Newter shivered from his spot on the roof of the apartment building. Even through the dark green jacket he wore, nighttime in late-April Manhattan was still cold enough to feel the breeze nipping at his skin. Being so high up probably didn't help either, but someone had to take the high ground and, of the three of them, only he could comfortably scale the building. Or at least that's how he was trying to convince himself to stay put and keep an eye out.
The wind picked up for a second, sending dirt and dust swirling through the rooftop. Newter squinted, shielding himself with his forearm in an effort to keep the debris out of his eyes. When the wind calmed down again, he brought the radio up to his mouth.
"Please tell me either of you have seen some trace of her."
There was static for a moment, before Gregor answered, "As the one with the vantage point, you would be the first to know. So, to answer your question, no, we have yet to see any trace of Shamrock."
The big guy sounded mildly annoyed, Newter could tell as much. Not without reason either. Beyond his own somewhat frequent... comments about the shit weather and being stuck on watch outside – which he definitely wouldn't call 'whining', no matter what anyone else would testify – all three were itching to get back to the safehouse.
With their boss out of commission after her gunshot wound reopened, and Pyroclast's powers on the fritz after the weird interaction with Animos, maybe they should have cut their losses and hit the road. But Faultline really wanted Shamrock found and honestly, he did too. The same probably went for Gregor.
It was their first real lead in a long while. Sure, there'd been whispers about The Dealer down in Tallahassee, but that angle had hit a dead end before they could even start looking. Surprise surprise, they were either dead or keeping their head down, with another man that claimed to have been a customer getting shanked by two capes mere days later.
If he were the type to put a tinfoil hat on, he might have been convinced it was a big conspiracy of some sort; the government or whatever shadowy organization was behind all this, sending assassins after loose ends. The whole thing sure smelled enough like a cover-up, but he wasn't ready to start sleeping with a knife under his pillow just yet.
So, he could certainly understand the desperation to finish at least this part of their field trip. Hell, he could feel it himself. After all, it was either this, or going back to square one. That didn't mean he liked leaving his comrades – friends even, maybe – behind to fend for themselves, even if it'd only be for a few hours.
"At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we're sure she lives here?"
It was Spitfire that answered this time, voice heavy with tiredness, "And for the third time, yes, the super said she went out about an hour before we got here. She didn't seem in a hurry, or scared, or anything. She's coming back."
Right, they just had to wait until she did. Newter shivered again, breathing into his hands to try and warm them up. Hopefully, that'd be before his fingers froze off. He took out his phone and checked the time.
Almost five.
Another gust of wind blew into him. Newter winced as something got into his eye, dropping the phone as he went to rub it. He reached down, but before completely losing sight of the street he just barely noticed the slender woman walking down the nearly deserted road, dressed in dark clothing.
"I've got someone coming towards the building. Dark clothes, red hair. Fits the general description. I think that's her," Newter spoke into the radio, scrambling to get properly back on his feet.
"Tsk, wait, there's parked cars in the way," came back Spitfire, now sounding a lot more aware, "You're right, she looks just like the photos boss got from the PIs."
There was silence over the line for a few moments. They'd gotten this far. Now what? There was no question about approaching Shamrock now or not. This was getting done today, so they could all get the hell out of dodge. But the three couldn't exactly march up to her and expect everything to work out.
"I think it would be best," spoke Gregor, "if Spitfire were to make first contact in this case, considering our obvious Parahuman status and the time of night."
"I'm fine with it. If something I can't deal with happens, you two are just a couple dozen meters away," the teen agreed readily, eager to not let this opportunity go.
Newter's eyes tracked Shamrock as she passed by the building he was perched on, moving towards her own block. After a short second of consideration, he brought the radio close to answer, "Alright then, ready when you are."
He watched then as his teammate got out of the car, mask off and costume concealed under her clothes, strolling casually up to the older woman. Shamrock seemed wary, understandably so. With a little wave from Spitfire, the two started talking and, though he had little idea of what exactly was being said, it seemed to be going well.
