the end, we just couldn't get it where we were all content with it.

Manic: Help, I'm trapped in an editor's note. They won't let me-

Last edited: Jan 25, 2022

1323

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Jan 23, 2022

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Pendragoon

Pendragoon

She/Her

Jan 28, 2022

#1,547

Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards

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Topic: New Hero in BB?

In: Boards Places America Brockton Bay

liquidsnake (Original Poster)

Posted on April 4, 2011:

With Lung dead and the Protectorate stalling, it seems that new capes are taking the initiative to dismantle the dragon's domain. I saw the aftermath of one of those earlier today, catching this video of a new cape talking to the Wards and New Wave.

At first glance, I was sure she was a villain, but the Wards were being polite to her. The theme seems to suggest bugs. Does anyone else know anything?

(Showing Page 1 of 2)

barkour

Replied on April 4, 2011:

That's a hell of a costume. Nice to have another badass hero around the Bay, we need it with the Teeth.

NeutronSoup

Replied on April 4, 2011:

Bug powers, though? I guess it could work…

Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Replied on April 4, 2011:

I asked around, but none of my contacts knew very much. Someone suggested that her name was Weaver, but that was all they had. Seems a bit weird, but maybe the PRT is angling to recruit her?

@liquidsnake, have anything else? Even the smallest scrap might help, here. Did you hear anything other than her talking about the crime scene?

liquidsnake (Original Poster)

Replied on April 4, 2011:

I got nothing, Bagrat. I only stayed long enough to take the video.

cloud08

Replied on April 4, 2011:

If the PRT is trying to recruit her, that would make four new Wards in the last year. Maybe they don't want her to sign on and transfer?

Eightball (Cape Groupie)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

That is definitely not how the PRT works, cloud08.

XxVoid_CowboyxX (Temp Banned)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

Wait, if Weaver gets transferred out because we already have so many cute and sexy Wards, wouldn't that mean there was one fewer hero in the city? Wouldn't the PRT want to maximize the number of heroes to fight the Teeth?

Alathea (Moderator)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

Any point you might have made was undercut by being a creep. Take a three-day threadban and think about your poor life choices, Void.

Weaver (Unverified Cape)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

Wow, that was quick. Yeah, I'm Weaver, a new independent hero. I don't want to say much about my powers yet.

liquidsnake (Original Poster)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

Thanks, @Alathea. I was afraid this would turn into another of Void's 'Browbeat is totally a girl!' rants.

EDIT: Hey, it's the woman of the hour!

End of Page. 1, 2

(Showing Page 2 of 2)

Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

Weaver, can you tell us anything? It's really exciting to have new heroes, and we would all love to know what you can do!

Weaver (Unverified Cape)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

I appreciate the support, but I just want to confirm that I'm a hero and that I am working to eliminate the ABB now that Lung is gone.

liquidsnake (Original Poster)

Replied on April 5, 2011:

Weaver you might want to get your account verified.

End of Page. 1, 2

Topic: PRT attempts to take down Butcher XV

In: Boards Places America Brockton Bay

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Posted on April 8, 2011:

So, if you're like me, you've been scratching your head about the confusing news out of the PRT ENE recently. Lung died of 'complications' when Armsmaster brought him in, which doesn't make a lot of sense for a powerful regenerator, while Quarrel also died and (presumably) transferred her power and consciousness (along with the other Butchers) to an unknown cape.

We now know that the unknown cape was Weaver, a former independent hero that killed Quarrel supposedly on accident. I admit that it was rather jarring to realize that the Bay's newest indy hero was a crazy supervillain the whole time, but she did a good job hiding her powers.

More importantly, the PRT's odd silence was an attempt to appeal to whatever rational shreds were left of the girl's mind before she inevitably went insane, and I applaud the Wards ENE for being willing to talk to the 'hero' in the meantime.

In any case, Weaver went crazy during a meeting with the PRT earlier tonight. They had her foamed for a good bit, but then she unfortunately escaped. It's a damn shame, because I think I speak for all of us in saying that I want that crazy psychopath gone. I don't have much else to add, apart from the fact that New Wave helped with the operation… and that I'm glad I don't live in the Bay. The Teeth were bad enough before their boss got insect powers.

