Birdcage

by Kahlil Johnson

Shahs

6. 4

Tada! Interlude! I might add some more viewpoints later, but the basic stuff is done.

Crouching Tiger Goes to Prison 19

The Interlude

Cal Gordon sprinted to Terror's cell as though his life depended on it. Sweating and panting. Running wasn't disallowed at Westecher, but it was discouraged. With batons upside the head if there was trouble.

"Hey!" shouted a guard.

"Don't worry about it, and follow me! I'm visiting Terror." Cal shouted back. "You'll wanna have Terror walk around for a bit. Get the manacle-things!"

Cal rounded a corner, jogged the last few feet, and knocked several times on the massive steel door. "Terror!"

A pair of blue eyes not belonging to Terror peered through the door slat. "Oh. Hi Cal, nice of you to stop by and say 'hi' to me. You into skinny white girls in handcuffs now?"

He forced himself to smile as he gasped for breath. Bakuda was nuts, but she was the smartest girl he'd ever met, and damn hot. When he briefly flirted with seriously joining the Empire, Cal had to keep his… so called 'yellow fever' on the DL. No wonder Kaiser was so adamant against interracial dating. In a battle between a hot foreign-looking girl and nazism, hot girls always won. "Sorry babe, this is just really important, for Bo-Ter- sorry, Taylor. Nothing violent though. We're still on for Saturday ni-"

"Maybe, if my Tinkering schedule allows it, and I don't feel too slighted. What's the secret password?" Cal could tell Bakuda was gloating from behind the door.

"Bakuda is better than, wheeze," I need more cardio. Desperately. "Dragon. And is quantifiably sexier."

"Damn straight." Came the Tinker's answer from behind the door. "Yo! Worst-boss-girl-in-the-whole-boss-world!"

Cal heard grumbling that matched Taylor's voice. "Fine, fine. I'll see what's up... Stop poking me, dammit!"

The guard was finally rounding the corner, gripping onto a massive pair of Brute 6 manacles while humming to herself. She stopped three feet away from Cal, with a hand gently resting on a baton. It wasn't padded.

"This a social call? We've had enough excitement for a whole decade here already." She asked after a short yawn.

Cal nodded. "Yeah, I want Terror to check something out in the TV room." I have no idea how a girl responsible for four deaths could make the guards that relaxed around her. Then again, Taylor was… nice. Really nice. She wasn't exactly talkative, but she let Cal, Bakuda, and Clarice practically walk all over her and make fun of her whenever they felt like it. And she never pushed them around or made demands like some other capes Cal knew.

No other cape let this sort of behavior happen, at least not around their underlings. Even Victor, the former boss of Cal's boss, was an obnoxious egomaniac from what Cal had seen. 'I have all the skills, I'm the smartest. I'm the best bomb-maker. I can cook better than any chink kitchen on the East Coast, blah blah mommy never loved me.'

"Hey Bakuda, where are my shoes?" Cal heard, followed by. "Under my shelf... Where you left them last night!"

It wasn't that Cal and Clarice were beneath Taylor's notice, because she certainly took time out of her day for them, but something about her behavior was just… weird. She just seemed to treat the three like they were her friends. It felt… pleasantly wrong, like Kaiser walking up and shooting the breeze with foot soldiers guarding a corner.

"And here I thought she'd break the door down herself and paste you," the guard said with dark amusement.

Cal gulped. The Courtyard fight was… Nuts. Taylor walked over to a Hero, told the Asian exactly what she was going to do, had the guards look away, and then beat the crap out of the remaining Nazis without breaking a sweat in half a minute. Then the Nazis just disappeared the day after.

That was Lung-size balls. Or Taylor somehow turned the prison guards and was taking the job of 'prison gang boss' seriously. Either way, Cal was glad to have switched sides, even if that meant he'd have to find a way to evacuate his family from Brockton when he got out. They wouldn't be in danger, especially since Cal had made it clear to his Nazi buddies still in the gang he wasn't telling secrets. Kaiser had his own issues to deal with, and a short-term member without a single tattoo or kill to his name would probably escape the Empire's notice. He'd heard of at least five guys who left the Empire alive.

Then again, they hadn't shacked up with a half-asian bomb Tinker, and decided to be the first minion of the girl who blew Kaiser's leg to smithereens. Oh, to be on the cutting edge of gangs.

But Team Terror was so, so much better. In fact, Cal was thinking of having T-shirts printed to raise funds for the nascent gang…

Oh yeah, guard Nazi-paste asked me a question. "Nah, we're… we're level. She could lift me one handed." The guard tilted her head at him, as if imagining Terror doing such a thing.

Taylor was completely unpredictable in an awesome way. Kaiser was more of a, well, sip wine from a vantage point kind of villain. Which reminded Cal. Wine? Taylor might let that swing. If not, grape juice is sorely needed.

"This boy gonna give you trouble?" The guard asked, a bit more pointedly. "His friends might be gone, but, well, we can't be everywhere at once..."

Cal shook his head. "No ma'am, I heard what she did to Kaiser and Nachter." Kaiser had far more pressing issues to worry about, regardless. A low-key gang war was almost certainly happening, and Cal for once was happy to be off the Brockton streets.

The guard chuckled. "Damn straight. Good to see at least one Nazi here with common sense."

Might as well start making things more official. "Err, I'm thinking of leaving the Empire. Not really into their politics, and never wanted to be that deep in it anyway."

After a weird shuffle with the manacles, Taylor stepped through. Nearly six feet tall, and with a curly mane of hair. But the first thing Cal noticed was that Taylor wasn't wearing a mask.

"You're not wearing a mask?"

The girl shrugged. "Everyone knows who I am, and I don't have anyone in my civ life I need to protect. So... why not? I'm already wearing this silly villain jumpsuit."

Cal's mind raced. It could just be that, or she's making a statement that she's so scary she doesn't need a mask to hide behind. This gang is so much better than Empire Eighty-Eight. I'll give her an update on the smuggling tomorrow. It should be set up by tonight.

"Well, follow me. It's in the TV room, not sure it'll still be there when we get back." Then Cal broke into a run with Taylor close behind him, and a befuddled guard in the distance making smalltalk with Bakuda.

Warden Roberts looked over the file, then back at the screen. The image of Chief Director Cost-Brown peered back at him, impassively.

"So our newest inmate is responsible for a quadruple homicide. And is rated Brute Five, Changer Five, Mover One. I'm not sure our facility can handle that, Chief Director."

"You will receive her within the week, as well as priority shipment for appropriate restraints, courtesy of Dragon. Make the appropriate measures and protocols for your officers. The Ward capes under your jurisdiction will be briefed separately." The Director said. "The PRT has determined, much like Nachter, Flechette, and the others under your care, that Terror is salvageable. Furthermore, Flechette would have a decent chance at influencing Terror into joining the Protectorate as a probationary member, perhaps within two years for good behavior as a Ward."

Roberts sighed. "I doubt Nachter is salvageable anymore, Director. Amble is thus far unable to turn him, and the boy is still violent and aggressive. It is likely that his non-cape friends are reinforcing his previous behavior."

"I hope that we'll be more successful with Terror. She is certainly powerful."

The Warden frowned. Many parts of Terror's file were redacted or made little sense. "If I may ask, what-"

"No Roberts, you may not ask. The information is highly classified, and everything you need has been presented. You have time for this one, and if handled, will be safer than Nachter. Treat Terror as a regular prospect for recruitment with about as much aggressive impulses as Amble. Our Thinkers suggest that having Terror room with Bakuda."

That… made no sense. As brilliant and entertaining as the girl was, she was utterly unhinged, and it took months of work from Dr. Smins to rehabilitate her to where she didn't envision violence as a first answer for her problems.

And then there was the issue of Bakuda's previous cellmate. She had to be moved to a West Coast facility near Alexandria about halfway into Dr. Smins attempts at rehabilitation.

I think it's best that the two of them are situated in the underpopulated B Wing by the Max hold, to minimize potential casualties if they try and break out.

There were breakouts, occasionally. But the runners were always caught and sent to a less… welcoming environment.

