He was Lung. The Dragon of Kyushu. Unbent by the CUI. Where others had given up and let their ego perish, he had taken control of his own fate. A leader the peasants both feared and respected.
But, for the first time since he had gained this strength, Lung was scared.
He sat in the room he had claimed as his, leaning back on a comfortable couch. The bar below was empty, the ants sensing his ire.
Sensing his weakness. Rats fleeing before him, hiding away in their holes, scheming against him. Planning to overthrow him. Any time now, the door would-
He stopped, hands clenching around the armrest so hard that his nails tore through the soft material. But the corners wouldn't stop whispering. Telling him of plots against his reign, encouraging him to go out there and show the world that the dragon would not go quietly. His power answered, that restless flame in his chest wanting nothing more than to burn these conniving vermin away, to grow until he was strong enough to crush anyone that dared oppose him.
It only inflamed his rage. He could feel the iron-clad control slipping. Feelings he didn't want to acknowledge welled up – feelings that reminded him of a fateful night, his brothers laying dead all around him in a dark building half-way across the world and him holding a hand that grew weak and cold.
He looked up. A shadow, formless yet solid, stood over him. The demon stared and he could only stare back. The fear returned, amplified a hundredfold. The corners' whispers grew harsh, mocking him. His heart beat faster and faster, just like that night all those years ago.
A dragon's roar echoed in his head. He snarled, baring his teeth at the shadow as it reached out for him. He wouldn't go quietly. The CUI hadn't broken him, and he wouldn't let these demons do it either.
The demon flinched, drawing back. It said something, in an infernal tongue he could not understand. Lung drew himself up, towering over this pathetic shadow. A simple backhand was enough to send it flying. It disappeared as it hit the wall, as if it was never there.
He stumbled. A bone-deep exhaustion forced him back into the couch. The flame in his chest burned brightly, but its attempts to invigorate him proved futile. He wanted to rest. Close his eyes and go into a deep slumber. But the whispers wouldn't let him. The shadows lurked still, plotting in their maddening tongue.
He sat in that room, alone, slowly losing his sanity as he waited for their betrayal.
Taylor flowed in and out of consciousness. Perhaps it was her body finally feeling she was somewhere safe, because as soon as she had been admitted, the weight of the world seemed to crash into her. It sent her into a restless sleep; plagued by nightmares of a burning desert, a wall being built around her, ever so slowly growing in height. Its bricks were pitch-black and looking at them – falling in place one by one – evoked an unpleasant feeling she couldn't identify.
The girl stood in the middle, her but not her. She looked on, indifferent, a faint corona clinging to her skin, outlining her misshapen body. It was as if someone had tried to draw a human without really understanding what the word means or having someone that could describe it to them. A nebulous idea in the mind of a teenager, given form. She couldn't help but think that it could have been her there instead. Couldn't help but feel that it almost had been.
It was all gone as soon as she woke up again, leaving just traces behind. So, she lay there, feeling restless but not understanding why.
That part of her day had come around again, except this time she had the gossip of nurses to partly take her mind off that unsettling, lingering feeling. They probably thought she couldn't hear them through the closed door, or maybe they just didn't care either way.
"What's up with Sandy in there? She a victim of the Burning? Her chart's basically empty."
Ah, so they'd already given that night a name. It felt plain, almost unoriginal, considering it was the night she'd lost everything.
"Shush, not so loud you idiot. Yes, she got pulled out from one of the neighbourhoods bordering the Docks. Only one found alive from her street, or so I'm told. And, get this, not a scratch on her."
Silence followed for a heartbeat.
"Wait you're not pulling my leg? Damn, that's some luck if I've ever seen it. But her skin? It felt like sandpaper and there's a bunch of crap on her sheets as well. No one to give her a bath yet?"
Yes, luck. It was luck that Lung had gone into a rampage so close to their home. It was luck that the smoke of their burning house had forced them out of the basement's safety. It was luck that they had run into the gang leader as they were trying to escape. It was luck that her dad-
Her fists clenched, hard enough to draw blood. But she felt no pain. And there was no blood to spill. The nurses kept chatting.
"We did. That stuff just keeps flaking off of her. You didn't hear this from me, ok? We're pretty sure she's a parahuman. We couldn't draw any blood from her or get an IV hooked up. No veins, no heartbeat, nothing. It's why there's no heart monitor in there. Had the boys from radiology scan her? Solid mass. So, unless this is the most bizarre, out of this world trauma I've ever seen, girl's a parahuman."
She rubbed her palm, self-conscious of the material falling off it as she did so. Just as the nurse said, her skin felt rough. Abrasive. She couldn't explain why, but she kept thinking that she shouldn't be able to feel that, as if something else was feeding her the sensation that should be there. Her mind caught up with the rest of the conversation. Morbidly curious, she focused on her breathing, zoning everything else out.
