Sorry for the long delay.
As a REMINDER- The entire second arc is rewritten.
I have also posted an entirely new first interlude.
Enjoy
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If she was asked why she had chosen this assignment, Summer would have said, because she didn't have the stomach for fieldwork anymore. And, with a decade fighting Accord's slow takeover of Boston with nothing to show for it but phantom limb and periodic visits to a physical therapist... There was some truth in that. A year ago she had been tired, and wanted somewhere she could work that didn't bring up reminders of her failures every day.
Damn you, Accord.
The room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. Intensive care was almost empty at this hour. Auspice's room was empty except for Summer, and her two visitors, and she slept with an IV drip in her arm, and a heart monitor clipped to her finger. Her skin was that grey shade that came from true exhaustion. She looked tried, wrung out. She looked... small. Why did they always look so small?
The smell of lemon cleaner and antiseptic, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. And that pain where her leg ought to be. Funny... How things come back to you.
"Is Taylor going to be all right?"
Mimi Harris, also known as Burnscar, was a skinny girl, pale. Standing with both arms wrapped around herself, shaking a little, she looked even smaller in a way that tugged at Summer's heart. It was hard to imagine she was eighteen. Her eyes belonged on an old woman. They had that depthless melancholy that Summer had seen once, in a camp filled with refugees. A tiny old woman sitting on a suitcase beside the kitchen line, alone in the morning, for breakfast. And leaving that camp, in the evening, Summer had seen her alone for dinner.
Burnscar turned to look at her and Summer realized she had taken too long to respond.
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, "She'll be all right, kid. She just needs sleep."
There was an in-house healer, Wine, a younger patient. His power was potent, but the recipient had to be conscious and at any rate, it left him wiped out for a couple hours after healing someone- Wine had been very busy today. Even with his healing, her shattered shoulder blade and collarbone had required surgery before Wine's power could be used. Fortunately, surgery had been uneventful, and Auspice was sleeping now. In the morning, if she and Wine were both up to it and amendable, she'd get healed the rest of the way. Summer hoped she took the chance when she had the opportunity. She'd have months of healing ahead of her otherwise. She might never heal, not fully.
Summer would know.
Auspice had ben a bit of an odd case. She'd come in as scared as any new trigger, as most one of the new triggers tended to be. Missing part of the anchor of their lives. After she had been released from isolation she'd immediately flourished. Summer had seen glowing testimonials from several staff regarding her efforts to reach out and connect with other patients. She seemed to lean towards outliers. Misfits. Auspice had a knack for collecting them. Glassboom and Sadboy had taken to her readily, but also Burnscar. Charnel.
And Labyrinth.
Labyrinth sat on a chair at the foot of Auspice's bed, stareing unblinking at the sleeping girl. As Summer watched, she reached out and laid a hand on Auspice's leg, patting her once. Summer regarded Labyrinth a long moment. Labyrinth had gotten people hurt today, and three of them had died.
Four hours of Labyrinth's world shifting, placeing hysterical patients and nervous doctors all over the place. Four hours trapped in a crater trying to impose something resembling order.
But she had come in, led by the hand, and sat without speaking. She talked in single words, but she was aware, she reacted when asked what had happened. Something like this usually sent her into fugues that lasted weeks, sometimes deep enough that she required help eating, bathing, using the toilet. She could spend days stareing into space, lost in her worlds. Near catatonia. And this time... her power had never manifested on a scale like this before.
Patients with a violent history almost never got approved for release, never escaped the orange. Not even under the authority of three therapists and the Faculty Director, as regulations stated.
Any recommendation for release had to be submitted to the Faculty Director, a process that typically took two weeks, or longer. Assuming the Faculty Director had no objections, your recommendation then had to be submitted to the PRT, their Board of Directors had to okay the release. The average waiting period for board approval was four months. During that time patients were surrounded at all times by parahumans in potentially worse states of mind. In that situation all it would really take was time, another patient being jealous, just an opportunity.
And it really took so little, confined with a few dozen others in the same wing of one building they could not leave.
It was faster, of course, to apply for Protectorate membership first. A patient could, actually. In doing so, there was a loophole that allowed said patient to skip the Faculty Director, and the PRT Board. Since they are already Protectorate affiliated they technically only require the go-ahead from a PRT affiliated Councilor and Psychiatrist, who then submit a report to the PRT board for review, but did not actually require approval before that patient can be released into PRT custody. It took two weeks, sometimes less.
But not all were willing, or capable, and despite the front that Protectorate Public Relations put forward, not all parahumans were admitted. Some patients couldn't use their powers in a constructive way.