But Roberts wasn't going to question orders. He'd adapt. He was The Chief Director's handpicked man overseeing young cape rehabilitation for a reason. "Understood, Director Costa-Brown. Will that be all?"

"Yes Roberts, good day."

Under normal circumstances, it would be unsafe to enter the cell of a murderous villain on the Rig, but Miss Militia was too far beyond angry to consider that. If attacked, she'd shoot to kill, and damn the consequences or investigation. Director Piggot had cleared for Miss Militia to interrogate the girl first, with a few troopers and Armsmaster overseeing from a distance. Lawyers were being called, reluctantly by the assistant DA, but Piggot wanted the first crack at the new cape. After the recording device clicked on, Hannah spoke.

"The media has decided to call you Terror." Shadow Stalker, a tough girl by any measure, had been nearly killed by this… beast before Hannah.

The girl sat there in the foam, unresponsive. So Hannah clicked the recording device off. Standard procedure for an off-the-record conversation.

"Are you familiar with my story, how I got powers?" Hannah's weapon morphed into a Desert Eagle. Large enough to make a point. Though pointing it at Terror when she wasn't even looking up was a waste.

Silence.

"I'll give you the relevant summary. When I was a young child, a bunch of soldiers in the Middle East killed the adults in my village and made the kids living mine detectors. I triggered, and had to kill the soldiers, fight for the survivors' freedom until we could escape to England. More than anything in this world, I hate watching children die."

Terror sat there in the con-foam, not making a sound but for shallow breaths.

"You may think you're a cape, better than those poor civilians you gutted, but I doubt you've experienced true terror. Make no mistake, I want to wreak it upon you with every fiber of my being."

Hannah proceeded to say other things she would regret, and the girl sat there in the foam taking it all in, completely unresponsive. That should have been the first clue.

Greg always wanted superpowers, but never knew what he'd do with them. Especially screwed-up powers like these. At least it only took a day to figure out how they worked. A day trapped in… well...

Sophia had beat him half to death and threatened him with more if he said anything to the press or the cops. He told her, in a moment of weakness, to fuck herself. So she threw him in…. well… Call it poetic justice for not having the courage to help Taylor when she needed it. At least Greg hadn't gotten sepsis.

Me and my stupid mouth.

Greg sat at his computer, staring at the unfolding chaos in the media. 'Murderous Cape Strikes High School'. The interviews were sickening. They all painted Taylor as a loner psycho, posing and crying for the camera.

Poor Emma? Fuck that bitch, she had it coming for her.

Greg sat in his chair, clenching his fists, closing and opening his eyes. His parents wouldn't be home for a few hours.

Why the hell did I get these powers?

There was no way Taylor could snap like that. There had to be something different. Greg's fingers drummed on the desk. His 'cape board' loomed over him.

His 'things to do as a hero' list was right in front of his face.

'Get a girlfriend,' was number one on the list. Because wasn't life that simple?

"Yeah," Greg murmured. "That's what heroes do. They win the girl. Or at least win her freedom."

The man dialed and waited for a moment. "Boss, I do not suggest enacting the plan just yet. We still have information we need to gather from contacts regarding a new factor, and the current climate could still bring fruit for you."

"Very well, but I'm frustrated by your caution. I grow bored with the ebb and flow of the tides."

"There have been rumors, rumors I need to verify," the man said.

"So I've heard, but she's just some girl. Like the other." The boy sneered.

Girls always keep diaries, right? Greg thought as he ran to Taylor's house. The plan wasn't well thought out, but he figured from the beginning he'd have to improvise. It's what heroes did. Along with avenging their friends.

We were friends right? We talked.

There weren't a lot of Heberts listed in the phonebook. The foster parents Taylor had been with for the week hadn't been publicized, thankfully. No one thought it was their fault.

Greg saw what was happening in the sky even before his powers could tell. A crowd outside Taylor's old house. He ran faster, though he knew he could search the house without being present. Running faster felt like he was finally being helpful.

The bottom of the house was burning, the bugs felt it. Greg was fortunately done searching the downstairs and basement. Interesting that there were costumes under a few boxes, but that wasn't important now.

He found notebooks. Under the floorboards, the bugs couldn't read much of them, but some looked coded.

Jackpot!

...

Fuck!

The bugs in the room couldn't lift the floorboards to get the notebooks out.

Greg ran like he never ran before, throwing a scarf over his face to protect his identity, and climbing up a nearby tree in the back yard of the house.

That jump looks pretty dangerous. Greg swallowed and looked into the window of the room he was going to break and enter. Let it never be said I don't feel guilty.

Over twenty five million bugs died in the fire that consumed Taylor's house, and Greg was a little singed, but the important info was retrieved.

The first thing Greg did was make copies, digital and physical, and stashed several away in safe places. Then he started reading.

The bullying diary was horrific. There was nothing flattering about Greg, for starters. 'That creepy stalker never bothered to defend me,' was about as nice as it got. There was everything listed, though. Days, times, conspirators, everything. The other diary wasn't as bad until the bullying started, then it became depressing to read.

Greg still needed some time to figure out the coded notebooks. Judging by the tiny drawings and the age of the notebook, they had to deal with Taylor's powers since triggering.

Still, the evidence could sink the entire squad of the bitches, forever. A quick trip to a playground near Brockton General the day after Taylor's house burned allowed Greg's bugs to find what he needed. It took three hours, but it wasn't like Greg had anything better to do. Medical files were much easier to lift than notebooks, and after a few close calls he was able to retrieve them from a bush.

A quick distraction at the Winslow office allowed bugs to grab Taylor's disciplinary files and send them to Greg. What wasn't on paper could be hacked. 'Hacking' meaning Greg found passwords and usernames on a post-it note in the TA lounge with his bugs, and took a nice break after school to look up the files and print them out.

The entire staff should be fired for that incompetence alone. I can probably find their Social Security Numbers.

"Here goes nothing," Greg whispered as he clicked enter. Sophia beating him up would be nothing compared to living the rest of his life knowing Taylor went to the Birdcage. He was enough of a cape nerd to know just what kind of psychos lived there. Besides, he'd see Sophia coming from almost a mile away.

Yeah, Void Cowboy finally delivers, he thought with a smirk.

As his PHO inbox exploded, Void looked up current cape groups. He'd wait a day before responding. Let the media stew on the basic bits.

"No, no, fuck no, no, no, possible, promising… Nice tits, but no…."

Colin's headpiece crackled to life. "Yo' Armsmaster, you better see this." The base had been on alert since the Winslow incident, even though Terror herself had hardly moved or said anything from her cell in the Rig. The only clear good to come from the situation was that court-appointed lawyer hadn't mentioned any issues concerning access or threats to his safety the past four times.

If only the other villains were such good prisoners, Colin mused.

Colin sighed. "What is it now, Assault? You know you're no supposed to-"

"I don't joke on this frequency, Boss. Turn to channel 4 and look up from your tinkering. MS code Sigma three eleven blue triangle. Procedure Gamma."

An incredibly small and expensive component snapped in Colin's hands. "A personnel issue like that? Miss Militia can handle-"

"She hasn't said a word or done a thing since I walked in on her in the break room, and she's watching the same thing I am."

A few clicks on his visor, and the channel's broadcast filled his vision. Then he pulled up pages from that detestable PHO site, finding the story Ethan meant in three seconds. Colin didn't read the post for more than thirty seconds before he growled into the mic, "Alert everyone on base to find Shadow Stalker and put her in confinement, if not M/S confinement. Now."

Terror stood in the doorway, watching the television silently. Then calmly walked to a nearby couch and sat down. The second she had shown up, everyone besides her and Cal had wisely left.

And Cal was beginning to question his own sense of self-preservation. Hopefully I've built up enough good will so I won't die if she snaps.

Cal sat next to her, but out of arm's reach. He didn't care how strong the manacles were, some capes you just didn't mess with.

The talking head on the screen was from a national network based out of New York. This mean it was big. "-Though normally a criminal offense, the allegations and our confirmed sources within the PRT have established links to criminal conduct by Shadow Stalker as well as her civilian identity as Sophia Hess-"

"Heh." Cal's head jerked to see Terror, mask free and calm, with a bemused smile on her face. So Cal turned back to the TV.