(Showing Page 6 of 24)

Conceptualist (Cape Groupie) (PHO expert)

Replied on April 8, 2011:

I know what I'm doing this weekend — buying as much bug repellant as I can afford.

DarkSideofMars

Replied on April 8, 2011:

@Brocktonite03 Agreed, I've heard people making the argument that 'she's a hero' but literally no one believes that. We already tried the 'hero Butcher' idea, and it failed miserably.

Meteor (Verified Cape)(Wards ENE)

Replied on April 8, 2011:

@Brocktonite03 Seconded! I can tell you from personal experience that the Teeth are some of the craziest murderers around, and their boss is even worse. There's rumors that the Butcher once ATE one of Accord's other capes!

XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on April 8, 2011:

Yeah, but Weaver took down Lung and Oni Lee, right? Doesn't that make her some kind of badass anti-hero or something?

Onion_Knight

Replied on April 8, 2011:

Void, this isn't some sort of joke or one of your shitty Aleph comics. Butcher was taking down her competition, full stop. Lung and Oni Lee were able to hold themselves against the Empire and Protectorate both for years, so it makes perfect sense that Butcher would go after them first.

barkour

Replied on April 8, 2011:

I've seen the aftermath of the Teeth's raids.

I really wish that I hadn't.

Meteor (Verified Cape)(Wards ENE)

Replied on April 8, 2011:

I want to give @ShadowStalker a shout-out for having the guts to confront Butcher a few nights ago. A Wards patrol ran across Weaver before she went nuts, and Stalker was able to keep her from doing anything crazy.

Sandwish

Replied on April 8, 2011:

Damn, go Shadow Stalker!

GleamMachine (Verified Cape) (New Wave)

Replied on April 8, 2011:

I should try to get mom on here to tell some of her stories of fighting the Butcher and Teeth when they were first in the Bay. There's a reason they called it the 'bad old days.'

Eightball (Cape Groupie)

Replied on April 8, 2011:

Hopefully they can capture her next time, the Teeth scare me.

End of Page. 1, 2, … 5, 6, 7, … 23, 24

(Showing Page 14 of 24)

Meteor (Verified Cape)(Wards ENE)

Replied on April 9, 2011:

How hard is this to understand? You can't get rid of the Teeth without getting rid of the Butcher, and if she really was a hero, Weaver would have taken them down first!

I mean, personally I'm not sure if I would have been convinced, but it would have been a good start.

Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)

Replied on April 9, 2011:

I'm with Meteor on this one. Also, thanks for keeping up with this thread.

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Well, if there was any question about Weaver being a villain, it's been answered. One of my friends who knows someone (don't ask) just sent me this video.

I don't know about you, but Butcher XV scares me far more than Quarrel ever did, and I don't even live in the Bay. My heart goes out to everyone who lives with the immortal, insane biblical plague in their backyard.

Vista (Verified Cape)(Wards ENE)

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Oh god…

XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Maybe she's just infiltrating them?

Archon

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Holy shit, Void, are you dense? Watch that video again. Weaver is an unhinged madwoman with a horrifying power.

unsafe_harbor

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Now I really wish that the PRT had been able to get rid of Weaver. I'm also going to buy as much bug spray as I can.

username245

Replied on April 9, 2011:

I suddenly feel bad for the Egyptians.

thethirdmonkey

Replied on April 9, 2011:

As someone who is allergic to bees, I think now is a good time to leave the Bay.

All_Seeing_Eye

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Oh dear.

End of Page. 1, 2, … 13, 14, 15, … 23, 24

(Showing Page 24 of 24)

hooloovoo

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Look, all I want to know is how the Butcher managed to stay sane long enough even to talk with the PRT. Correct me if I'm wrong, but none of the other Butchers lasted more than a few days, and yet a week later Weaver is still willing to sit down with the heroes.

Wouldn't a normal Butcher just go into an ABB brothel and take all of the girls back to the Teeth?

Razorpunk (Verified Cape) (Villain)

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Fuck no, are you stupid? The last three Butchers have been women. Sex crimes are a great way to find out how many bees fit into your lungs. The answer is: 'more than you think!'