There was nothing there. She kept expecting to hear the steady thump of her heart beating but it just wasn't there. It wasn't the only thing that was missing. Her body was quiet. Static. She tried to breathe in and suddenly realised she couldn't. What had been an automatic process before, now refused to restart. She tried expanding her lungs, but there were no muscles to make that possible, or even a chest cavity to expand in the first place.
A phantom sensation of suffocating overtook her. She panicked, trying to scream for help. Not even a wheeze escaped. Her throat and mouth were filling up rapidly. She tried to spit the sand out, but it was like trying to spit out her own teeth.
She startled, suddenly aware of everything again. Her tongue moved, unrestricted. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in, noticing the subtle movement of her chest. There was still no heartbeat, and she couldn't actually feel the air going into her chest, but put it out of her mind. She resolved to avoid examining that part of her body as much as she could. Instead, her attention drifted back to the two nurses. She'd missed part of the conversation, but managed to catch the tail end of it.
"-Protectorate. We need to discharge her anyway, end of tomorrow at the latest. Nothing more we can do about her and we need to free the bed. Besides, it's better if-"
A shrill beeping cut them off.
"Shit. Gotta go, new batch is coming in."
"No rest for the wicked huh. Go on, I'll be right there with you. My wife's been calling non-stop. I should at least let her know I'm still kicking before she storms the front desk or something."
"Be quick about it."
They moved away in what sounded like opposite directions. She overheard part of the nurse's phone call before he moved far enough away to be drowned out by the noise of a busy hospital.
"Hey~ boss, you wouldn't believe-"
She drifted to the end of that conversation. Her imminent discharge and, she assumed, the hospital notifying the Protectorate of her status. That sent other thoughts chaotically swirling. Childhood dreams of being a hero clashed with a newfound, barely supressed anger at those responsible for that night. Thinking of the Protectorate brought another memory to the forefront.
Flesh boiling. The roaring of flames. A bike carefully making its way down the burning street.
"Come back. Please."
A crushing resentment overtook her. Much of that night was still a blur. Only brief flashes revealed themselves. But one thing she did remember quite clearly. The 'hero'.
She wanted to be one. A true hero, that wouldn't abandon those that needed her because it was convenient. She really wanted to make that childhood dream come true. To take the result of that cursed night and turn it into a force for good. She would have to join the Wards, if she did. Going independent, with no one back home to care about or support her, didn't sound good for her survival – even if her apparent lack of vital organs made her as durable as she believed.
But would she be content, going after petty thieves and street-level criminals while letting those that had taken her last family go free? Would she be happy, posing for the Wards' next PR event while someone else suffered as she did? Could she entrust her search for justice to an organisation that had so thoroughly failed her and her dad? The institution that let the city's villains not only go free but thrive, year after year?
She would never find what she needed if she chased after that dream. But did she really want to just cast it aside? Was she willing to abandon the little girl her parents had loved, to replace her with something far less forgiving?
Maybe she should do nothing at all. It was Capes that had caused most of Brockton Bay's problems. If she went out there, she would only add to that in one way or another. One of her fights could lead to the same death and destruction she had just experienced. Or maybe she'd grow so callous, so used to human suffering, that she too would end up abandoning someone begging to be saved.
She stood at that crossroads, torn between bad choices.
"Thanks for the information, Ray. You did good. The usual payment will be in your account by midnight. I'll call if anything else comes up."
Faultline hung up, just finished with a very interesting phone call. Sure, a girl with an unusual power was nothing new to her. Most powers had some odd quirk to them if you looked close enough. A Breaker or Changer power that transforms your body to sand? Why, that's almost mundane. Except for one small detail that was becoming apparent as time wore on.
This Taylor Hebert's power showed no signs of turning itself off. Even when the girl slept or was unconscious, her body remained a solid mass of, what her informant assumed to be, sand. That was closer to what she was used to dealing with. But she couldn't call her a 'monstrous' Parahuman, or Case 53. As a matter of fact, Taylor Hebert knew who she was, where she was and showed signs of remembering what had happened to her. Neither did she have the signature marking that all Case 53s shared.
So, she probably wasn't the new lead they'd been looking for. Still, handling people with unusual powers had become something of a specialty for her. By all accounts, the girl had no home to return to and no family to welcome her back. Sooner or later one of the other gangs would catch wind of her. Chances were the information was already making its way into the ears of lieutenants and gang leaders. The so-called unwritten rules wouldn't be upheld for a teenager with no one to care about what happens to her. She'd be snatched up by the end of next week.
Maybe she was being hypocritical. After all, she'd unearthed her name and she wouldn't care either, unless she was paid to do so or Taylor joined her crew. It was how the Cape world worked. A precedent set in stone. A torrent of blood and violence that was practically impossible to go against.