Until it didn't.
Shamrock looked towards the car, then up at him. Newter backed off from the edge, but it was too late. She'd already seen him. The woman stepped away from Spitfire, then turned around and bolted down an alley. Spitfire ran after her.
Newter cursed, taking a running start and jumping over to the other building's roof. Below him, Gregor had gotten out of the car and was also chasing after the two. They couldn't lose her, not when they were finally so close a real breakthrough.
They were about halfway through when Newter stepped on a brick that proved to be just slightly too loose. It dislodged, sent tumbling down below and just barely missing Gregor. Newter lost balance, his momentum carrying him forward to crash into a fire escape, though he managed to grab onto the rails and keep from falling all the way to the ground.
"Wait, we just want to talk!" Spitfire yelled, now well ahead of them, but it seemed Shamrock didn't believe her, running faster instead.
Newter scrambled to get back onto the roof and follow. If he hurried, he'd be able to cut her off at the opposite end of the alley, though it was just as likely that'd she'd be able to slip away in the wider street. But it seemed Spitfire had a different idea.
Taking careful aim, his teammate sprayed the ground ahead of Shamrock with her napalm, igniting it into an impassable wall of flame. The runaway's eyes widened, skidding to a stop and turning around to face them, looking for any opportunity that would let her escape. Newter dropped down, walking slowly towards her alongside Gregor and stopping a safe, and hopefully reassuring, distance away.
"So, which sore loser sent you after me?" she practically snarled at them. Considering her history and what she'd been up to until now, that wasn't an unreasonable assumption to make.
Probably thinking along the same lines Gregor stepped forward, Shamrock's attention snapping to him in an instant, "Though a fair leap in logic, you are fortunately mistaken. We are not bounty hunters or debt collectors. We simply wish to talk about what you remember that many others do not." He kept his voice calm and placid, posture open and approachable.
To his credit, it seemed to work, though now she seemed tense for a different reason. Her gaze was entirely focused on the upside-down omega tattoo on his upper arm.
"You're like me." She swallowed, calming her nerves, "You came from that place," it was almost a whisper, barely rising above the crackling of flame behind her, but the three heard it loud and clear all the same.
Newter wasn't sure about exactly what that place was, but he could hazard a guess or two. So, she really did remember. He crushed the rising elation. It was far too early to celebrate. Not only could she probably not tell them who they used to be, but she might not even know all that much about the people behind the curtain.
Shamrock sighed, the flames behind her slowly dying out already due to how little liquid Spitfire had used. It left a clear path open for her to run through and escape into the night, but she didn't take it. Instead, she walked forward, towards the three that just a minute earlier had been chasing her down an alley.
"Come on, we can talk upstairs," she said, walking by in the opposite direction they all came from. The three looked at each other, then followed.
Aine led the odd trio up to her apartment. The building manager, sitting in his booth at the entrance, just waved and pretended to read yesterday's newspaper, paying absolutely no mind to the three obvious capes that followed her inside once it was apparent they weren't here for trouble.
Considering the strange image their group must have cut – with two people that looked far from human, one teenage girl and a grown woman – she appreciated the discretion and his restraint.
She ushered them into the cramped living space, closing the door behind her. Much like her quarters back home, it offered barely enough space for one person to live in, but it'd do just fine for a private conversation.
The bed creaked as Aine dropped onto it, sitting with her back propped against the wall. The guy with the visible skeleton and the fire-breathing teen took the two available chairs, while the orange-skinned dude got comfortable on the ground, leaning forward with his legs half-crossed.
"So, you wanted to talk," she started off, keeping her tone casual, "About the place us three came from, I'm guessing." She could see the hope rising in the two's eyes. Aine shook her head.
"But I'm sorry, if you're expecting that I know any details about you specifically, or why this happened to us, you won't find any answers here. I can only share what I remember from being a prisoner in that place."