Also, Weaver is awesome, just sayin'. Took down the ABB bastards, Fucked up the Nazis, she's doing us gay girls proud!

Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)

Replied on April 9, 2011:

@Razorpunk What the hell is wrong with you?

Meteor (Verified Cape)(Wards ENE)

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Yeah, get that Teeth apologia out of here! They're monsters and so is everyone who supports them!

Archon

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Well, I guess it's a little reassuring to know that the Butcher is better than Lung.

hooloovoo

Replied on April 9, 2011:

Still, my point stands — Weaver is sane enough to hold actual conversations with heroes. We have that on tape. What if she doesn't go insane?

Jouster (Verified Cape)(NYC Wards)

Replied on April 10, 2011:

As someone who has a lot of experience dealing with the Butcher when they came down to New York, I want to add my two cents. Don't hold your breath on Weaver being special, somehow. It's a tragedy that we lost a promising hero to the Butchers' madness, but we hoped that every new Butcher would somehow be less crazy than the last.

It never happened.

All_Seeing_Eye

Replied on April 10, 2011:

Hooloovoo might have a point, though. If it turns out that Weaver was actually stable despite the voices, then the heroes just threw away an amazingly useful asset because it didn't match their preconceived notions of what a 'hero' should be.

Wait, I can see them doing just that. Silly me.

XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on April 10, 2011:

See!? Someone agrees with me!

Alathea (Moderator)

Replied on April 10, 2011:

I think on that note the thread has run its course. Locked.

End of Page. 1, 2, … 13, 14, 15, … 23, 24

Author's Notes:

First: Thanks to Conceptualist on SB for the PHO template.

Pen: Thanks to all the omake that were so close to canon compliant that helped inspire this bit. (A new chapter is coming soon as well!)

Last edited: Jan 28, 2022

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Pendragoon

Jan 28, 2022

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Threadmarks Coalescence 2.1

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Pendragoon

Pendragoon

She/Her

Jan 28, 2022

#1,729

Sunday, April 10th 2011

"So, what do you think? Have fun yesterday?"

Chrissie had been correct — I could sleep. I just didn't for very long, and falling back asleep when I woke up at some horrible early hour proved to be nearly impossible. Worse, the Butchers jumped me as soon as I woke up, with Alkaline asking the question that I had been dreading all night.

"I sure had fun," Stratego rumbled. "Shows you —"

"Yeah, yeah, the new girl has a 'sound tactical mind,'" Marauder said. "I'm just impressed that she ate the bimbo's foot."

My bugs ate the foot.

"Close enough!" he replied with a laugh.

"Still, the idiot has a point," Chisel mused. "Beating up the other Teeth is a bit of a tradition, but between your bug hurricane stunt and yesterday's raid, I think you are laying a solid foundation for your new persona."

Weaver, the kind-of creepy but helpful bug hero, was dead.

Long live Weaver, Butcher XV.

"You won't get away with not killing people," Butcher groused, but I sent a firm look in his direction and he shut up.

Watch me, I spat. The others chuckled at my declaration, but it was an old argument by this point. I had spent the entire time between escaping the heroes and sneaking into the Teeth's lair debating with my predecessors about how to best survive as the Butcher, and the answer boiled down to 'be scary enough that people don't realize Weaver doesn't kill people.'

Easier said than done, but the heroes had already turned me into a villain. I wasn't going to let the Teeth turn me into a serial killer. Luckily, my power gave me a leg up on terrorizing my enemies without killing them, so all I had to do was keep everything under control and I would be fine.

Chrissie chose that moment to squirm in her sleep, a very interesting sensation given how we were cuddling. It derailed the conversation instantly, as she had last night.

"You have to admit how sweet this scene is," Alkaline said softly, as though she could disturb the girl in my arms.

At least my arm hasn't fallen asleep. It was currently trapped under Chrissie. I can't even get to my phone.

"Just send some bugs after it like you would a bundle of cash," Sanguine suggested.

I wanted to smack myself for not thinking of that, but held back on the off chance it would wake Chrissie up. My swarm flowed into her room, and after my week of emptying stash houses of their contents, it was entirely too easy to open my utility pouch and retrieve my smartphone. It was in my hand and unlocked with barely a thought.