On the subject of recruiting the Bay's new Parahuman, she'd have to talk to the rest of her team. She could make a unilateral decision and the crew would trust her judgement. But what would be the point if the rest didn't really agree with the girl joining them? It would only cause friction in the long-run and the team dynamic would suffer for it. Better to get everyone onboard with the prospect of a new hire, before making an offer she couldn't take back without looking like an asshole.
Good thing everyone was already in for the evening. They'd need to act fast to pre-empt the other groups. They had the initial advantage of getting the information early. After all, the informant had gone straight to her instead of having to slowly pass the intel up the chain, and now she could consult her crew directly. That was one of the upsides of them being a small and tight-knit group.
The upstairs area of her club, Palanquin, housed several small rooms. All but one were empty at the moment. She followed the sounds of discussion travelling down the corridor, arriving at what she could call a sort of 'break room'. It didn't have much – just a few places to sit, an old TV that barely got any signal, a half-full fridge and water cooler. Something you'd expect a small business to have for its staff.
The crew waited there, somewhat anxious. She'd dragged them all up from the starting festivities downstairs after all. That didn't happen unless there was a big job lined up or something of equal importance. They grew silent as she entered, waiting for her to begin. She didn't waste any time.
"I won't keep you long. One of our informants in Brockton Bay General has learned of a new trigger, some kind of permanent Breaker or Changer. She was orphaned in the Burning and has nowhere to go. I'm proposing we extend an invitation, but I want to make sure everyone would be alright with a new hire."
"An orphan? She's going to be a prime target for the gangs, even if her power's weak. A lot of people will want someone that can just disappear without being missed. Are we sure we want to take the heat?" Gregor went first, his thoughts being about the crew's safety.
He had a point. Just the circumstances of her trigger would make the kid valuable. Depending on how strong her power was, it might just be enough for the gangs to go to war over her. Snatching her up before anyone else got the chance to move would be a risky play and it'd likely make them a target by proxy.
"We can handle that, no? Worst case scenario, we need to lay low for a couple weeks until the heat dies down. It's worked well enough before. What I'm worried about, is whether she'll be able to handle the job. She's still just a kid, right? Merc work ain't easy."
A bit hypocritical of Newter to hold her age against her, considering he looked like a teen himself. But the sentiment behind it held some weight at least. Not everyone is cut out to be a mercenary. Their crew was tamer than others – they wouldn't take the more despicable jobs on offer. That didn't mean it was all sunshine and rainbows.
"We can't know that until we talk to her though, right? And, you took me in when I had nowhere else to go. It wouldn't feel right if I didn't give someone else the same chance to belong somewhere. I'm not saying we should just do it no questions asked, especially since it'll put everyone at risk. But, we can at least talk to her. See what she's like, maybe offer a spare bed if she needs it. We can go from there, I guess…"
Spitfire trailed off at the end, maybe following a thought that wasn't quite clear enough to put into words. However, Faultline could see that the others understood what the teen meant. She turned to Labyrinth – sitting in a wheelchair with a half-empty cup of tea on the table in front of her – the only one who had yet to say anything on the matter.
"What about you, Elle?"
She was semi-lucid. Not a bad day, but certainly not one of her good days either. She gazed off into a corner, at something only she could see. She had a small smile on her face, so Faultline assumed it was at least something pretty.
"Mh~, warm."
She didn't elaborate further. They decided to take it as a positive answer.
"So, how are we gonna do this then? Don't think all of us showing up would be the best idea."
That was true. Five parahumans visiting a new trigger at night? It could go wrong in so many ways, it wasn't even funny.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to visit her by myself. Tonight, if I can arrange it with our contact. As long as she's not some kind of psychopath, I'll make the pitch and give her my contact info. Does that sound good to everyone?"
They looked at each other. Newter got up first.
"Sounds good to me. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a party downstairs calling my name." It seemed, with business concluded, he was back to his usual self. It still surprised her sometimes, how he could switch tracks so easily. Still, she appreciated that he took things like this seriously. Gregor simply nodded, following Newter. Spitfire stretched as she got up, moving next to Labyrinth.
"You wanna come downstairs with us, Elle?" Labyrinth let out a happy hum in response, still faintly smiling at whatever it was she saw.
"Alright, I'll find you a nice spot."
She watched as the two of them slowly made their way out of the room, with Spitfire pushing Elle's wheelchair along. The teen stopped at the door, shooting her a mischievous grin.
"Good luck with the new hire, boss."
They left before she could say anything. Somehow, she felt as if she'd just screwed herself over.
"Thank you for arranging this on such a short notice, Ray." It was a woman's voice. Strong and confident.
"Whatever, boss. As long as I'm getting paid. I'll wait outside." That one was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.
The door opened, the light from the corridor making her squint. She blinked, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. Someone was in her room, in the middle of the night. It looked like the woman she'd heard talking outside. The faint light from the window made it hard to see what she looked like. She could make out a metal mask, perhaps something a welder would wear, as well as what seemed to be a bulletproof vest over some sort of…dress?