Summer thought the system unfair, cruel; and certainly dehumanizing, treating lives as resources. It left them with a very narrow route out of Alchemilla, one not all could qualify for, and it legally cornered them.
She had already seen a memo circulating, Labyrinth's threat classification was being bumped up; for once, Burnscar wasn't taking center stage in this latest catastrophe, but that was small comfort, because the scale dwarfed anything Mimi had ever done. New procedures had been drawn up for handling Labyrinth and regulating her powers. Suggestions. Plans for a… a bracelet or collar with knockout drugs, a tripwire that could be remotely activated, a last resort.
Summer hoped it didn't come to that.
Because this was the most animated Summer had ever seen Labyrinth, and as level as she had ever seen Burnscar.
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Summer left the girls in the vigilant company of an orderly one hour later. Elle had fallen asleep laid out across three chairs, and Burnscar was dozing on a chair with Labyrinth's head on her lap. She wished she could follow suit, just pull up a chair, lean back and nap for a couple hours. But she had a laundry list to fill out first, one of those had recently moved to the top, and she needed to check in on Cassandra on the way.
The infirmary's other patient was two doors down, also being watched by a member of Alchemilla's Protectorate contingent. Though as she approached she heard the sounds of a scuffle and broke into a run.
When she threw open the door she assessed the situation in a glance, and breathed a momentary sigh of relief- it was nothing, it looked like Cassandra had just woken up and panicked, finding herself in an unfamiliar place -before rushing to help Moonsmile, Doctor Peterson and an orderly wrestle Cassandra back into bed.
It was a welcome change from the chaos that the day had been, even with Cassandra bucking and squirming
"Can someone give her another traq?" Summer demanded.
Her voice was more nasal than usual, and blood was streaming down her chin from her nose. Cassandra leaned forward sharply, then snapped her head bac, but this time Summer was ready, and only took it on her chin.
Cassandra was screaming, wrapped in a straightjacket, repeatedly ramming her head into Summer's face, babbleing and frothing at the mouth. Summer held her, keeping her from bashing her own brains out, an orderly wrangled her legs and frantic Doctor Peterson slapped another patch on her neck. Summer thanked god for Tinker medicine as Cassandra finally went limp.
"Heh." Summer laughed, just a bit, and swept the girl up in her arms before she fell to the floor, and deposited her on a bed again with the help of the orderly. A husky guy, nice man, nametag read O'Neil.
"Thank you, 'mam." He rumbled and Summer slapped him on the shoulder.
"Moonsmile, how're you holding up?"
Moon was seated on the next bench, one leg bouncing impatiently, the other elevated in a cast. It was some new Tinkertech stuff, a form fitting spray-on foam that would have her walking like it had never broken inside a week, she could even limp on it now, but she was in no shape to be wrestling anyone. She was supposed to just be there to watch Cassadra, and couldn't have helped much even if she wanted. Cassandra waking up through her medications had probably taken the attending orderly by surprise.
"Yeahsurebossgottahealmylegitsnobiggiejusttakesfuckingforever" A slight pause in the rush of words, "Wowniceshineryournoseisbrokentoo."
Summer deciphered that for a moment.
"You think so?"
"Hellyeahyoulooklikeyoumashedgrapesonyourface."
... Well, that was an accurate description of how Summer felt at the moment.
Usually Moon was always bounceing in place, danceing from foot to foot. It couldn't be helped, Moon sitting still meant the whole world stood still, to her. Moonsmile's power made her perceive time proportional to how much she was moving, which meant Summer had to look like she was moving through molasses right now. It leant itself to unique discipline problems. Working with her had taken getting used to.
It also meant Summer understood how frustrating sitting there had to be for Moon.
"At least you still look pretty." Summer said, "Hey, Doc, how's she?"
Doctor Peterson looked up from Cassandra's wrist, where he had been monitoring her pulse, "She's stable, but you know how she gets. She'll need to be kept under observation."
Summer sighed, then glanced at Moon.
"Sure Doc. Moon? Look pretty for both of us, will you? I'm going to check in with Grudge."
"Awyouresosweetbosssurething."
Summer stepped away from Moonsmile, off down the hall a few steps.
...tap...tap...tap. Metal on every second step.
Summer tapped her ear, and the small tinker earpiece there flicked on.
"Summer here, Grudge. Master Stranger Protocol, ninty five june."
"Grudge, acknowledged." He growled in her ear, "Baby blue twelve."
"Acknowledged." Summer replied, "How's Victim?"
"Still sleeping." A quick rustle in the background, "Stable. Little shit."
But it had been a close call. She'd shown up at a panic room, mixed in with a dozen patients and staff. When someone had realized who she was, she had nearly had a panic attack, and nearly activated her power.