"Your power is bullshit," Knockout said, again.

Stratego apparently agreed. "Versatile, precise, overwhelming and comes with an unmatched psychological impact. I never imagined that arthropod control would prove so effective."

"Just cream your pants already and get it over with, Strat," Fester complained.

I rolled my eyes at their banter and gave them a polite nudge into the background as I opened the PHO app. I was excited to see my Weaver account was now sporting the 'Verified Cape' tag, but then I remembered my new status as the leader of the Teeth. The picture of me, standing by a wall with Weaver written by bugs along with the string of numbers I was asked to provide in the image now seemed to mock me as I closed out my private messages.

Chisel hummed in thought. "Perhaps you should see what the PRT is saying about both their treachery on Friday and your raid yesterday."

That wasn't a terrible idea actually, and it gave me a way to kill time until Chrissie woke up. Navigating to the Brockton Bay main forum, I found something rather concerning. There were several speculation threads from Friday, though all had been locked that same night.

My curiosity was running about as high as Spree in the other room, so I quickly opened the first such thread. I wasn't surprised in the least to see that the PRT was spinning their capture attempt as my fault. There were a small number of people that were asking why I was meeting with the PRT to begin with, but they were either shouted into oblivion or triggered thread locks.

Apparently, I had missed a lot while planning and doing last-minute scouting for the raid.

"What, do you think you would have changed their mind?" Ironsides asked. "Girl, you're the Butcher. Anything you say online will be treated as the crazed ramblings of a madwoman."

"No no, trust me guys, I'm a hero!" Fester said in a sing-song voice.

"Shit, had we been stuck with anyone else, it would have been funny to make them post stuff like that!" Marauder agreed. "This PHO thing could be a lot of fun!"

My thumb hovered over the 'New Thread' button as I considered their words. As much as I hated to admit it, Ironsides was almost certainly right. All I needed to do was read through page after page of terrified civilians to know that my reputation inexorably preceded me. A history of good work might have eventually convinced the PRT, and with their support I would have been able to declare myself a hero, but even they were scared enough to prefer me gone to on their side.

Well, I refused to be the madwoman they all assumed I would become. Not killing was the first part, but maybe I could cultivate a sane online presence, too. If living well really was the best revenge, then I would just have to show the PRT and public just how much control I really had over the voices.

"They will never trust you," Butcher spat, earning a smack down into the dark.

I could make this work. In fact, as I remembered the past few days, I already had something of a supporter on the other side. A quick search of the PHO username database revealed his account, and I typed a quick message to the ex-villain.

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

I'm not sure what is more damning — that the PRT tried to send a fifteen year old girl to the Birdcage, or that they've somehow bullied PHO into covering it up. I have to assume that you weren't particularly enthused by that plan?

Assault (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

[You have been blocked by this user.]

"It's a damn shame," Marauder grumbled, and I was about to complain in kind when I got a new message notification. My amused smile at the strange username turned into a grimace as soon as I read the text.

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

Hey kid, you doing alright?

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

What the fuck do you think, Madcap?

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

Okay, I deserve that… I'm sorry. I know it isn't worth much, but you really didn't deserve… any of that. I argued against the plan, as did Armsy, but Piggot overruled him. Heads would have rolled if you stayed a hero and it ever came out, but…

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

But what?

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

You went back to the Teeth. In their mind, you justified them trying to send you away.

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

Fuck them with a rake. It wasn't like I was given the choice.

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

The 'reformed hero' part of me wants to say that you always have a choice, but I've been there. I know how the game is played.

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

I needed a team.

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

We all do, kid. But there's a reason most Butchers come from the Teeth.

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

…

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

I'm not going to yell at you about yesterday — hell, we wanted to hit that warehouse too, and it's nice to see the Empire get a black eye. Just don't lose yourself in the violence.

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

I'll try. Hey, the others wanted me to ask if I could get the minigun back.

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

Not a chance in hell.

Weaver (Verified Cape)

Replied On April 10th 2011:

Figures, I'll just have to get it back the old fashioned way then.