That sobered them up somewhat, but none of them seemed surprised, only as if they'd already suspected her information would be limited.
"That's fine," the one with orange skin replied with a shrug, "After so many leads that disappeared on us and one dead end after another, just finding someone that remembers is... honestly, it's almost unbelievable."
Well, in that context maybe she could excuse the stalking and maybe, just maybe, even forgive them for chasing her down an alley at five in the morning. Really, they were lucky she'd already stashed away her shotgun before heading home.
She sighed, "Aight then. Let's get introductions out of the way first. You lot probably know already, but I go by Shamrock."
The girl let out a small, sheepish chuckle in response.
"Yeah, uhm, I guess so," she said, clearing her throat before continuing, "I'm Spitfire, nice to meet you."
Considering the display earlier down at the alley, Aine supposed that was a fitting name. Or cape name, rather. She had to remind herself that these weren't mere pseudonyms. They were whole separate identities.
"Name's Newter," said the other teen with a little wave and a grin, excitement apparently building once more at the prospect of answers.
"And I am Gregor. It is a pleasure," the older man finished off. His voice was calm and deliberate.
"So, are all three of you..." Aine hesitated, not exactly sure how sensitive the upcoming topic was and not wanting to run in with a war hammer.
"Hm? Oh, no. The two of us are the only Case 53s in the group. Spitfire here's just along for the ride," Newter answered her half-spoken question, not appearing bothered at all.
Case 53s? So, there were more like her and them, enough for the locals to have come up with a name. Though apparently, not enough for her to have heard of it before, in the month and a half since she appeared here.
Gregor must have noticed her contemplation, "You were not familiar with the term?" It was more a statement than a real question, but she answered it all the same.
"No," she said, shaking her head, "Between trying to give the thugs after me the slip, and constantly looking over my shoulder for anyone sent to bring me back, I wasn't all that interested in getting involved with the scene. I just did my own thing and tried avoiding people who could smear me across the room"
She sighed, "Not that it always worked out that way. Sometimes I was the tag-along instead of a player, helping others scam idiots out of their money rather than doing it all myself. And when some wizened up...well, usually they and their hired muscle weren't exactly happy about it. I couldn't just leave without the client that paid me to make sure all their teeth were intact at the end of the day, so..."
The memories came unbidden, from the first couple of such encounters she'd had before acquiring heavier firepower. She liked to think she was decent in hand to hand – the majority of students at the temple were – and a table leg over the head could put most people to sleep, but there was something special about being able to deliver the equivalent of a horse kick to someone's chest with the twitch of a finger.
Aine shifted in her seat, realizing she'd gone on a bit of a tangent, "Ah, but that part of my life isn't what you're here for. Honestly, it's not a pleasant story to retell, and if I do this...well," she trailed off, a measure of uncertainty taking hold.
For over a month now she'd done nothing but run, trying to survive in a foreign and strange world she could hardly understand. She'd held out hope while in that prison, of someday finding a way back. A hope that persisted and drove her forward as she sprinted down empty, featureless corridors, dodging past the few staff that tried to stop her.
And when that hole in reality appeared before her – a portal to grant her freedom – that hope had soared to new heights. Only for it to crash and burn when she realized she was truly lost and no closer to home. Looking back now, she didn't really understand why she thought that portal would lead to her original world. Maybe desperation. Maybe foolishness. Most likely a bit of both.
But there was opportunity to be had here, and it all depended on what these people wanted to do with the information she held.
"These people, the ones that took us from our worlds, used us, then discarded us without so much as a reason given...You're going after them, right? Or at least, you'll try to find them?"
Newter seemed a bit apprehensive in his nod, but it was a nod all the same. Aine straightened her back, hands clenched into fists in her lap, determination swelling within her for the first time since her abduction.
"Then, if I'm going to do this, if you want to know what I remember from that place, you'll let me come with you. You want information? I want in on this."
The three shared a look, and Aine just waited. They'd said it themselves; she was their only lead. They couldn't turn her away.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably just barely a minute, they came to some sort of agreement and Gregor met her eyes.