"-Investigations are being announced in the Brockton PRT and Protectorate regarding the coverup. Director Emily Piggot has released a-"

"Uh, Terror?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." It was a flat, sarcastic laugh. Creepy.

"In the wake of what's being called 'Stalker-Gate', questions are arising from the public and civilian watchdog agencies about the treatment of alleged villain Taylor Hebert, alias Terror-"

Then Taylor broke into hysteric screams of laughter that drowned out the TV, curling up on the couch and heaving for breath. Cal just sat very still and kept watching the television.

It took another two minutes for the troopers to brave entering the TV room to foam them both.

"Doctor Smins, I normally don't ask for an evaluation this early, but I think you understand my predicament." The scotch swirled around the Warden's glass. He didn't get many quiet moments running this sort of facility, so he'd merge them with planning sessions so he could get more done during the day.

"Yes, Warden Roberts, I do." Dr. Smins was seated comfortably across from Roberts' desk. He was a breath of fresh air in terms of tact and intelligence, and Roberts trusted him a great deal.

"Well? Spill all you legally can. I found out today that I'm sitting on a landmine." A member of the Albany Protectorate had dropped by to pick up Alabaster an hour ago, with sincerest apologies for the delay. It was attacks like Alabaster's that drove home Westecher's cardboard prison status. It was great for the inmates and their recovery, but not if an outside threat arrived. The only solace was that Alabaster's injuries were causing the cretin excruciating pain.

"Terror seems to be bright, decent young girl who was pushed to a breaking point by dedicated bullies privy to a lot of personal information. Due to her regenerative abilities and guarded nature, a repeat of her trigger, or rage-induced incident seems unlikely. Preliminary research before my session with Terror suggests she suffers from paranoia and clinical depression. During the sessions, with ah-"

"Don't even say her name." Roberts growled. He desperately wanted to kick that woman off a cliff, but politics dictated that she stick around and continue to poison the inmates minds. If Roberts had the pull and the funds, he'd have the woman investigated for gross corruption of some sort and sent to prison where she belonged. She was like a conniving snake, and the Chief Director told him to 'deal with it' when he first brought the issue to light. The best Roberts could do for the inmates was have an old college friend fly in ever so often to help the serious cases like Bakuda.

"The, other staff psychologist," the good Doctor said bitterly, "decided that Terror has bonded with her cellmate as a form of solidarity amongst criminals, and views the world through a warped ethical lens based around her own needs and delusions."

"Of course."

"Yes. And she's shown remarkable restraint in every recorded altercation." At least Dr. Smins shared his sentiments. Roberts gave himself a mental applause for demanding that Terror attend counseling after the first attack by Nachter.

Still… "She shot rebars through the legs of two Empire super villains. And ripped another to shreds repeatedly." Roberts downed his glass and reached for the whiskey bottle to pour himself another. Days like this made him reconsider Flechette's alcohol problems.

Dr. Smins laughed. "After they drove the rebars through her own limbs. And it happened because she volunteered to save the truck full of PRT soldiers guarding her. Personally, I would have been temped to shoot the Nazis in their heads. And in the wise words of my patients, 'that albino guy started it.' I think the more we have her integrate and socialize with others and the outside world, the better. Those girls reportedly isolated her for two years." Ah, I forgot he was Jewish. She must be his favorite inmate.

"Just don't talk to me about the manacles. Those stay." There was a running pool on whether the cell door or manacles would break first if Terror tried to bust out. And an over-under for the resulting casualties, with surprisingly low odds compared to Nacher or Flechette. PRT troopers were infamous for their gallows humor.

Dr. Smins took a sip of his whiskey and made a face. "Fine. I'm still under the impression manacles are not necessary, and in fact counterproductive towards our goal."

"They are necessary, and Terror doesn't seem to mind them. Those things will give our troops and inmates precious seconds to react if there's a problem, and it gives our dumber inmates a reason to pause before they decide to start an altercation. Foam has contained Terror so far, and Brute 6 manacles are the best Dragon makes. It should take her a lot of time to get out of either on her own."

Dr. Smins took another sip of the whiskey. "Have you seen the Protectorate Hero Armsmaster's video of the first encounter?" The Warden nodded, feeling an all-too-familiar pit form in his stomach. "We'd all just die tired. You should ask Miss Militia what she told Terror that day, because she let them contain her."

The Warden sighed. "So she's a teenage girl with superpowers who we can't control like the others. I don't blame her, but I wish Flechette had volunteered to room with her. It would have made our lives easier."

"Flechette has her own issues, and in fact I'd argue against them rooming together, in my professional opinion." Dr. Smins countered. "Terror seems perfectly fine and reasonable if you don't shove a sickle into her eye socket. Friends and privileges will be cheaper and more effective than restraints. The guards also happen to like her as well, and she respects their authority in all recorded cases. They think she's funny as well."

Fine, I have some wiggle room anyway. "We'll do it your way Doc, but I'm keeping a sharp eye for any of the behavior that landed her here, even if it sounds ridiculous."

"Of course." The doctor demurred.

Roberts needed to show results to the Director to keep Westecher open long-term. Bakuda was thus far a success, and the patentable designs she created would allow Westecher to continue for a few more years based on the interest ToyBox and Dragon were demonstrating, but he knew the Director wanted completely rehabilitated capes. Bakuda wasn't ready, and neither was Flechette, though for different reasons. Amble was too low-risk to use as a justification, and the less said about the capes in isolation the better.

"I don't want her to keep showing up in my office, it sets up a bad relationship between us and the inmates. We'll see if we can separate her from the Nazis, too."

Greg would have been happy to be on TV, except this time he had to talk about Taylor. Unlike those two-faced bitches, his tears were real. Madison had disappeared, probably to someplace out of state, but Greg had more important things to worry about.

Smile softly for the camera, proclaim Taylor's relative innocence and completely passive nature. Nod. Talk about how psycho the girls were and how the administration covered up for them.

And smile, and nod. Try to wipe away the tears.

Done, now go and bother some fake sympathizers.

It felt good to separate himself from the other former students of Winslow. Well, at least he was doing something now. Almost the entire Winslow Administration was being investigated, so Greg got to attend Arcadia for the time being with some of the other former Winslow students.

I can't believe we get free chocolate pudding here. And Glory Girl is pretty damn hot.

It took another two weeks of patrolling at night, and a very lucky encounter, but Greg finally found what, well, who he needed. His costume was embarrassingly basic, though. But it wasn't like he would get in a fistfight, much less win one. He sat in the Brockton Public Library's computer lab, almost completely alone, triple checking his message. Nothing in it was incriminating, and he was getting desperate. New Wave was clearly a joke, and a shell of its former self.

To: All_Seeing_Eye

From: Thowaway1549243

Glad I could help you when you needed it. You looking for a friend? I have a need of one myself.

Thirty minutes later, and four blocks from the library, Greg realized he was way out of his depth.

Thinkers are terrifying, and bullshit. There's no way she could have known where I was.

At least the girl was hot, Greg had to admit. Hotter than Taylor or Emma, even on one of her good days. Skintight catsuit, cocky grin, blonde hair, and a domino mask. At least, that was what her PHO wiki picture showed. Tattletale in civilian clothes was also hot, though.

"Pay up Regent, I told you he'd come in costume." A black-haired kid about Greg's age grumbled and slapped a few bills into the girl's hand, only to trudge to a spot near the ledge and start sipping a coke.

The girl put her hand up in a warning gesture when Greg looked back to her. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves on the romance thing, pal. And I'm not interested. Well, I'm interested in what other things you have to offer the Undersiders."

Of course she's dating someone, Greg thought glumly. But picking up girls wasn't the point of this meeting.

The tall, football player-like leader of the Undersiders who Greg was willing to bet was Tattletale's boyfriend stepped forward. "We'd like to thank you for saving us from Lung that night. Tattletale says you put up one hell of a fight."