Ausspull

Replied On April 10th 2011:

And I pray I'm still on console duty when you do. Try to stay alive, this city isn't going to be kind to you going forward.

My arm flopped to my side, phone gripped tight enough I could hear the plastic creak. His apology seemed honest enough, and knowing that there were at least a few heroes that had objected to my treatment lifted a small part of the weight from my shoulders. It would never be enough, of course, but it felt good to not have been completely wrong about Assault.

As I was contemplating what the Teeth could help me accomplish in the coming weeks, I felt Chrissie stir. I took the opportunity to reclaim my arm from her; as I did so, her eyes flitted open and a soft smile crept onto her lips. "Mornin' Tay."

…

"Did our heart just skip a beat?" Chisel asked.

Alkaline chuckled. "Oh, that's just precious."

Fuck off. I shoved both of them away as the heat of a blush washed over my cheeks.

"Hey Chrissie, sorry if I woke you. You've still got a few hours if you want to curl back up."

She blinked, then proceeded to crawl over top of me without any regard for what went where as she felt along the nightstand for where she had left her phone. I had a firefly land on it and flash a few times. She got the message and grabbed it, but rather than settling back in, she stayed splayed out across me.

My numerous Brute packages ensured her weight was nothing to me, but at the same time it was proving to be everything. "Ugh, seven A.M. is too early." She continued to use me as a platform as she checked various things, making no effort to move.

"Tickle her," Fester said playfully. "She'll fucking love it."

"She will no doubt escalate if you do," Damascian pointed out.

"We all want that, dumbass!" Pyro yelled. "Now Taylor won't do it since you felt the need to warn her."

I silenced all of them. Was it really a good idea to tickle the cape that can create nigh invisible razor blades out of thin air? All my instincts for self preservation screamed no, but some part of me just wanted to have a bit of fun. Probably the same part of me that hadn't had any positive human contact in almost two years and was now attaching itself to the one person who had shown me something other than disdain and hatred, or worse, apathy.

My fingers snaked out and found her sides and I pressed my assault. She screamed in surprise and flopped, but I had my hands around her; she wasn't going anywhere as I reduced her to a laughing and giggling mess.

Oh, that was me, I was the giggling mess.

"Fuck, I give, I give!" she cried out, so I decided to be merciful to my minion and released her.

When she finally sat up and looked at me, I felt a lump form in my throat as words failed. Her cheeks were flushed and she was gasping for breath, but a contented expression rested upon her face, almost as if I had —

A dozen memories of various girls came to mind as the chorus confirmed that yes, she looked like someone who had just had a very memorable night that wasn't anywhere close to being finished.

"Holy shit, just jump her fucking bones already and get it over with!" Sabertooth roared.

I forced the lump down as I muted the entire chorus. I didn't need them giving me unsolicited advice about how to handle the dangerous villain currently eyeing me like I was candy, nor did I want to think about how much I wanted her to keep looking at me like that.

"You're beautiful," Chrissie said with such calm surety, then her face fell. "Those bitches really did a number on you, and we let it happen. Now here I am, in bed with you less than a week after I did nothing when they told you to off yourself, all because you weren't one of ours."

I didn't know what to say to that, but felt I needed to say something. "Chrissie, you don't have to —"

She cut me off with a finger to my lips. "I let them drive you to the point where you triggered. I did nothing about the locker when the cops asked questions. I told our boys to keep their noses out of it… Would you have even inherited if I had done the right thing? It feels wrong for me to take advantage of you, since I'm part of what made your life hell."

I could see it — Chrissie was spiraling, in a way I was so familiar with. So, I reached out and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened for a moment, then let herself relax in my arms. It felt nice to be the reassuring one for once; I couldn't actually remember the last time that had happened, if it ever had.

"We're going to make this right," I found myself saying. "I don't know how just yet, but we'll find a way, together."

"That has to be one of the cheesiest things I've ever heard." Chrissie muttered into my shoulder.

Sanguine passed a stupid comment that I couldn't help but repeat out loud. "I wonder if I could fill the hammerspace with cheese…"

Chrissie snorted and snuggled back against me. "Never stop being you."

"If this Butcher thing doesn't work out maybe I can become The Cheese Meister, bane of Mouse Protector!"