"We can take you to our boss; she'll want to hear what you have to say. We cannot promise employment, as it is not up to us, but we can give our vote for you joining the team. Would that be an agreeable compromise for now?"
She considered it. They could have pushed her here and now. Three parahumans when she had no weapon in reach? Bad odds, even for her. But they didn't. Even during the chase earlier, they'd let the flames die down and given her the chance to flee. It was a large part of the reason why she'd bothered hearing them out.
So, Aine didn't think she'd be in danger if she went with them, and she believed Gregor when he said that she'd have his vote. The other two appeared to agree with him on it too. Perhaps it was a bit naïve to put so much trust in strangers, but now that this chance had presented itself, she'd loathe to let it go.
All the while, as she thought, they sat there and waited patiently for her decision. In the end, that's what settled it for her.
Aine stood, grabbing the duffel bag that held the few belongings she had, then turned to address her three soon-to-be teammates.
"Let's get going then."
Pain cut through the haze she floated in, her side feeling like someone had gone twelve rounds with her kidney and won the heavyweight championship. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing, Newter's stuff even more so, but both had long since left her body, leaving her to deal on her own. Faint light peeked through a window somewhere, landing right on her face and only adding to the discomfort.
Faultline cracked open her eyes, looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling of their safehouse, then down to her bandaged waist. The wound itself was packed shut, Gregor's ever meticulous work no doubt, but the bruising extended even beyond the wrappings, practically going all the way around and up to her stomach. She poked at it, wincing slightly. It didn't feel too raw but better to leave it alone for the most part.
Slowly sitting up, she looked at the discarded remnants of her upper-body costume and the shattered armor plates that used to protect her torso, scattered on the floor next to the couch she had laid in. All this damage, just from getting grazed by part of the bullet?! What the hell had Butcher shot them with, an anti-tank gun?
Well, knowing that bundle of psychos, it wasn't completely out of the question.
Shit. Taylor. The shot had gone through her arm like it wasn't even there. Butcher likely hadn't been able to see her. It was pure luck that it hadn't gone through the kid's chest instead. Taylor was durable, no doubt, but there was no way to know for sure what kind of damage could kill her.
A shiver went down her spine as the next realization hit her. If the bullet hadn't deflected on Taylor's arm, she'd likely be dead right now, reduced to a fine red mist and a puddle of viscera. Even if the save was accidental, she'd make it up to her, somehow.
Labyrinth's happy hum brought her back to the present. The teen sat across from her, legs hugged close to her chest, mask off and eyes half-lidded. If Faultline didn't know any better, she might have thought that Labyrinth was on the verge of falling asleep. The subtle, warm breeze inside the house and the distant roaring of sand flowing like a rushing river said otherwise. Faultline stumbled and limped her way to the young parahuman's side, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Thank you for keeping us safe, Elle."
Labyrinth inclined her head but gave no further response. Faultline hadn't expected her to, though even just this level of awareness spoke of remarkable progress on the teen's part. Still, after using her powers for so long in one sitting, it'd take her a while to fully relax and let go of the alien world she had in her mental grasp.
Faultline noticed the small smile on Labyrinth's face. Sighing, she couldn't help but mirror it. At least it seemed Labyrinth had found a pleasant place to watch this time.
"I'll head outside for a bit. You want to come with?" she asked, stretching her painfully stiff neck. Some fresh air would feel like heaven right about now.
Labyrinth just leaned further back into the sofa. Faultline figured that was as clear a refusal as any. With a pat on the shoulder, she moved towards the back door, stepping outside into the early morning chill. The smell of fresh dew would have been pleasant – even despite the extra pain from taking a deep breath – were it not undercut by the acrid scent of smoldering grass and dirt.