"Uh, sure. Yeah." Greg said. Man, the scarf really muffles my voice. The 'fight' wasn't much of a fight. He set a bunch of bugs on Lung from over two blocks away and stood still so Lung couldn't locate him. After getting pissed off, Lung stalked off, only to run into Armsmaster on patrol and run away.

The Thinker girl tilted her head, "Yeah, he wasn't even in danger. Damn, that power's strong." It was also creepy, but hey, it wasn't like Greg was going to get laid anytime soon. He was the new social pariah of Arcadia, thanks to the diary leaking and the interview where he was actually honest about what happened. No histrionics when the crowd turned against Sophia and Madison and the others, just honesty. All the other kids just figured he wanted to sleep with Taylor, which was true, even after she got all those scars, but still. No one deserved to go through all that and still be alone.

"So what kind of work are you planning to do?" It wasn't a good plan, but Greg had to hold onto something. Get money, get contacts, get something or anything to help Terror. Kaiser wanted her dead, and the Protectorate had to be indifferent at best.

"Oho, I get what you're up to. You're the guy from the news."

Greg's entire body fell still.

Tattletale winked. "Oh no, don't worry, Void. We're big fans actually. For different reasons. Our boss has also taken an interest. If the villain thing doesn't work out, you could always be an investigative journalist." Tattletale threw a lunchbox at Greg's feet. It was either a bomb or some cash. Greg didn't bother checking it. Interesting that the Undersiders had a boss.

"Boss is very secretive, by the way, bug-boy. Tattletale here's the only one to meet him." That was Regent.

"I'm assuming that's cash," Greg said as he pointed at the lunchbox. Grue nodded while Regent looked out over the city, sipping at his coke. "Forgive me for being dense, but you can't think my theories are true." Tattletale laughed and shook her head.

"The nicest thing I'll say is they're funny, bug-boy."

Greg's mind raced. Why would the Undersiders care about Ter-Taylor's case? It makes the PRT look bad, but the Undersiders are too small-time to need PR attacks. So what changed with the PRT? A dark, niggling thought entered Greg's mind. This entire thing is so important because Sophia is Shadow Stalker, and Shadow Stalker just got the shitcan. It was so insane, but in some ways it fit. Videos of Shadow Stalker's behavior fit Greg's experience with her civilian identity, she was constantly leaving classes on various excuses, had the exact same body structure, and the staff was so lenient with her. She was fast, and violent. Her behavior changed for a bit when she was announced as a Probationary Ward, but it didn't stick. Shadow Stalkers powers would have been perfect for stealing Taylor's things or sneaking up on her over the past two years.

And Shadow Stalker had a rumored death wish for Grue.

Tattletale smirked. "Yeah, now you get it."

Greg felt so weak he had to sit down on the roof. "Oh god, that's so illegal and just, wrong, fuck." That meant the heroes and PRT had to have known, and just covered it up. Where was Shadow Stalker now? In another city, doing the same thing under slightly harsher scrutiny? Any reservations Greg had about becoming a villain evaporated. He'd be a hero by his own rules.

"Yeah, believe me when I say you're our little Christmas come early."

"Oy, smug-girl, gonna fill us in?" That was the curly-haired Regent. Who was rumored to be a Master. Better watch that one, since I have no idea about his powers.

"Yeah, later at the lair. You in?" Greg nodded.

"We good?" Grue asked. He looked like those Winslow linebackers who threw Greg in that garbage can once. I'm sure he's nicer though, maybe.

"Yeah, we good." Tattletale said. "He's clean. A little too bright, innocent, and eager, but he's clean."

"Wait. What do you mean innocent? And just how illegal are the things we'd be doing?" Greg had done his research, and Hellhound was the only one with a bodycount in the group. The others would probably want a lower profile, and keep her more violent tendencies in check.

The girl sighed. "We don't kill people or civilians, also try to avoid hurting civilians, and only rob other crooks or people who can afford to lose the cash. We're the nicest villains you'll ever meet. We also haven't lost one battle, one cape, or one job. And we make bank. Though the other villains and heroes in town will want a piece of us eventually."

"Sounds… disconcerting, but acceptable. I'm not made for real fights." Greg's mind raced with the implications. He might have preferred robbing from little old ladies if the alternative was getting into a real fight with Lung.

Grue strode forward "We can work on combat and tactics together, since your power will round us out. I'm not sure we made introductions. That's Tattletale, I'm Grue, the guy over there is Regent, and Bitch can't really go out with us in public. What do you call yourself?"

"Sand-raider?" Regent sniggered from his perch. "Super-sweaty-costume?"

Greg put out his hand to shake Grue's, and smiled, even though it couldn't be seen through the scarf. Regent was right though. The costume looked stupid and made him sweat like crazy. "Call me Locust. That's the best I could come up with."

Tattletale ran over to give Greg a pat on the back. "We'll we're glad to have you on the team-"

"Except Bitch." Regent snorted. He still hadn't gotten up from where he was sitting.

Grue grimaced. "Yeah, she couldn't make it, but Tattletale and I convinced her that having you join was a good idea. You took out Lung alone, without him ever knowing what hit him, though we don't want to have that kind of a situation happen again. None of us are in this to be rulers of the city, or kill all the people who don't look like us. What are you in this for, anyway, Locust?"

Here goes nothing. "I-I want to help someone. Have her join a group with me, set up money for her, set up supplies, whatever I need to help her, I'll get." Grue nodded, probably in sympathy.

"Bust her out of jail?" Tattletale asked, smirking.

Greg grit his teeth. I doubt she'd ever want to see my face again. "If she wants us to."

Sophia didn't know what was happening. One day she was in juvie. The next day she was herded onto a transport under the cover of darkness.

"What the fuck's going on?" she shouted at the nearest trooper in the van with her. She had rights, and she was a damn Ward. She knew how valuable she was, even if Piggot pussed out to public pressure.

Fuck Hebert.

The trooper turned to look at Sophia, face inscrutable under the mask. "You got compromised, kid. We're sending you to a secure location with padded cells. And don't try any funny business. Orders from the top say if you step one toe out of line, we throw you in Max Sec with the adults and let you sink or swim. You're an official persona non grata, and the PRT gets more brownie points the more they show the public you're suffering."

"Whatever. I'll survive." It was Sophia's mantra. She lost three teeth in Juvie within the first month, and had constant bruising on her limbs, but that was fine. Once she got out she would slip into her breaker state and it would all heal.

Another trooper spoke waving around her taser a bit. "Not against twenty adult gang members with shivs and no powers. Best chance you'd get there to survive is 24/7 solitary. Heard it drives people nuts."

Sophia seethed.

"Good news is that your family is still safe, we've been told. Off in a new state with a new name."

"Do I get to see them?" Her mother was… useless. But Sophia still wanted to see the rest of her family. She still had fond memories of her brother and sister.

The trooper laughed. "Where you're going? Don't count on it."

Greg was coding on his new laptop when Lisa entered the lair, back from her trip. For the four blocks Lisa had walked within his range, Greg had been holding out for some good news.

She came back alone. Here's to hoping that's not a bad sign.

"How'd the-" Lisa interrupted his question by grabbing Greg and shaking him by the neck.

"The. Next. Time. You. Have. Me. Talk. To. A. Cape. That. FUCKING. SCARY. With. Nothing. No. Info. To. Protect. Me. You. Warn. Me!"

"R-r-r-rr-oo—o-g-er!" Greg managed to squeak through a constricted air pipe.

Anger abated, Lisa flopped onto the chair next to the couch Greg was reclining on. "What'd she do?" Greg gasped as he tried to massage feeling back into his neck.

"Figured me out in three seconds, and then scared the shit out of me. I suspect she's a Thinker too. Her restraints wouldn't have prevented her from killing me in that visitor room either."

"I don't think she'd fly off the handle that easily. But a Thinker and a Brute? That's bullshit."

Lisa shook her head. "I pushed some of her buttons, so I'd say she was tempted. She's much stronger than she lets on, and could possibly give Lung a run for his money. I can tell she's holding back other abilities so she won't get instantly moved to Max Sec or the Birdcage. The Boss will want her on board, I just don't know how to get her to Brockton. She probably won't be safe inside the prison. She's got that mad Cornell Bomber for a room mate too, so they're probably at each others' throats."