Summer Holiday's mouth pursed, choosing the battle she wanted to fight, "She's a kid, a scared little kid."
A breif pause, "At least she didn't kill anyone."
That was difficult to argue with. Summer took a steadying breath.
"Please remember why we're here, Tom." She said.
Summer glanced back at Moon and Doctor Peterson, O'Neil, "You guys going to be all right?"
"Surethingboss."
"Uh, thank you Summer Holiday, yes."
"Great, I got places to be. Got to show our guests out and yell at the director while I have the chance."
Burnscar, Labyrinth, and even Cassandra would not be returning to the Medium Security wing for at least a few days. Damage assessment wasn't in yet, but there had been a major fire in records, and a fault in the foam dispersal and dissolving, system meant that there were still rooms, and even entire blocks of offices and cells still buried in foam that would need careful excavation to find patients and staff trapped within. It was going to take hours.
Thank god there was no worry of them suffocating, the foam was porous enough to alleviate that worry even in long term suspension. No danger of starving or dying of dehydration either, since the foam naturally began to break down after six hours.
God, Summer hoped that it didn't come to that, there were enough hysterical people in Alchemilla as it was. Security would be running double and triple shifts for the next month. She'd already filled out acquisition forms for an additional contingent of PRT agents to fill in and ensure her people had time to sleep somewhere in that mess. A request for three more Protectorate Capes. It didn't help that they were overcrowded, there wasn't enough funding to expand staff. There wasn't enough funding to expand the hospital iteslf, or refurbish the unused sections.
The laundry list went on and on.
Summer took the stairs to central admin, it gave her time to collect her thoughts and passed a Doctor stooping to talk quietly with a sobbing man in blue scrubs. Past a knot of children, a boy and a girl in blue and one orange girl, tagging along with a nurse like ducklings around their mother. A team of five technicians with toolboxes and two security escorts. One of the troopers offered her a stiff nod as they passed.
Summer offered a nod in turn.
Her course passed a receptionist desk, unmanned. Some staff had gone home hours ago. Others would be working double shifts for months to come.
The Director would be lucky to leave at all for the next couple days, even with his imminent retirement; and, as Summer pushed open the door to his office, she found him at his desk. But not alone.
He was accompanied by a woman carrying a lantern, a man in a red suit with a white domino mask, a woman in white and blue. Revel, Usher, Rime. And a man dressed in the armor of a medieval knight, she felt herself smile, and straightened, it was like a weight had lifted.
Good old Chevalier, straightforward, to the point.
Director Foster looked up, "Oh, Holly. I'm surprised to see you."
"Summer Holiday," Chevalier nodded, "I understand you wanted to talk with us later?"
"I did, yes." Summer said, "I just have a few questions for the Director."
He turned back to the Director, "If that's all?"
"Of course." Director Foster said.
Chevalier turned and clapped her on the shoulder, "We'll talk when you're done."
They filed out, and Summer Holiday closed the door, tugging her mask down with one finger, "Director."
Offices were one of those places that were a litmus of an individual's life. There were others, the basement, the garage, the attic, the bedroom; they were personal places, places that where important, that were used- but also places that were not strictly public, personal. It led to a lot of personality, and sometimes surprises.
As the director packed his up, put away the desk clock and the framed diplomas and the photographs, took everything down from the walls and emptied the shelves- filling the boxes, a picture began to emerge. Director Foster rarely looked at his class photograph. A number of books sat on his shelves, crisp and new and unused, decorative. A short stack of old subscriptions to art magazines, creased.
A clay figurine sat on a shelf already empty, neglected and forgotten.
"What's this?"
Director Foster paused, looking over from the box currently sat atop his desk, and the clock in his hands. He cocked his head to one side, contemplating the ceramic effigy in her hands.
"I don't actually know," he decided.
Summer glanced back at the… thing… the clay thing. It was fired clay, with a transparent glaze. Roughly half of it was painted bright red, the rest was white and black, and kind of reminded her of a lumpy table. Or maybe a castle. She turned it over, experimenting with the fresh perspective. One of the legs was much thicker than the others, molded into… into.
Maybe it was a dog? Those two lumps might be ears…
"I think it was a gift, from one of my earliest patients." Director Foster decided, and put the clock in the box.
His office was a mess of boxes and file folders. Most of the paperwork was processed electronically these days, but hard copies were still used. It always left Summer a little bemused to imagine- Alchemilla was a premier facility, with cutting-edge equipment donated by Dragon, with security comparable to the Birdcage, yet it still didn't have a paperless faculty.