"Okay, you can stop now." Chrissie said with a light chuckle, still snuggled against me.

We laid there in silence for long enough that I was pretty sure Chrissie dozed off again. Thus, I was mildly surprised when she rolled practically on top of me and fixed me with a worried smile.

"When was the last time you went home?" Chrissie asked, and my brain misfired for a moment. At my silence, she pressed on. "I heard that bitch's comment and your retort. Your home life probably isn't the greatest. If you, uh, do still have one. If not, I'm sorry. Shit, I'm doing this the wrong way. Do you want to tell me about it?"

I was tempted to just clam up, but Chrissie had been nice to me. "Not particularly… Dad's just kinda checked out ever since mom passed and it gets… Tiring to keep up the illusion of a functional home."

"That has to fucking suck, but its still better than mine. My parents know I'm a villain, and told me that as long as I go to school enough to keep the law from looking at them, they don't care what I do."

"Seriously?" I had to ask. "What the fuck is wrong with them?"

Chrissie shrugged. "Religious fundies think capes are devilspawn and I'm also as gay as Legend, so they told me, and I quote, 'hopefully you die out there and save us the trouble.' So, while I understand the temptation to skip out, if you have the chance to salvage something, you should do it."

Sabertooth growled at that. "Those types still exist?"

"I guess you weren't paying attention," Quarrel spat.

"Such a mentality is dramatically less prevalent on this coast compared to Arkansas. It was… refreshing, to distance myself from such people," Damascian mused.

I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. "That's beyond fucked. I can't believe they did that to you. And you're asking me to go home rather than stay here with you?"

She nodded and let her forehead rest against me. "My homelife is shit and being a villain is an escape from that. You, however, still have a chance to salvage yours. In a way, letting your civilian life fall apart would ensure those cunts won, and we can't be having that."

The Butchers grumbled in my head at that, but I ignored them. "This is not the kind of conversation I thought I would ever have with a notorious villain."

She sat up and posed in a way that brooked no argument as to what was on her mind. "I mean, I could just have my way with you if you're that dead set on staying."

When I had first started running in the morning in a now-irrelevant attempt to get myself into shape, I had encountered a surprising number of… interesting characters. Most were harmless, or at least didn't harm me — I had never needed my pepper spray. That was also because I had taken precautions like crossing the street to avoid the disheveled homeless Brocktonite, shuffling along and muttering to themselves under their breath.

Would I count myself among their number if dad learned the truth?

"Taylor, you have millions of dollars and a room at HQ, you are far from being at risk of living on the streets." Ironsides reminded me.

"I still think we should have stayed. Vex would totally have —" Pyro complained.

"Chrissie," I hissed. "Her name is Chrissie. You know the rest of their names."

Quarrel started to snarl something, and I shoved her away reflexively; Damascian chuckled as her successor's angry complaints were reduced to a muted howling. "The others have survived their trial by fire. Chrissie hasn't even been with us a year."

I didn't even dignify that with a response. Sure, they were all supervillains, but I would have expected a bit more camaraderie among a group whose existence hinged on their ability to function as a team. Well, maybe 'function' and 'team' were overselling their ability to cooperate, something I intended to fix now that I was in charge.

Because the Butcher led the Teeth, no matter what I had to say about it.

"You're doing fine," Alkaline said, patting me on the metaphorical head.

Fine? Friday evening the heroes tried to have me send myself to the Birdcage! And worst, I'm not totally sure that they were wrong to do so! The Butchers started yelling over each other in annoyance, and I crushed them beneath the metaphorical boot of my will. Shut the fuck up! I'm not stupid, and I'm not going to do something so stupid as to turn myself in. I'm just fucking sick of betrayal and bullshit from everyone in my life.

I let the pressure off incrementally as I walked through the Docks towards home, but my predecessors had apparently realized that I wasn't in a mood to deal with their bullshit. Of course, the fact that I could get a moment of silence, nevermind enough to get a coherent thought through my mind, meant that I was as lucky as someone could be and still be the Butcher.

It meant that I could still be Taylor, instead of just Weaver.

Butcher XV.

Maybe.