"Could we break her out?" Greg asked over the clacking of his keyboard. Arcadia homework was more difficult than Winslow's, so Greg was spending much of his time in the Undersiders' base doing work. It's almost like they do this to prevent non-Protectorate cape outings.

"Doesn't want to be broken out, and she's too strong to kidnap. Taylor thinks there's nothing here for her. Sorry Greg." He felt a pit in his stomach forming, but pressed on.

"...Is there anything she needs?"

Lisa gave him a predatory grin that Greg saw out of the corner of his eye. "She's not going to be your girlfriend. Hell, she's just as likely to rip you in half." That was a common jab from Lisa after he had mentioned a more detailed plan for how to help her. Alec found it so funny he snorted soda out his nose. Even Rachel had grinned, at least it looked like a grin.

There was something weird about that guy, but Greg couldn't put his finger on it. . If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was Mastered. Alec was fun to play video games with, though. Brian never cared for the nerdy things, always forcing Greg to train in hand-to-hand combat. Getting thrown on the mat hurt, and Greg wasn't getting better anytime soon.

Greg ignored the slap to the face Lisa's statement felt like. "I don't care, just, try and set something up. I'll handle whatever logistics or cash or favors you need, but I'm not failing her again."

Tattletale's smile softened. "Ok. Against my better judgement I'll visit her again when things have died down. Boss wants us to do another job this week anyway, and it's gonna be big. How are the suits coming along?"

Ten thousand black widow spiders were weaving silk in individual cells in the Base's upper level. If the other Undersiders weren't so creeped out by the bugs, Greg would have been proud to show them how efficient and organized the whole operation was. And he was itching to wear a costume that didn't suck anymore.

"Good," he said. "They should be ready in a few days."

A/N: So yeah, important plot points for everyone? Questions raised and answered? Including for regular CT.

Yes, Crouching Tiger Taylor does not have Queen Administrator, but a different Queen shard I sorta… made up… Sorry? If people ask, I can give an explanation about it. I can't promise it'll be good though.

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Threadmarks JailDragon 20

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Somewhat Disinterested

Mar 10, 2017

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Oh, look! A new chapter! Right where we left off.

Crouching Tiger Goes To Prison 20

In his office, The Warden paced in front of me. I was in another con-foam sorta-cocoon, with my head exposed. It would be creepy to laugh. The whole room smelled like mahogany, too, despite a general lack of wood from what I could see.

"Is this where I'm told if I don't cooperate and play nice for the news-cameras I have an accident?

"Or," I said. "Will Legend and Alexandria show up and threaten to break my bones if I don't become a Probationary Ward? I bet you can get away with a lot of things as one of those. Attempted murder, attempted murder, thievery, and just end up in a resort or something to cool your heels. Like my best, best buddy Sophia Hess."

Unless I could see her suffering with my own two eyes, I refused to believe that evil bitch was anywhere but a resort island.

Damn, couldn't get a rise out of him. I was tempted to call him Dickless, but that apparently was more of Bakuda, well, Alice's thing. It was killing the whole 'righteous fury, tremendous snark' thing I was going for.

"Was Nilbog a government experiment gone awry? It's hard to keep track of the message boards online. Hell, I wonder what they'll say about me. Maybe I killed JFK." One of the troopers flinched at the word Nilbog. Well, yeah, Nilbog was a scary fucker. I'd be scared too if I had nothing but a foam launcher to combat a swarm of demented fairy tale beasts.

"At first I thought you'd snapped." Not a bad guess. Not a bad guess, mister. "But you knew, didn't you?"

"I suspected, after someone said the word 'Stalker' when I was having a bad day. Really, it's like having a surprise party, watching people be held accountable for their failings, and not just from my old high school."

"Despite the smile you have and your assurances, I understand that you're upset," the Warden said. He looked exhausted, for once. The PRT troopers stood around him at attention, a bit more fresh and they didn't look happy. Which I thought odd, because I was the one who'd have to wash all this gunk out of my hair. Yet again.

Then I realized I don't know any of their names. So I resolved to learn as many as possible. To shorten the inmate-guard empathy gap, or whatever that was. Hopefully to endear me enough to keep me from being taken to a more hellish place.

I couldn't help but snicker. "Not the exact word I'd use, but yes. I can't believe the Brockton PRT kept this from me. They seemed very honest and forthright when I was in a holding cell, telling me just how utterly fucked I was. I can only wonder what hole I'll be thrown into now that I'm such a political inconvenience."

The Warden ignored my little jab. "However, I want you to know that Westecher, this facility strives to treat its inmates with the respect and dignity they deserve. Including you. I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that right now I'm not in ass-covering mode like the rest of the ENE Protectorate."

"Ass-covering mode, really?"

"The explicit orders from Judge Manth were that if you instigated fights or started a gang, you'd be shipped to Max Sec. Anything that demonstrated you were as dangerous or unhinged like during your capture? The Birdcage was thrown in as a possibility. This facility doesn't have cameras everywhere, but it has enough to paint an unflattering picture of your activities." I felt a stone drop in my stomach. I guess I should have listened to the judge's little speech in the courtroom after all.

But then, I just figured this was another kick in the face. If I wasn't so tired from laughing I would have laughed even harder. Of all the things to get me kicked out of prison, a setup after getting foamed for laughing too hard.

And here I thought the Warden and I would be friends and share prison cupcakes.

"So this is where we say goodbye and I get shafted into the life of a hardened super villain?" I asked. While I was being carted over to the Warden's office yet again, I wondered whether the PRT had enough political goodwill saved up to do that to me. I should have wondered whether they were telling themselves it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

"You'd be amazed at the content of my emails over the past three hours." The Warden said, not answering my question. "Legend wants you in New York under his supervision, large sections of the public want you free, legislatures and advocacy groups are bombarding me with everything from cheers to hate mail, and lawyers are nipping at my heels to make names for themselves."

"So what you're saying is that I'm going to get a lot of visitors in Max Sec?"

The Warden sighed. "You're not going anywhere for the time being. And if you do leave early, it'll probably be without cuffs. And that's where we get the political side of things."

What, like, leave in a coffin? "Politics?"

"Yes. You're a political football right now. This facility is in more of a precarious position than you'd thin-"

"I dunno. Alabaster made the precariousness pretty clear. In my eye sock-" Seriously, this goop was going to give me hair cancer, or glowing hair, if that was a thing.

The Warden just kept talking. "Money, the 'too-soft-on-crime' crowd, politicians, factions within the PRT itself. Normally, I need to produce results, or this place gets shut down and you all get sent to juvenile centers, or real prisons. You, and your friends. Could be three years, could be five. Could be one."

This wasn't blackmail, but it was close. Play ball, and the three people on earth actually happy to talk to me won't get shanked in a far-off prison shower for existing. Hell, the Warden probably wasn't even doing this to keep his job. He'd already stuck his neck out for me a bit with the Nazi thing.

And I doubted the politicians, internet trolls, and same politicians who'd been screaming for my head a while ago would do the same.

"I see. What kind of results?"

"Capes who leave here to become Heroes or Rogues, mostly. PRT funding for the program is how we keep the lights on and help the non-parahumans. Before you, our biggest prospect was Bakuda. Having you room with her was a gamble advised by a superior. A gamble that I wasn't entirely comfortable with. I'm surprised to see that you're a stabilizing influence, for a lot of inmates."

"Stabilizing? I just kicked the crap out of like twenty people and got them kicked out of here."

"And yet, Westecher is better off now. Could we receive a retaliatory strike from the Empire? Possibly. Could someone else arrive as an inmate to upset the balance, or even trigger? Also possible.

"So we're no longer under the normal rules. I need to justify this facility to help other troubled youth, and I gather that you need the facility to disappear from the public eye, serve your sentence, and not make waves. Right here, and right now, I need a victory, and you need a stable environment to recover from the damage that the PRT or your powers unwittingly did to you."