The stranger pulled a chair closer to the foot of her bed, sitting down. She thought of a Villain, come to press-gang her into service barely a day after she triggered. She looked to the window. Too high to jump out. The door? That guy, Ray – a nurse? – was waiting outside.
She wracked her brain, trying to recall what she knew about the Villains of Brockton Bay. Other than the main players most people heard about, like Lung or Kaiser and his lieutenants, there wasn't much. Certainly no one matching the description of this woman.
The strange woman seemed to notice her apprehension. Something about what little she could see of her face, along with her posture, gave Taylor the impression that she was smiling underneath the mask.
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I'm just here to welcome the Bay's newest Parahuman." Her voice was warm, almost disarming. Taylor's eyes narrowed.
"Somehow, that's not all that reassuring, coming from a strange woman in my hospital room."
Shit, she hadn't meant to say that out loud. The woman didn't seem to take offense though, laughing softly.
"No, I guess it's really not. Well, how about I change that. Good evening, my name is Faultline, the leader of a ragtag group of misfits. There, I'm not a stranger anymore, am I?"
"You're still a strange woman in my hospital room." She wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. Where was the confident sass even coming from? Maybe the lack of actual sleep was messing with her more than she thought or maybe she just didn't care anymore if the obvious Cape reduced her to a smear on the wall.
Faultline was silent for a couple seconds.
"Witty one, aren't you?" She couldn't see the woman's raised eyebrow, but the tone of her voice conveyed the expression just as well. She decided to do the smart thing; shut her mouth and let her talk. Faultline nodded.
"What's your name?" It felt like a trick question. This lady was here, talking to her, obviously already knowing who she was. But she didn't have any better answer than the truth.
"Taylor" Faultline must have tried to stifle her sigh, but she heard it all the same.
"That's on me, I shouldn't have expected anything else. Well, Taylor, you've probably guessed it by now but you're a parahuman."
She had indeed guessed that by now. Two nurses gossiping about her weird body was enough of a clue. Hell, they'd even spelled it out themselves, no need for any guessing on her part. She could also infer that a lot of other people knew, both in and outside the hospital. It was probably those rumours that brought Faultline here. No harm in trying to confirm that.
"And how did you figure it out?"
"You'll understand if I don't give away my sources. Suffice to say, a lot of people are watching the hospitals, just to find someone like you. And, if I know you're here, the gangs, the true Villains of the Bay, probably know as well. If not yet, they'll definitely know by the end of the week."
So it really was the nurse she'd heard earlier in the day, that supposedly stayed behind to talk to his 'wife' on the phone. The same one that was waiting outside. And all the gangs had people like that, just watching for new potential recruits checking in, apparently.
"So, how come you're here first? And for that matter, what makes you different from the 'true Villains of the Bay'?"
"Well, I'm here talking to you, aren't I? Instead of just snatching you up and making you disappear without a trace?" Her voice got only a bit colder, but it was enough for Taylor to get the message. Don't compare Faultline to the gangs. Message received and understood. She nodded to show as much. Faultline's sunny disposition was back.
"I have a special interest for people who've been dealt a shitty hand. Whether it's a difficult power or just having nowhere to go. That's my group of misfits. The PRT calls us villains. We're mercenaries with a conscience, and you are our new prospective hire."
That was a bit to take in. She hadn't heard of them before, which probably meant they didn't take too many jobs in the Bay. And 'mercenaries with a conscience'? What did that even mean exactly?
Faultline must have seen her hesitation. The mercenary sighed, audibly this time.
"Listen, I'm not forcing you to take the offer, ok? You tell me to get out, and I'll just go. But hear me out, please. You'll be discharged soon, and it's not going to be safe for you out there, with everyone wanting you either for themselves or dead so no one else can't have you." She paused, taking a breath.
"All I'm offering is a safe place to sleep and some warm food. Maybe meet the rest of the team and see how you get along. No strings attached and as long as you haven't joined up with someone else, my door will stay open."
She didn't know what to make of that. It felt like a pretty big step, joining a mercenary group of all things. Could she do that? Did she even want to? It all came back to that same dilemma. One she didn't have an answer to.
"I'll think about it." She said, for lack of a better answer. It would have to do. Faultline nodded, recognising it for what it was. The woman got up, moving next to her.
"That's all I can ask for." She handed her a simple phone.
"It's a burner, already has my number in it. When you decide to take me up on that offer, give me a call. Hell, I'm there even if you just want someone to chat with; you seem like a good kid. Now, better be off before any other staff realise I'm here."
"Thank you." She figured it'd be a good idea to at least be polite.
With that, Faultline left. Ray went to make a comment or maybe ask a question, but she shushed him and they moved quietly down the corridor.