Previous Butchers had barely been able to string a sentence together, nevermind hold an actual conversation or any other normal human interaction. Chrissie had made this quite clear from the outside, since the Butchers' own memories were obviously preoccupied with trying to get each other to do what they wanted. Hell, even Dad hadn't seemed to notice, though I wasn't sure I would be able to tell if he had.

That thought was like an upended bucket of cold water in my increasingly-cluttered mental space. After the heroes tried their grand betrayal, I had just run directly to the Teeth with no thought for what Dad might have thought. He was probably out of his mind with worry, and it wasn't hard for me to imagine him, passed out on the couch, waiting for me.

Maybe… maybe I should keep him waiting.

"Do it!" Butcher yelled, and I punched him back into the dark on pure reflex before he could continue.

"As much as I hate to agree with Butcher," Sanguine started, and I turned my attention to him. "Hey, hey, just wait a second, Taylor. Every cape has to make hard decisions to keep their loved ones safe."

"What do you fuckers know about love?" I hissed.

"Several of us have family we care about," Chisel said, bringing up a memory of her visiting her mom and dad after inheriting. She hadn't said much or stayed long, but she had made the effort regardless. Surprisingly, Knockout was next, showing how he had sent his two brothers a large amount of freshly-laundered money for Christmas. Then he switched to showing me a much older memory of the three of them in some street brawl, which I pushed away with a sigh.

"Dunno, I care about Taylor's family," Fester cackled. I braced myself for yet another unpleasant memory, but she just laughed harder and did the mental equivalent of waving me away.

Should I just abandon Dad? Would that actually protect him? He had already broken down upon losing Mom, so I really didn't want to find out what would happen if he lost me too. Maybe I could just send him a letter or something, letting him know that I was alive. I doubted that there were Hallmark cards for 'Congratulations on your Supervillain Daughter!'

But giving up like that wasn't just about Dad — giving up now meant that the heroes would win. They didn't believe that I could keep my sanity, that I could function as a normal person. They didn't believe me about much of anything as far as I could tell, and while I hoped they would never be in a position to know my secret identity, every day that Taylor Hebert was still under cover was another day I proved them wrong.

"Girl, you're batshit insane, you know?" Marauder grumbled, seeing the direction of my thoughts.

"It's a viable plan," Damascian retorted. "I'll admit to a desire for certain civilian activities."

Marauder wasn't having it. "She's going to make us go to high school!"

I nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk at that thought, not bothering to keep the scowl off my face as I stumbled upright. Having to deal with Emma, Sophia, and the rest, nevermind the faculty, was almost bad enough for me to take the Teeth's offered escape.

"Chrissie will be there," Alkaline reminded me. "It would be easy to have the Teeth help you at school."

I hated the fact that the prospect of even a single friendly face at school made me significantly less likely to abandon Winslow, but the reality of the situation was that I was not going to let Emma force me to give up my civilian identity. I had survived her attentions up until this point, and at this point there was probably very little she or the others could do or say that would be worse than being the Butcher.

Actually... I had a whole bunch of passive and subtle powers that I could leverage to keep myself safe. Sure, I couldn't exactly teleport to class, but my bugs could track everyone and I couldn't feel pain. Hell, I had two different precog abilities, so as long as I wasn't too blatant, the days of getting tripped in the halls might be over.

I would just have to make sure not to lash out and hurt anyone accidentally, but I had never even so much as flown a bug in anyone's eye at school.

"You did drop a roach on a nose though!" Fester said with a chuckle.

Spinning on my feet, I had barely pointed myself in the direction of home before my stomach made its emptiness known with a loud gurgle. The Butchers immediately started clamoring for food, but Chisel's suggestion was accepted almost before I could think to start a vote. "Marleigh's Diner is still open. Let's go there!"

When I finally returned home, takeout bag of breakfast in hand, I found Dad waiting for me. I had just skipped over the rotted porch step before he wrenched the door open, glasses askew and clothes disheveled. "Taylor! Taylor, you're alright! Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

He pulled me into a tight hug, and my response was muffled by his shoulder. "Hey Dad, sorry I didn't call last night. I, uh, brought breakfast?" I wiggled the hand still clutching the food while the Butchers chuckled in my head. Quiet.