Standing at the porch, Faultline stared at Pyroclast as she lay on a patch of scorched turf and blackened earth, face still hidden behind a blank visage. The kid turned her head to, presumably, look at her, staring back for a few moments, before turning to gaze at the fading stars once more. The older mercenary sat at the porch's edge, settling down with a wince. Silence stretched between them, the undercurrent of tension turning it into something uncomfortable. Faultline decided to break it.
"You did good," she started, "Back at the terminal, I mean. Even if it was a fighting retreat, you held out against Butcher on your own. Honestly, probably saved both of our asses. You saved mine specifically by taking that bullet. So, thank you."
Pyroclast didn't acknowledge her words. It was hard to tell with no visible expression, but for some reason it felt like they upset her more than anything. Shit, was that a misstep?
"If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't have been there in the first place." Her rebuttal was barely above a whisper, but Faultline heard regardless.
Internally, she sighed. There was more being left unsaid, but she could guess what it was and the kind of thought running through Pyroclast's mind. Tiptoeing around it would get them nowhere and the kid would definitely not bring it up on her own. She decided to just cut straight to it.
"Do you think so little of me, Taylor? Of my judgement?" Faultline managed to keep the frown off her face, but not her voice. Taylor's head snapped towards her, likely not expecting the bluntness.
"What? No, I-"
"Do you think taking you in was a mistake?" she powered through the half-hearted denials, not even giving Taylor a chance to voice them, "That I don't know what it means to help a parahuman gain control of their powers?"
Her eyes narrowed and it took significant effort to keep her voice at least somewhat even, "Do you think having you on the team is a liability?"
Pyroclast sat up, now facing her properly, "No!" Bullshit, as if she'd believe that, "But the only reason we took that mission-"
Faultline cut her off again, "Any job can go bad. And if you want to blame someone for it, that should be me." She stood, hiding the vertigo and stab of absolute agony at the sudden move, "So I'll ask again. Do you think you're a liability, Taylor?"
"I almost killed both of you!"
She could hear the pain in the kid's voice and fought not to look away. Pyroclast fully stood, still facing her, fist clenched at her side and talons scraping against the hard surface.
Pushing like that, it made her feel like her old CO – namely, an absolute ass – but they were finally getting somewhere. She could teach Pyroclast all the control exercises in the world and they wouldn't do jack if she remained terrified of her powers.
Finally, the tension seemed to just bleed out of Pyroclast's body. Her mask slid off, revealing a tired, defeated visage.
"Every time I think I've got a handle on this stupid power…"
Faultline sighed, unable to keep it to herself this time. No matter how her body had changed or how inhuman it became, Taylor was still a teenager.
"Please remind me, how long have you been a parahuman?"
That brought her up short. Startled by the unexpected question, she answered hesitantly, "…Two weeks?"
Faultline nodded, "And how long have you been training with your powers?
"…A bit over a week?"
She stared with a deadpan expression, until the kid started to squirm in place. She didn't even have to say anything to get her point across.
Eventually, Pyroclast seemed to gather her wits again, "But parahumans are supposed to just… know how their powers work, right? So why…? "
The older mercenary shook her head, "It's my fault for not addressing this sooner, I guess. Listen, parahumans in general don't have an instruction manual for their power. We don't 'just know'," she began, using air quotes when echoing Pyroclast's words.
"Powers are intuitive, yes, but only in that they're easy to call forth. The nuances, the little tricks to them, control, it's all nothing but constant practice."
Pyroclast started to appear conflicted, but pressed on, frustration overcoming everything else, "But how am I supposed to practice control, if losing it means half the city getting vaporized?!"
Faultline said nothing in response to that assertion. Not that she didn't believe her. Even if it sounded a bit like an over exaggeration, she wasn't one to question a parahuman's instincts when it came to their own power, and Pyroclast had no reason to lie about such a thing.
She just let the teen talk. After all, the whole point of this was getting Pyroclast to let it all out.
"I was this close last night," she continued, pinching her fingers, talons clinking together, "I almost… "
She almost killed them. In that moment, Faultline saw Labyrinth standing in front of her instead, terrified of even sleeping, for fear of her power giving form to worlds explored in her dreams.