Taylor was alone in her room once again. She looked at the phone in her hand, eventually deciding to hide it under her pillow for the time being. She'd be lying if she said that the offer wasn't tempting. She could never join one of the gangs; didn't want to be part of the problem if she could help it. The Protectorate evoked feelings of disgust and, apparently, striking out on her own was an even worse idea than she previously thought.
It felt like a compromise, joining up with Faultline. She would have somewhere to belong, safety in numbers, and as long as she didn't cause trouble for the crew, she'd probably be able to work on her own project of making the bastards who destroyed her life pay, then start helping the city. On the other hand, she'd be branded a villain and she'd likely have to take jobs along with the others.
She didn't really need the recognition of being an official hero. She'd learned that appearances were just that. For example, Emma appeared to be her best friend but turned out to be a manipulative, two-faced bitch. The dockworkers appeared to be scary and dangerous but most of them were actually the nicest people she'd ever met.
So, couldn't she be a hero, even as a villain? It would hurt, to have people look at her with fear, rather than hope. But wasn't that just her being selfish? If she ended up helping people, did it really matter?
The alternatives weren't really all that great. A loner. A toy. A nobody. Stuck between bad choices as she were, maybe her best hope was to take the compromise that promised at least some happiness. Yet she still hesitated, simply unable to take that step for a reason she couldn't fathom.
The indecision gnawed at her, even after she decided to just give up for the day and go to sleep. There would be no rest for her.
The morning sun was bright, and incredibly annoying considering how tired she still felt. The knocking at her door was even more so. The nurse waiting outside her room didn't wait for her to respond, simply opening the door and letting herself in. She carried a clipboard and a thin stack of paper. Taylor barely had time to sit up in the bed.
"Good morning, Miss Hebert. I'm just in to let you know that the hospital is planning to discharge you later this afternoon. I have all the papers you need to sign right here." She was handed the clipboard, along with the stack of paper. She stared at it, the legal jargon printed on the pages going completely over her head. The nurse kept going.
"Considering the circumstances of your hospitalisation and the state of the city, the hospital has decided not to charge you for services rendered at this time. These forms are to confirm that you are healthy and no longer require any medical attention."
She kept looking at the papers. Indeed, most of it seemed to be a list of costs that had been waived along with a long citation of several disaster relief laws. Even with context, it still mostly went over her head. She wished her dad was here. He'd know what to make of all this. She shoved down the pang of grief that tried to claw itself up.
The nurse shuffled her feet, the atmosphere in the room growing slightly uncomfortable with neither of them talking. She was saved from the awkwardness by the sound of voices in the corridor. She froze. Those voices were familiar, very familiar. They sounded almost exactly like-
"Taylor! Oh thank God, you're alright."
Kurt, with Lacey following closely behind. Two of her dad's oldest and closest friends, as well as fellow dockworkers. She was swept in a crushing hug as Kurt reached her. Dazed, it took her a couple seconds to respond but she hugged him back just as tight. Lacey had a few words with the nurse, who had one look at the scene and probably decided the discharge papers could wait.
They both had tears in their eyes at seeing her alive and well. Taylor felt the familiar sting as well, but knew there was nothing actually there. Still, an immeasurable feeling of elation overcame her. The destruction of that night had extended so far, had been so complete, that she'd simply assumed everyone she knew was gone. She was glad to be proven wrong.
"We kept calling the hospitals trying to find you. We still haven't found Danny-"
She tried to choke back a sob but just couldn't. It was Lacey's turn to hug her. Her grip was just as strong as Kurt's. It made her feel safe.
"Oh baby, I am so sorry. We're both here for you, ok? Whatever you need."
Kurt nodded, picking up the forgotten discharge papers. He looked them over, reading quickly through the legalese. It seemed almost easy, the way he breezed through it.
"First let's get you out of here, yeah? This is all standard stuff for the hospital to cover their ass. We'll get it signed and be on our way home in no time."
Home? Her home was gone, burnt to the ground. She had nowhere to go now, except maybe the lair of a mercenary group. She prepared to say as much – well, maybe she'd omit the part about the mercenaries – when she saw Kurt hesitate.
"Well, that's if…I assume it'll be ok with you-"
"What Kurt means honey, is that you can stay with us. We'll be more than happy to have you."
Maybe she'd been kicked so much these past two days that her expectations had reached rock bottom, but that really was something she hadn't expected. It made her feel warm. A bitter joy of knowing there were still people that cared about what happened to her, even after she'd lost so much. She would have loved to cry then; let the happiness and grief mix into a torrent of emotion she could just let out. But she wasn't able to. She hadn't managed to shed a single tear since she woke up in that rubble. With all that she knew now, she assumed it was because of the changes to her body.