It might be related to the disconnect of jurisdiction found in Alchemilla. Alchemilla was actually staffed by the PRT, which necessitated no parahumans on the payroll, outside the security staff. Dragon, as a parahuman herself, was in some ways more relatable to many of the patients, some of which were recovering from severe upheavals of their lives. She invested a great deal of time in the patients, and had almost entirely unrestricted access to Alchemilla. This was in addition to her responsibilities to the Guild, managing the Birdcage, and participation in every Endbringer fight. All that, and she was not officially on the faculty staff.
But Dragon was limited to electronics, she couldn't access hard copies.
Thus, the staff and their paper records.
Musings on the rumors of international politics and the relationship of the Guild to the PRT and Protectorate aside, Summer refocused on the Director, setting the figurine down on the shelf once more.
"What can I do for you, Holly?"
She crossed the room and stood beside the chairs, arms crossed, "I want to know why I can't find any records attached to that power nullifier down in High Security." Summer said.
The Director glanced at her, eyes narrowed slightly, and Summer Holiday debated the benefits of pushing harder. Let him talk, and let him guide the conversation, or probe for more and risk him clamming up?
"I'm afraid there isn't much to say." Director Foster said, "His records are sealed by court order."
"I could go to the board of directors," Holly replied. Her voice was even, but Director Foster frowned. That was a veiled threat and he knew it.
"You would have to go to the PRT national board. His record is sealed under subsection four, with Black authorization clearance. You would need to go to Costa-Brown herself to get it unsealed." Director Foster said.
"I could circumvent that, purview as head of security." Holly replied, not quite glaring, but Director Foster sat back a bit all the same.
Director Foster sighed, "I couldn't help you, not even if I wanted to. As of today I've resigned. I was retireing anyway, it isn't much of an imposition. But, as such, there technically isn't a Director over Alchemilla at the moment."
"In which case, authority and clearence defaults to the PRT regional office." Holly leaned back, crossing her arms. Fuck.
"I'm sorry, Holly." Director Foster said. He did look apologetic, but it still left a sour taste in Summer's mouth.
Director Foster stood. He was a wiry man in his late forties. Still fairly spry, with an unlined face and grey creeping into otherwise brown hair. He circled around the desk to stand beside her, "For what it's worth, I'm willing to make a formal request for disclosure, but I'm not sure how much good it'd do."
It wouldn't do any good, Summer knew. She took a deep, steadying breath, and let it out- she had to choose which battles she fought with the bureaucracy. Best case scenario, it got put on a back burner until a new Director was selected, which could be weeks or potentially months down the line. Worse case could have her reassigned. And the spiteful case scenario could have her requested staff and equipment delayed. It rankled. She had bigger things to worry about right now; someone had to, and it was in her job description. This unlisted murderous patient was not an immediate problem and would simply have to wait.
"All right." Summer sighed, pulling her mask back up, "Before I go and hit up Chevalier for some drinks, have you decided what to do about Lizard Prince."
"He's getting fast tracked," Director Foster said without hesitation, "He's causing too many problems and doesn't want to be helped. We have enough problems as it is."
The Birdcage was something that weighed on Summer's conscience more often than she would ever care to admit. At Alchemilla she was one of the voices that had a say in who had been given their final chance, who was beyond help. But as she watched Director Foster sign his last official transfer as Director of Alchemilla, damning Lizard Prince, and she couldn't help but agree. Lizard Prince was going to the 'Cage if it was the last thing she did and good riddance.
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After her unrewarding and unfulfilling discussion with Director Foster, Summer was looking forward to a few minutes to talk to Chevalier. Then maybe grab a few minutes of sleep.
The Protectorate contingent had gathered at the central security station, which was at the moment overpopulated with every warm body on her staff. Nobody was taking a day off now, and with Labyrinth's crater gone, the rest of Alchemilla's staff was mustering to deal with cleanup. The halls were getting crowded.
Double and triple shifts for the foreseeable future...
The Protectorate heroes were arranged in a loose knot around one of the flimsy plastic tables drinking coffee, masks, visors, and helmets lifted or pulled aside.
Revel, Usher, Rime, just like old times; four others whose costumes were unfamiliar. Had it really been so long?
"Holly!" Rime swept her into a hug, Usher joined in, and even old Chev gave her a pat on the shoulder. Daphne, Garry, Hector.
"It's good to see you all again," Holly said, and she was almost laughing
Like they were all back in the Wards again, it had her feeling all mushy and sentimental.
They sat down, which made the past day weigh a lot more heavily on her than she'd realized. It felt good to just sit down. The coffee helped too.