As much as I didn't want to believe it, a gut instinct told me the PRT would try and bury me in evidence that I was truly, 'evil' if they could find it.

"Yeah, ok. You tell all the capes this?" I hadn't missed that he said 'unwittingly' as an attempt to absolve himself, but most of my ire was directed at Brockton Bay.

"To some degree or another. Bakuda got a similar speech about how to properly handle her emotions."

That didn't sound like the fearless, take-charge girl who'd shown me around and taunted Nazis, well when she was masked.

Bakuda, I understood sending here. But Alice? She just needed someone who would make an effort to reach out to her. Maybe it was because I stopped wearing a mask lately. "I've seen the video. How'd she get sent here, anyway?"

The Warden's mouth twitched. "She had a lawyer by the name of Calle Quinn, who just so happens to want to speak with you as soon as possible." The Warden took a long sip from a glass of whiskey beside his desk. "Now, I obviously can't force you to do anything, but I want you to keep in mind that like all other capes, your use of your powers and position will lead to consequences. Taking out your anger on people who did not cause your problems will lead to worse ones down the road. I have my own life experience as proof."

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "And? Sounds like more of the Bakuda speech to me." It's a bit late for that.

The Warden smirked. "Not exactly. Even Calle Quinn had a rough past, if I remember. It's what you do after the dust has settled that counts."

Calle, Calle Quinn. Is he famous or something? This was the second time The Warden brought the guy up. "Well. I don't know about this Calle guy, and I don't care. I'd like to talk to my original Brockton lawyer first. See how he's doing."

The Warden glanced at his computer. "Sounds reasonable."

"Fine. As much as I want to tell you to take this plan and shove it, I'll go along." I snapped.

"I don't want to leave, Mr. Warden." I didn't tell him that I wanted to keep Cal, Clarice, and even Alice safe. I was certain the faceless PRT people in charge would use that against me. "Hell, even the occasional solitary is better than Winslow. I don't want out, I don't want to join a gang, though at this rate I'm certain I'm not going to be a government sponsored hero. Even I have standards." There, I said it out loud. In front of the guy in charge of the place.

It probably didn't make a whole lot of sense, but that's what Dr. Smins was for. And boy, oh boy would we have a great session soon.

The Warden sighed. "Very well. We'll try to make the best of this situation."

Well, color me shocked. I'm only sort of a dangerous lunatic, and capable of shady backroom deals with my own jailors. I got wheeled back to my cell with a contingent of angry PRT troopers. At least they didn't seem angry at me, or took pains not to show it.

The next day, Cal walked over during Courtyard time, furtively glancing around at the guards and other gangs of kids. That muscled villain guy was working on a bench press, and Flechette was reading a book. It was sunny out, and Bakuda was trying to write in a notebook a few feet from my, only to get angry at the sun when it started to obstruct her vision.

"-Goddamn troopers won't even let me use sunglasses. Said the last incident with 'bomb ass sunglasses' wasn't funny, the fuckers-" I heard her mutter.

"Psst, hey. Terror."

I, by the way, was sitting on the bleachers with Clarice braiding my hair from behind. It something I was trying to get accustomed to. She'd run her fingers through it when she thought I wasn't paying attention, and then have to braid or brush some more.

"Yeah Cal?" I was thinking of seriously asking Cal to call me Taylor, and not 'Boss', or 'Terror'. I mean, neither of us were masked, and he wasn't my minion. It felt weird and formal.

...Maybe I'd find some cotton balls and prank him with a Godfather impersonation. The first two were classic. The third had a weird conspiracy with the Pope and a secret society of capes, and it was just a mess.

"We've got everything set up for the ring. It starts tonight."

Shit. I'd forgotten about the smuggling ring. Even though I'd agreed to be a model prisoner after the Warden and I had our little heart-to-heart. And then I remembered Bakuda had told me earlier that I should shape up and be strong enough to protect everyone here from… other possibly psycho capes like myself.

Things were becoming… conflicted. I'd need plans to successfully please The Warden, Bakuda, and whatever groups I needed to keep me here in Westecher. Because, murder attempts aside, it wasn't that bad here.

A soft, "Oh," was all I could say.

Cal sat beside me and passed me a small box when some of the kids playing basketball ran by. Against my better judgement I hid the package in my jumpsuit. "Compliments of a friend from the outside, as well. The rest will be in your room by midnight tonight. Boss gets first dibs, after all."

"Better not be drugs." I muttered, keeping the vacuum bubbles around us so no one would hear. I think this is called conspiracy, or smuggling, or whatever. Definitely illegal.

Cal smiled. "No way, Terror. This is gonna be way better than drugs. Trust me."

I spent all of class, computer hour, meals, and free time in my cell wondering what the midnight surprise would be. A weird part of me hoped it was Flechette visiting to seduce me. A rational, worried part of me suggest it could be an Empire cape trying to kill me.

After dinner, I still hadn't opened the box yet, waiting to see if Alice would look it over to check for booby traps. However, when she got back to our cell she was exhausted from some new project. So she went right to sleep.

A soft 'clak' sound woke up in the middle of the night. Alice was asleep, with her mask off. She stopped wearing hers when it was just the two of us in our cell, lately. I slipped out of bed after I checked the air currents to make sure Hookwolf wasn't waiting just outside to gut me. No people out of place, or whirling death machine nearby, so no worries.

I carefully crept over to the source of the noise to find...

A small, basic tea set resting against the cell door. Carefully bringing the tea set back to my bed, I unwrapped the box to find assorted tea bags and a few spoons.

I smiled.

Then I realized I didn't have a kettle.

Dammit.

— — - - -

A/N1: This is probably far too rough to feel comfortable posting… but whatever, I'll probably edit it in the future.

A/N2: I have no idea how a cape juvie smuggling ring would work, so I'm just going to hand wave it and say 'it's like the Force, it surrounds and binds us in prison'.

I was also considering Taylor getting a gameboy, and being like, "how do I even use this?" but that might be another gift later.

A/N3: And the Warden is now like, "Well, I guess honesty is now the best policy. Because look where dishonesty got its PRT users."

Last edited: Mar 10, 2017

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Threadmarks Omake of an Omake: Dinah's Choice

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Somewhat Disinterested

Mar 17, 2017

#2,154

Aha! Another update! yeah, yeah!

Dinah's Choice (Omake Omake time!)

Dinah sat in her seat at World History. Nervous. No one noticed she was sweating, but that was fine. Mr. Thomson was a good teacher, and before she got powers, Dinah would have been very interested in the events leading up to the creation of the Yangban. Then again, cape kidnapping and politics wasn't something she could read about with detached disinterest. Lately, the bad men had been getting better at trying to kidnap her. It was getting to the point that Dinah was ready to resort to more… desperate measures. The PRT, Protectorate, and Wards were useless. Dinah had seen the fallout of the bank robbery, which had occurred during another kidnapping attempt. If the Wards couldn't fight off the Undersiders, they certainly couldn't fight off the men after her.

Are the numbers wrong? Of course her stupid power couldn't answer that.

She asked the same question, worded differently, and got the same answer.

90.24395%

When the final school bell rang, Dinah ran out of the classroom like a girl possessed.

She wrote a short note to her parents in her book bag, and then left the bag and the note by the bench near an old tree on Arcadia's grounds she'd climbed a few times. They'd understand.

She had thirty dollars in her wallet in various bills and change. She passed by other school kids, old people, young couples. Still running.

A few people called out to her, and she'd shout, "I'm fine!" at them over her shoulder. She was exhausted.

It began to rain.

Pitter patter, went the rain.

Pitter patter, went Dinah's now-wet shoes, running through puddles and the small bits of refuse that line sidewalks.

The men were up ahead, walking towards her more than a block away. The crowd couldn't protect her for longer, and she was near her target, hopefully. Dinah couldn't be certain it wasn't a trap, but it was her best chance. A short squealing noise alerted her that it was near.

Now or never. These are the best odds I'll ever get.

She sprinted to the waiting bus. But for the driver, she was the only person inside. Slumped on a row of seats, Dinah's heaved breaths as the bus started. The bad men could only look through the windows in anger as it drove off. The numbers had been correct.