So she just bottled it all up instead. Maybe she'd find a proper way to grieve some day, to let go of all that had happened. It might be soon, but it might not. Maybe it was unhealthy, what she was doing, but she'd learn to live with it.
"I'd love that." She said, hugging Lacey tighter. Kurt put the forms down on the bedside table to join in, wrapping them both in his arms.
All three had lost someone important. A brother in all but blood. A dear friend. A beloved father. It wouldn't be ok, not for a long time. But they would help each other until then.
Kurt and Lacey's home – also her home as well now – was somewhat similar to the one she'd left behind but still significantly different. There was no real yard, having been sacrificed to extend the house itself. There was no second floor, but instead an attic used for storage, leaving all the rooms on the ground floor.
The interior was simple. Warm. The atmosphere reminded her of when mom was still alive, and of the short time when she and her dad were starting to be family again. Another twinge of pain, to shove into that bottle and lock away for later. She shook her head, following the two further inside.
"Come, I'll show you where the guest room is. You can have a shower as well; get yourself out of those hospital clothes. I think Lacey has some old clothes that'll fit you. They'll do fine until we can shop some stuff for you. Just…this is your home now, as much as it is ours. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask."
Her room was at the end of the hallway, right next to the bathroom. Someone had already made the bed. A desk stood in front of the single window, with a closet next to it, in the wall across the bed.
"I'll let you go shower. Lacey will leave a change of clothes outside the door. We'll both be in the kitchen, so if you need anything just holler."
She nodded, "I'll be alright. Thank you again. Both of you." She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She leaned back into it, closing her eyes and just breathing. She'd felt safe back at the hospital but it was too public of a place for her to be truly secure. The gossiping in the corridors, the people coming and going, it all reminded her too much of Winslow. All she could hear now was some faint conversation between Lacey and Kurt, and even that was soothing in a way. The last bit of tension left her body.
She took off the hospital clothes, throwing them into the laundry basket and stepping into the shower. She turned the cold water on, but it just felt like water. It seemed she couldn't really feel temperature anymore, even if texture was still there. She tried to enjoy the shower regardless, but that didn't last long.
The water flowing off her body was turning cloudy. The small particles of sand clinging to her skin were being washed off but more would just take their place. Scrubbing made it worse. Worried the drain might get clogged, she turned the water off and got out. There was an extra pair of towels she could use to pat herself down. Doing anything else would probably just get sand everywhere. It was frustrating, but she'd deal with it. Just another change to accept. There'd been a lot of those recently, both big and small.
She quickly checked outside. A change of clothes was resting on the floor. She grabbed them and closed the door again. A blue T-shirt, slightly too wide for her frame. Dark grey shorts, coming down to her knees. She hung up her towels and got out of the bathroom, making her way to the kitchen. Lacey looked up from a mug of coffee as she entered, smiling softly at her.
"Enjoy your shower?"
She shrugged, grabbing a chair and sitting down across the two, "I was alright. I tried not to get sand everywhere."
The silence that followed was far from comfortable. They all knew what they needed to talk about. There were several topics they needed to cover. Plans to confirm or replace in the wake of the disaster. None of them knew how that start that conversation. In the end, Taylor decided to just bite the bullet and get right into it.
"Dad was going to let me take the exit exam this summer. For high school. We weren't planning on me going back to Winslow. Not after what happened in January."
The two of them looked at each other. Eventually, Lacey took the lead.
"That's the plan then. You'll also need some new ID. A copy of your school records would also be good to have. I can take care of the latter while you and Kurt visit the city hall. You alright with that plan, hon?" Lacey said, looking at Kurt for the last part. He nodded, turning to Taylor.
"Sure. How about you, Taylor. You ok with handling it like that?"
She was really glad that Lacey was willing to handle Winslow. Dad had vowed not to have her step one foot into that place ever again. She wasn't sure exactly how much the two knew, but it was obviously enough for them to wholeheartedly agree with that decision.
"Sounds like a plan. What else do we need to do?"
Kurt hummed in thought, "We'll probably need to register you at the address. You're almost sixteen if I remember right, so you could probably get yourself emancipated. We could also sign on as your guardians, if you'd prefer that. It's up to you really."
She wasn't sure either way. These two were already doing so much for her, she wasn't keen on dumping more responsibility on them.
"Do I have time to think about that?"
Kurt nodded, "It shouldn't become an issue until it's time for the exit exam. Danny had registered you back in March from what I remember, so most of the paperwork should be in already."
Good, that was one issue she could put off thinking about for now.
"Have you thought about what to do after? Once you're done with the exam, I mean." She didn't have a good answer to Lacey's question. Even before all…this, the idea of college had lost its appeal. She'd had enough of educational institutions and their bullshit to last a lifetime.
But what could she do? Be a cape full time? She wasn't even sure she wanted to do that in the first place. She could leave Brockton Bay, find a job somewhere else and just live her life. There was very little tying her to Brockton. But the thought of that left her unsatisfied. There was a legacy here that she didn't want to just abandon. Lacey must have seen her indecision, because she decided to speak up.