"It's not Boston." Summer said truthfully, and there was some relief to actually say it, "It's not fighting Accord. And I think, all this aside, I like it."
"It did get kind of hairy down there for a bit." Usher said.
"If you'd told me, what this job would actually entail, I don't think I would have taken it." Summer said bleakly, then ruined it when she snorted, "It makes you think, working here. In Alchemilla there are real people who have made mistakes, or who have lost control of their own lives. Or their powers are dangerous, and some of them are sick. It's... Not like Boston. Not like patrols, or fighting Accord." Not like it at all.
There were times when Summer was on the streets and she asked herself if she was making a difference. Sometimes it felt like she was just filling a quota, a formality. It was strange, because when she had come to Alchemilla, burnt out and exhausted, and hurting from the indignity or reposting... She had considered it a punishment.
"I, actually, I kind of like it here." Summer said, " It feels like I'm really making a difference. An impact on someone's life. Even if it can be frustrating with all the red tape."
"Really?" Usher laughed, "It sounds like one of my Youth Guard horror stories. Soccer moms and teachers, telling us we're here to ruin their kids."
Summer sighed and punched him lightly in the shoulder. But she didn't smile.
They lapsed into silence, Summer staring into her coffee. Staff came and went in a frenetic bustle as the crisis continued on its course.
There was a boy that came to mind, a former Ward that had a nervous breakdown a year before. Really nice kid who wanted to make a difference in the world, but not a fighter. Didn't have the stomach for it, didn't have the stomach for his power.
But somehow that was all the Wards was for anymore.
Summer swirled the coffee in her cup, but all she said was, "Things have changed, since we were in the Wards."
The silence was uncomfortable this time.
"I've never seen a Shaker effect on that scale. Who created it?" One of the new faces said, a man wearing what looked like... A Tinkertech castle on his shoulders? Some kind of Tinker maybe? Summer squinted at him.
"Prefab," Chevalier introduced, "Shaker. Creates structures out of energy. He was working on a way to get us in while the crater was still there."
Another Shaker...
Summer narrowed her eyes, "Her name's Labyrinth. She creates imaginary worlds and can infuse her surroundings, overwrite reality with them. Like a pocket dimension. But she's never manifested on this scale before."
It was going to mean a real headache sometime after the immediate cleanup was over...
"If it means anything, I have, actually heard of another Shaker on that scale- Ziggurat."
Prefab frowned, placing the name, "The Yangban's Terrekinetic?"
Summer nodded.
One of fresh faces cleared his throat, "I thought you had to sign a thick stack of non-disclosure agreements to even get close to this place?"
"Hmm? Talking about Labyrinth? Well, you asked." Summer replied, "I'm bending the rules. NDA doesn't apply when talking with Protectorate capes, within certain parameters, on the off chance that we need to tell you about powers and individual situations." She replied, "Also, it just so happens as head of security I have discretion of disclosure."
One of her uniformed guys in armor stopped by their table, politely clearing his throat. Jake Machnimera, good guy, reliable.
Summer stood, "All right. Back to the salt mines." Summer stretched, and her back popped. That nap would probably have to wait, "Not enough warm bodies to go around."
"Actually, we might have a solution to that." Chevalier said, and nodded to a woman. Green costume, leaves and vines, her mask looked like leaves. New face.
She leapt to attention, raising one hand in salute, which left Summer Holiday a little bemused. "Kudzu, at your service!" she chirped.
Chevalier put a hand on each of their shoulders, "Kudzu is a cloner, self only, but her clones can also make clones. No limit to how many. That makes her one of the strongest on the Protectorate roster. You wouldn't mind us giving her to you on loan for a month or two, would you?"
Summer narrowed her eyes.
"Why the sudden generosity? Do you have any idea how hard I've been pushing for an expansion of the Protectorate contingent here?" The three man team was a holdover from the earliest days of the program, back when a small dedicated team had been enough to handle the residents.
Chevalier didn't answer. Instead Kudzu herself spoke up, "I've been posted in Boston, and I've heard a lot about what it was like when you were there. I'd like to work with you, see what it's been like here."
Summer stared narrowly at Kudzu. "This isn't going to be anything like street patrols." Summer said at last.
"I've been to three Endbringer fights, and I helped wrestle down that power canceler down too." Kudzu said, "I can be everywhere at once!"
Summer stared at her a moment, "Show me your power"
Kudzu blinked, then shrugged in a 'go with it' sort of way, and suddenly there were two Kudzu. The original was immediately identifiable because she leaned to the side, one hand on her hip. The other just kind of stood there with an empty look.
Summer slowly turned to stare at the Kudzu.
"You and I are going to become best friends."