So Dinah risked asking one more question.

Percent chance I'm safe for the next 48 hours?

99.99999%

That question pushed her to the limit, and Dinah blacked out.

"Ahem."

Dinah slapped herself in the cheeks to wake up. Groggily she peered around for the source of the voice.

"Greetings Dinah Alcott."

There in front of her sat a woman in a fedora, holding an unopened, perfectly dry, black umbrella. The sky was dark, and rain beat against the windows of the bus in a heavy drone. The bus driver was gone, as well.

The bus was somewhere in the countryside a few miles from Brockton Bay, from what Dinah remembered of her family's trips to Boston. There would be no one to help her, or even hear her scream. Well, maybe the cows in that nearby field.

I need to trust the numbers.

"We have a job proposition for you."

Dinah smiled, listened to what the woman said, and agreed. It would be a few years before she'd get to see her parents again, but it would be worth it.

And it's more productive than punching a cop in the nuts and doing a plea deal for juvie.

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Threadmarks JailDragon 21

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Somewhat Disinterested

Mar 27, 2017

#2,204

Guess who's back! Back again! Taylor's back! Back with crippling self-doubt and psychological issues!

Taylor's back, Taylor's back, Taylor's back,

nanana- na. na. na.

banana, na. na. na!

Because Lung is a monster, who wants 'ta fightim'

Taylor, or just Dragon-her, she clearly has issues.

Some Steamy romance with her and Flechette

If Dragon-Taylor doesn't rage her way onto the news.

Nazi death threats, 'ssassination attempts

Heroes pissing themselves and passin' out and askin' for help

(Terror save me!)

… you know what, I should just stop and let you guys read the chapter...

Crouching Tiger goes to Prison 21

"You have visitors today, Terror. Two of them." I had been working on a paper for my English class when the officer rapped on the door to my cell. It was a bit of a rush job on Richard the Third and the sympathetic nature of villainy. How viewpoints and hardships can grab an audience's attention.

It was very difficult to not write, 'Are you fucking serious, Teach'?' at the top of it.

"Two visitors?" I asked through the slat. Am I wearing all my necessary clothes and shoes? Hmm, yup. Two days after Sophia got outed as Shadow Stalker, I forgot my left shoe under my bed and had to go around the prison barefoot all day. Cal thought it was,'badass'. When I told him I actually forgot my shoe, he said I should keep that kind of stuff a secret. In the following week, I noticed some of the larger inmates were barefoot. Somewhat seriously, I asked Alice if someone was stealing the tall kids' shoes. She had a self-imposed palm print on her forehead for about an hour after that.

Prison is weird.

"I must be very popular lately." In fact, a national news program was going to interview me next week for a special. My talks with Clarice and the Warden had made me realize that I was something of an inspiration to people inside and out of prison.

For better or for worse.

Since getting TV and internet privileges, I'd been following the news. A few anti-bullying programs were springing up, which was heartening. Most had a, 'hey, if you push kids too far, they just might turn into evil rage-monster parahumans that rip off your face.' At least that was the implicit message I got from the articles and news coverage on them.

One kid had been busted for planning a shooting at his high school in Washington last week. He had the typical signs of a school shooter. He was a loner, bullied, and Police found a printed, annotated copy of my publicized journal in his bedroom when they raided it. So I decided it was time to look over the emails from news organizations I'd been getting and pick the nicest one to interview me.

All that Terror-talk had been largely lost in the explosive news that someone had leaked the identities of every Empire member to the media. Suck it, Max Anders. I guess I'm the least of your worries, eh? Bakuda and I talked the lunch ladies into allowing popcorn in the TV room so we could all watch the Empire get their asses kicked. Purity ran to PRT custody with her children because apparently even Neo-nazis think Kasier's a jackass. Even a couple of the Asian kids showed up to cheer with us when Victor and Rune got captured. Flechette stuck to a corner and wouldn't look at me though, and I didn't know what to think of it.

But yeah, the important thing was people were twisting my very-goddamn-private-feelings into school-shooter idea fodder. I needed to slap that down quickly.

"Yeah, gotta slap the manacles on you and everything. Rules and all that. If you want to see them, I'll need you to put your hands through the slot."

I sighed and complied with the order. "Do I know who they'll be? Should I keep a mask on?"

"Not sure about the second, but the first one's a lawyer. Your call, really."

"I'm not normally a fan of lawyers." My trial lawyer couldn't have possibly dug the legal profession out of the deep pit in my opinion that Alan Barnes had made.

The guard snorted. "Yeah, hear you there. Fuckin' lawyers took everything in my divorce. At least the bitch didn't have anything for herself by the end of it."

Lucky for you. My enemy lawyer led to my childhood home burning down. Good thing my fucking journal survived. "Uh, I'm sorry you had to go through that?" I only had grown an inch, but I was aware of the fact that the poor guard was all alone in the hallway, with me. Growing like that might make him a bit nervous.

The guard massaged his forehead with a hand, thankfully not look in my direction. "Sorry 'bout that… Nah, it's cool. Just don't make the mistakes I did, kid. Marry for brains, not hots."

This guy certainly hadn't seen me in short sleeves. I couldn't get hot to fall in my lap if I dropped an iron on it. "I don't think there will be any danger of that." I groused. I'd probably make new mistakes anyway.

"Yeah, well, let's get going."

It was a petty gripe, but Westecher kind of had this, 'figure things out yourself' dynamic going for it. The easy part of my rehabilitation, the 'don't murder people, you idiot!' part, was clear from the beginning. But all the social stuff around the prison was odd as well. Random prisoners would come up to me and Cal and ask for things or favors, often pressing money into our hands or manacles. Clarice was striking up a small business writing letters and love poems for the inmates. And some of the guards too.

I kept the money inmates gave me under my mattress because I didn't know what else to do with it. I had about a thousand dollars by now.

It wasn't like Westecher had a gift shop or a mail-order catalogue.

It took another three horrible days without a power pack thing for my kettle before Cal arranged for one with an profuse apology. If anything, it was hilarious. I spent a good five minutes tricking Alice into hunting alongside me for outlets in our cell. We found an audio recording device though. No idea who set that up.

I could have powered the tea kettle up with my powers, but that would have led to questions, so I told Cal not to worry about the mistake. They would have been important questions like, 'How fast can we move her to the Birdcage?' And. 'How bad will our slap on the wrist be for kill-ordering her preemptively?' Or, 'Is triple-tap good, or should we go for quadruple-tap?'

After a short, not-Nazi-infested trip to the visitation room with my recently-divorced guard, I was ready for my first mystery guest.

It was a handsome latino man who waited for me with a briefcase set in front of him. He was immaculately dressed in a suit and attractive. If a shark could look attractive.

"Ah, greeting Terror." He made as if to shake my hand, but simply rested it upon my manacles. "A friend by the name of Sophia told me to get in touch with you. I was initially uncertain I could help, what with your confession, but then the recent... events happened, and well, here I am. Quinn Calle, potentially at your service."

I was stuck deciding whether this was a trap, or Tattletale actually trying to help me. "Well, I'm rather thankful you took time out of your day to see me, but I'm a bit confused here. I also don't have any money."

"For starters, Miss Terror- if I may call you that?" I shrugged in response.

"Taylor's fine too, I guess," I said. Calle gave me a warm smile that I was willing to bet he practiced in front of a mirror every day.

"- Well then, Taylor it's a pleasure to meet you. For starters, your case has come to my attention due to its publicity, and your current friends.

"I and my firm feel that if I were to represent you, we could improve your conditions here," he made a vague gesture towards my manacles, "and possibly get you a reduction in your sentencing. Or at least parole and some sort of Trust for when you do leave, paid for by the PRT for their part in your pain and suffering." That seemed a little too smooth for my liking.

I frowned. "What happened to my public defender guy, uh… Steve? I think his name was Steve. Steve's a great guy. I kinda prefer him as my lawyer, no offense."

Calle chuckled a little. "None taken, Taylor. Steve is currently overloaded with cases back in Brockton Bay, and when we reached out to him for information and case files, he seemed apprehensive of getting in contact with you again."