"Me and Kurt, we're dockworkers. That's all we've known. If that's what you want to do hon, if you want to follow in your old man's footsteps, we'll help you all the way. And if you want to leave, we'll help you do that."
It was a good feeling, having someone's support. It didn't make deciding any easier though. She knew that if she just moved away from the Bay, it'd leave a bad taste in her mouth. It was irrational. Emotions were rarely anything but. Another decision looming over her. It seemed that's all her life had been since that night. Perhaps it was just the upheaval such a disaster inevitably caused, and things would calm down again in time. Or so she hoped, at least. Kurt picked up where Lacey left off.
"Just think about it, alright? And, if you're looking for something to do in the meantime, the Union is planning a project you might like, to help the city, in honour of your old man. We're still trying to see how possible it is, but I can keep you posted on what we end up doing. Or, if you'd prefer, we won't bring it up again. Just say the word."
That took her out of one train of thought and sent her head-first into a different one. A project to help the city. She almost wanted to dismiss the idea. Anything like that would have to go through the mayor's office for funding. The same mayor's office that had declined her dad's pleas to help him fix the ferry again and again, for years. Lacey grinned, probably guessing her thoughts.
"Oh we're not going to that bastard for help. The boys in the legal team say we've got a good chance on getting help directly from the feds on this one. Something about framing it as 'dangerous industrial waste cleanup'."
That was interesting. If it was related to dad, then it probably had to do with the docks and there was only one thing she could think of that would count as 'dangerous industrial waste'. She smiled, a mix of satisfaction and sadness. He would have found it hilarious, going over the mayor's office like this, especially for something this big.
"Sure, count me in."
The silence was much more comfortable this time around. Lacey drained the rest of her coffee, getting up to start preparing lunch. Kurt got up as well, moving to help her. She watched for a minute, reminiscing. She could almost pretend the last three years hadn't happened. She was back home, sitting at the table while her mom and dad made lunch. The TV was on in the living room but no one was there. She liked watching them better.
She took a deep breath, coming out of the memories. There was one more thing they hadn't talked about. She knew that they'd been told, but they still hadn't brought it up. They were probably leaving it up to her. It was a subject surrounded by landmines; if she were smart, she'd probably leave it alone too.
"There's one more thing. About my power…" She trailed off, not sure how to continue.
Lacey glanced at Kurt. Some kind of communication she couldn't decipher went on between them. He turned to her, sitting down again.
"The doctors told us. They called it a Changer or a Breaker?" She could tell he didn't know exactly what that meant. To be fair, she didn't really understand the difference either. She'd always had an interest in Cape culture, but some of the nuances escaped her.
She nodded, "My body is made out of some kind of sand now. I…don't think I can turn back. And, I don't really know what else I can do either. Haven't thought about going out or anything. I just…figured I should let you guys know." She was looking down at the table by the end.
Kurt reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up.
"Hey now, don't go thinking we didn't know what we were getting into when we invited you here. We just thought it'd be best if we let you bring up the subject, discuss it only if you wanted to. So, have you thought about what you want to do? Join the Wards maybe?" He rested his elbows on the table, hands resting loosely in front of him.
Completely relaxed, just waiting for her input. She really appreciated that neither of them were making a big deal out of this. Not many people wouldn't.
She shook her head, "No, I really don't want to join the Protectorate. I can't go out alone without putting myself and you two in danger, and I'd rather drink Bay water before I join a gang. So I'm just kind of stuck, I guess."
He chuckled. It surprised her, somewhat.
"No, I didn't think you'd want to go into the Wards either. You know, of all the government branches involved in this city, I think Danny disliked the PRT and their lot the most. So, if you say the Wards are out, they're out."
He scratched his chin, "Could be a Rogue, I suppose. Besides, just because you have powers, don't feel pressured to use them. I know plenty of good folk who became parahumans at some point in their lives and just kept on living like nothing happened. Hell, there's this bartender close to Downtown. I should introduce you sometime."
A wooden spoon came down on his head, barely hard enough for him to feel it. The surprise made him wince.
"You will not take a fifteen year-old girl to a bar on the outskirts of Downtown. Now come on, enough talk about parahumans. You can figure all that out after lunch."
He got up, shooting Taylor a cheeky grin that Lacey couldn't see but definitely heard in his voice, "Yes, dear."
Taylor smiled, simply going back to watching the two. Their well-choreographed dance of coordinated cooking, honed through years of living together. The burner phone in her right pocket was forgotten about in that moment.
The sun was slowly setting. Taylor stood in the overgrown yard of the abandoned house next door. The tall fence was still mostly intact, practically a miracle for neglected property in Brockton. It would hide her well while she tested out what exactly she could do. Maybe it would have been safer to do this inside her – new – home, but that would instead run the risk of making a mess or breaking something.