"Why didn't you call, Taylor?" Dad asked as he released me, taking an awkward step back so that he could look me up and down. "I was worried sick when you weren't here when I got home. What were you doing that kept you out all night?"

The Butchers practically tripped over each other to offer stupid responses to that question, so I silenced them before responding, "I was out with friends." I certainly wasn't going to say 'the heroes tried to send me to the Birdcage.'

Dad gave me a skeptical look. "All night?"

"I met this girl from school. You saw my note yesterday, right?" I had cheated, of course, leaving a note that I would be gone to the library on Saturday while sneaking out Friday night. But even before becoming a Noctis cape, I had regularly woken up before him on the weekends to run. "Anyway, we were doing homework, things ran late, and I didn't want to come home at midnight."

"You could have called me, Taylor," he said, voice carrying an edge I didn't like. "Even if just to let me know where you were, I would have happily come to get you."

"I lost track of time," I mumbled. "Sorry."

"Don't give up your day job," Ironsides grumbled.

"What?" several of the others asked.

"I mean she's a terrible actor," he replied, then made a displeased noise. "Sheesh."

Fuck you too.

Luckily, Dad was just staring at me while I dealt with my peanut gallery, only talking after he finally reached some internal conclusion. "Tell me about your new friend over breakfast?"

I breathed a sigh of relief and moved along to the kitchen, where I set the two breakfast platters at the table and we took our usual places. The Butchers snickered in my head, which I ignored.

"We, um, met at school? Her name is Chrissie, and she's really nice." She was also indirectly responsible for at least one death, nevermind her frankly impressive rap sheet beyond that, but I certainly wasn't going to say that out loud.

"Is she friends with Emma?"

I should have expected the question, but I still winced. "Um, not really? Different friend groups."

"Does Emma even have friends?" Alkaline mused.

"Nah, just her next victims," Sabertooth spat. I blinked at his vehemence, but then again, he seemed to have extreme opinions about betrayal.

"Can't we at least, I dunno, burn her house down or something? Just do it while they're not home," Pyro tried.

It's tempting, but no. Someone has to be the better person, here.

"I see," Dad said, which brought me back to the other conversation. Holding two at once could be confusing. "Well, I'm glad you're going to see people, Taylor, but in the future I want to know if you'll be out late, okay?"

"Understood," I said, ignoring the snickers again.

"The big, scary Butcher XV has a curfew," Marauder said, only to get shoved away again.

"Well, I'm going to try to get some sleep now. I am very tired after being up all night waiting for someone who shall remain unnamed." I stuck my tongue out at him and he thankfully chuckled rather than tried to ground me. "No going out today, alright?"

"That's fair." I said, looking away from him to hide the guilt of having lied so plainly to my dad.

Dad grabbed his coffee mug and took it to the sink; I used the opportunity to slip upstairs and into my bedroom. I followed Dad with bugs, sitting quietly until he laid down in the bed and his breathing evened out.

Only once I was completely sure that he was asleep did I pull out my cell phone and dial Chrissie's number. It took her three calls to pick up, and when she did, it was immediately obvious that she had fallen asleep and I had woken her up again. "Ehhh... boss? What, uh, whatcha want?"

"Chrissie," I said quietly, still wary of Dad. "It's nearly noon."

"Well, you're the one who… yawn… woke me up early on a weekend. Not my fault."

Stratego wasn't going to let her laziness stand. "You need to work with the Teeth on battle readiness."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Quarrel yelled. "Get out of here with that pretentious bullshit."

"Says the dumbfuck who —" Knockout started, but I shoved him down and yelled Quiet!

"Boss?"

"Yeah, here. Everything's fine, I'm back home and I'm only grounded for the day. I just, um, needed some advice."

Chrissie yawned again. "Ah, great. What about?"

"School. I'm going back Monday and I want to make a statement."

There was a moment of silence. "Boss?"

"Yes, Chrissie?"

"I fucking love you," she declared, flooding my cheeks with crimson as the chorus jeered and laughed; they were loud enough that I had to push them all down just to hear what Chrissie was saying. "Tomorrow is gonna kick so much ass!"

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Pendragoon

Jan 28, 2022

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