Her next words had to be chosen carefully, but now that she truly understood the issue, she had no problems finding them.
"But you didn't. No matter what, you're stronger than you think, Taylor. And I don't mean your powers. I'm talking about up here," she said, tapping her temple.
"I saw that when we met at the hospital, where you pushed past your fear to talk and banter with a complete unknown. I saw it when we met again upon accepting my offer, where you fought for your own interests despite being at a disadvantage."
Her vision swam. Damn it, must have strained herself too much. But she didn't let it show. She had to finish this.
"Fear didn't rule you then. There's no reason why it should now," she chuckled, "Besides, I have a feeling subservience doesn't fit you."
Pyroclast seemed stunned, surprise plainly evident on her face. Faultline wondered briefly what had happened in the girl's life that some genuine praise would cause that kind of reaction.
But when that cleared at last, a small smile adorned the kid's face, though it was still tinged with a trace of worry.
Faultline subtly supported herself against the railing next to her. Gregor would kill her if he caught whiff that she'd pushed herself to this point – the absolute mother hen that he was – but there was just a little bit more left.
"Now, I'm not saying you should be careless. You got a great power, with great potential. Some fools might even say you won the lottery. But as long as you fear it, you'll never gain control over it, not fully. Power of any kind, whether that's authority or a parahuman ability, needs to be respected by its wielder, not feared. That's the only way to control it and use it properly, rather than let it control you. Got all that?"
The nod was hesitant. Taylor didn't understand yet, not fully anyway, but Faultline knew she'd remember her words.
"Good, cause I hate repeating myself." With that, she let herself partially collapse onto the porch, sitting back down with a groan of pain and a sigh of relief.
Pyroclast was startled out of her trance, rushing forward with worry written all over her.
"Are you ok?! Did the wound reopen again?" The girl fretted over her boss, lifting the somewhat tattered shirt to check the bandages underneath. Faultline took a glance as well.
Yep, the previously fresh bandages were now partly stained with blood. She'd be in for an earful when the others came back.
"No worries, I just need to lay down for a bit." Pyroclast looked unsure, but eventually relented, taking a seat next to her.
Silence stretched between them once more, but was far from uncomfortable this time around. They sat together for a bit, simply looking at the rising sun and fading stars.
"Do you think… powers could be alive?"
The sudden question prompted her to look at Pyroclast for a second, before turning towards the stars again. She wondered briefly how that'd come up, but in the end just shrugged.
"Who knows, but… I guess they could be. Certainly not the wildest thing I've heard in all this time."
She of course neglected to mention that those wilder things were in PHO's infamous Parahuman Debates threads, also known as the conspiracy theory corner.
"If they are, what do you think they want from us? Why do all… this?"
Hm, if they were, then why indeed. She had a feeling this was more than an odd curiosity in Pyroclast's mind, but this morning already had more than enough soul-searching and heart-to-hearts.
Before she could try to think of a response to that, Faultline heard the distinct sound of an engine's roar and tires on gravel. Car doors swung open, then closed. The front door unlocked and four pairs of footsteps echoed through the house.
She got up unsteadily. Pyroclast rushed to support her and Faultline muttered a short thanks.
"How about we shelve that for later and go see if we can get some good news for once, alright?"
Taylor nodded and they walked together towards the door leading back into the house.
Upon reaching the threshold, Faultline paused. Pyroclast looked at her inquisitively.
"What I said earlier, about you saving my life, I meant it. All of it. So, if there's any way I can repay that, just say the word and I'll do all I can."
Pyroclast seemed thoughtful, torn between simply accepting or insisting on some nonsense such as it being her fault Faultline was hurt, or that she didn't really do anything.
But, at last, she just nodded. Maybe Faultline really had gotten through to her or perhaps the kid's stubbornness had reached its limit. Either or, she'd take the small victory.
They took a last step, closing the door behind them.