She rubbed her palms, somehow 'feeling' the small particles grinding against each other beneath her fingers. It was still incredibly strange. The digits felt solid, despite being made up of what everyone assumed was sand. It was finer than she expected and yet somewhat coarse. She chalked it up to power shenanigans. A tension in the back of her mind eased as she focused more on her hands and grey sand started flowing, falling onto the ground in a steady stream.
It was weird, seeing it separate from her body but still feeling as if it was all a part of her. She reached out mentally, trying to 'call' it back to her. Her reward was a faceful of sand as it flew towards her with more speed than she had been expecting. She managed to retain her balance, just barely, shaking her head and expecting the material to fall off of her. But It wasn't there anymore.
Had she absorbed it back into herself? Her head didn't feel any heavier and that had been a good amount of material. She wondered where it all went. Another thought struck her. If her whole body was made of this stuff, then how come things like her hair, eyes and lips were all the normal colours she expected them to be? Once again, she chalked it up to power shenanigans and left it there.
She let another pile form on the ground. This time, she tried to simply make it go away. The pile rapidly shrunk until nothing was left. Some nebulous concept from science class came to the forefront of her mind, about how matter – or was it energy? – couldn't be destroyed. But this wouldn't be the first time a power violated the laws of thermodynamics.
She formed a third pile, slightly larger this time. She took hold of it, mentally, trying to think of it as just another limb, only less…solid. It jumped, flowing gently above the ground in a swirling pattern. She noticed the small clouds, trailing behind the main mass. In that instance, it reminded her of something else.
Ash.
Putting it out of her mind for the moment, she decided to try testing her range. The stream flowed swiftly, reaching the other end of the yard in what must have been barely a second and splashing against the fence with some force. The wood groaned in protest as more sand – ash? – slammed into it. She let it fall to the ground, giving up on that test. Letting the sand-
She shook her head. Now that she'd made the connection, it somehow felt wrong to keep calling it sand. Ash didn't feel quite right either, but it was closer.
Anyway, letting the ash get out into the street when she had no way to mask her identity didn't seem like a bright idea. Maybe if she was somewhere more remote, she could test her range further but for now 'at least as big as this yard' would have to do.
Letting that mental gate open a bit wider, she decided to test the weight she could handle instead. A sphere of the stuff formed in front of her, the ash coming out of only her hands at first. She noticed that the amount started to increase the longer she went. Soon, ash flowed from the entirety of her arms and the increase showed no sign of stopping. In fact, it was ramping up. Exponentially. When the sphere got too big, she compacted the material, always keeping it around the size of a basketball. There didn't seem to be a limit to how dense she could make it, or how much of it she could control.
It was what felt like two or three minutes later, with a torrent of ash flowing out of every inch of her body, that an unpleasant feeling began blooming. She pushed past it at first, but it just kept growing and growing. A faint warmth in her chest drew her attention but it disappeared as soon as she focused on it. She thought nothing of it, until it happened again only to instantly go away once more as soon as she thought about it. It was like something lingering on the edge of her vision.
Ignition
Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn't breathe. Her mind ground to a halt, clamping down on her powers with an urgency she couldn't explain. The ball of ash expanded, flooding the yard before slowly disappearing. She fell to the ground with a yell, her breaths coming in quick and shallow, no air actually flowing into her chest. Absolute dread overtook her. Fragmented memories of a cataclysmic fire and a struggle for control assaulted her. Non-existent blood rushed to her head and her non-existent heart felt as if it would explode at any moment. She felt on the verge of passing out, but sweet oblivion would never – could never – come. Being on the edge, unable to go over, only made the feeling worse.
A steady, calloused hand on her back took her out of the spiral, bringing her back into reality, grounding her. It rubbed in small, gentle circles. She heard Lacey's soft, calm voice and latched onto it like a lifeline.
"Shh~, it's ok Taylor. It's alright, honey. Just breathe slowly for me, alright? Nice and slow, deep breaths."
She closed her eyes, focusing on Lacey's hand and voice. She concentrated on just inhaling and exhaling, getting her breathing under control. A brief feeling of guilt surfaced. She must have worried them both with that yell. A gentle hug from behind washed even that away. She laid back, resting her head on Lacey's chest.
They stayed like that for a bit, until Taylor was calm again. A deep exhaustion weighed her down, emotional rather than physical. She realised now that she hadn't been in danger. The rational part of her mind told her that she was in full control. But right at that moment, just the thought of pushing her powers again ignited that tiny spark of dread once more.
Lacey picked her up, carrying her back to the house. Taylor's eyes slowly closed, the exhaustion finally overwhelming her. But before it took her completely, she had a thought.
Maybe it'd be better if she lived a normal life for now.