My frown deepened. "That doesn't make sense. I still don't see why I can't keep Steve."

Calle pulled several papers from his briefcase and spread them out before me. "I'm certain Mr. Andrews is a fine lawyer, but he doesn't have the specialty or resources that your case would need. My firm has offices across the East Coast, along with specialists in cape law, juvenile law, estates, taxes. Mr. Andrews would be at a disadvantage just trying to get things filed in the state of New York."

It still didn't sit right with me. There was no way this Calle guy would swoop in like a knight in shining armor and fix my problems. "You're really in this for the money, aren't you?"

"Of course," he said demurely, "My retainer has already been paid, and there are certain entities that could, well, 'pony up' for your benefit. The publicity of this case makes it attractive to my firm, and at the very least we could help publish your eventual memoirs. Legend's did quite well a few years ago."

My… memoirs. The current ones inspire spree killer attempts. Perhaps I could release an edited edition when I leave prison?

Wouldn't that be a fun book tour. 'Come shake hands with the girl who eviscerated four people and almost turned Shadow Stalker into ground chuck, only to pretty much get away with it!'

I sighed. Talking with Quinn Calle wasn't good for my sense of self-worth. "Fine. But tell Mr. Andrews I think he's a great guy." Really, I do think he's great. He visited me in the day after Miss Militia chewed me out and I was nearly catatonic. He was the first person to treat me like a person in what felt like forever. He looked like he nearly pissed his pants every time he left my cell in the Protectorate Rig, but I just figured that how he always felt near murderers.

"The more important part of our potential relationship would occur after you're released. You'll need bank accounts, settlement in a city of your choice, some sort of employment, a resolution to the legal issues around your father's estate-" My gut churned. "and unfortunately Mr. Andrews isn't equipped to handle that."

"No chance of college?" I asked wryly. "Always wanted to make something of myself," I said before I realized who gave me that ambition. And there's the gut punch from thinking about Mom.

Calle swayed his head back and forth. "I'm reluctant to give an opinion on that, since my firm has never attempted such a feat. My contacts in the Youth Guard say it's possible for parahumans with minor criminal records to attend college, but your case would be… unique."

"It's the murder part, isn't it. Or is it the fact that I'm a giant shit-stain on the PRT's record?" I asked.

"Yes." Calle answered. "Though, I've looked over transcripts of the testimony, along with evidence and character witness testimony that was collected after the journal's release. There seem to be some holes that point to your innocence. If you'd be willing to discuss-"

"I don't want to talk about it. Ever. They're dead because I killed them. So I'm here, and that's that. I'm not skipping sentencing," I barely kept myself from snarling. For the smallest of moments, I thought I saw Calle's half-smile crack a bit.

"Well, I think that's all then." The lawyer pulled out a stack of papers. "Do you consent to me representing you?"

I looked over the first page that had been . The small type and weird latin terms made my head spin. "Why do I feel like I'm selling my soul here?"

Calle gave me another slick smile. "Well, you are in the presence of a lawyer. That's to be expected."

It took another hour to hammer out all the agreements and fine print for the contract. The important part was that I could argue for parole in a year. Someone who could easily turn me into paste would be my parole officer, like Legend or Alexandria, and I'd get to hang out with Cal, Clarice, and Bakuda. Wherever they wound up.

I clumsily waved goodbye to Calle with my manacles.

The next visitor would be in three hours, so I went to lunch.

Alice wasn't in the cafeteria, probably Tinkering on something, but I saw Clarice and Cal seated in a corner. Clarice waved me over. Flechette was sitting in a far different corner, alone and not trying to make eye contact.

I sat down in a seat next to Cal. He was nice enough to move the tray from the top of my manacles to the table top.

"How're the drinks going?" Cal asked through a mouthful of lettuce.

"It's great, really helps me relax every night." The tea was excellent, and easy to hide in my room. Alice was ambivalent about tea, but I was certain I could convert her to the dark side soon. I'd just have to find what her taste was.

"Mmm, can I come drink tea with you tonight?" Clarice asked sweetly. And that was her foot rubbing mine. The bruises on her face had cleared up, and she was much more chipper than when she first showed up at Westecher.

"Uh, s-sure?" I stammered out. Yeah, real tough-girl there Taylor. Cal and Clarice traded a glance I couldn't understand.

"We're thinking of expanding," Cal said after he cleared his throat.

"Into another prison or something? I don't understand."

"Well, we were thinking of getting new members." Clarice grinned slyly. And kept rubbing her foot against me.

"Why would we do that? I like you guys, and you know, who else even wants to sit with us at lunch?" It was painfully obvious that the three of us had a whole table to ourselves because of me.

Cal leaned over and whispered. "There's probably a feud growing between the Asians and the Whites and Blacks. We could poach members from both groups. Easy. Not sure what the feud is, but we can certainly profit from it."

I looked over at the two groups, who were busy glaring at each other. "Can't we have them not descend into violence? With my luck they'll have Lung-level capes who'll break in and decide our heads look good on sticks."

Cal snickered. "You can try to get them in a circle to sing Kumbaya, but I wouldn't bet on it. Racial tensions don't evaporate that easily."

"Yours did." I pointed out. I whined a little bit, and Clarice was kind enough to open my milk carton for me. It was easier than me using my teeth, the table, and one side of my manacles. Dragon-me felt happy about that.

If I ever got pressed for money, 'Taylor's life Vs. Manacles' could be a comedy classic.

"Hey! I always had a weakness for Asian girls, I just had to keep it quiet for while. White girls are lame anyway." Clarice pointed her fork at Cal's face. "Err... No offense, you two. You make a cute couple."

"None taken.""I'm not a lesbian!"

After an hour looking up the news and pop culture happenings online in the computer room, I was escorted over to the visiting room again for my second surprise visitor.

"You're in luck Terror, this one's from your hometown." The guard told me with a cheerful smile.

Tattletale? My old lawyer? Greg, even?

I opened the door to the visiting room and stopped dead.

There sat Miss Militia.

A/N: Surprise! It's Miss Militia! This'll go well.

Last edited: Mar 27, 2017

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Somewhat Disinterested

Mar 31, 2017

#2,388

Not super-sure about this chapter, but it's fun! So let's hop to it. We get to have the long-awaited MM-Taylor-Hebert-Talk. And Sophia gets a cute nick-name.

In one corner, a woman with a body count and some serious psychological issues,

And in the other, our paranoid protagonist Taylor!

Place your bets!

Crouching Tiger goes to Prison 22

"Manacles," I frantically whispered to the guard. "Manacles. Manacles. Manacles."

"Nah, you'll be fine. She's a bona fide hero, right there. We're manning the foam sprayers anyway, so don't worry." The guard whispered back and shut the door behind me.

I couldn't help but grow two inches as I felt the door shut off an easy route of escape. This reeked of a setup, though not one by Tattletale. Could I knock down the door and leave? Yeah, but it would lead to complications, and Miss Militia could just follow me. I'd be exposing my back to Miss Militia as well. I reached out with my senses and felt no fewer than four recording devices of some sort. Motherfucker.

Or they were just fire detectors. I wasn't the best at discerning electronics, but it wouldn't hurt to be paranoid about the woman who could put a fist-sized hole through your skull from a thousand feet away. Or was it a mile away? I wasn't sure. Anyway, I'd be dead, wouldn't see it coming, and Miss Militia would feel awesome taking out kid-killer number fifteen of Brockton Bay. Not to mention the political shitstorm from my existence would peter out if I died. Then again, I got a lawyer, who could argue- what's the word, entrapment? Ok, new plan: Worst that happens, I just suffocate her. Miss Militia can't have faster reflexes than me, and the manacles can also be used to bludgeon her into a c-

Shit, Taylor. Breath in a little. Discuss first, only switch to near-lethal if she moves her hands.

"So. What brings you here?" I manage to grit out. Miss Militia's hands were placed in full view on the tabletop. Her face was covered, like most capes', so I couldn't tell what her mood was. Still, it felt suspicious.

"Please Taylor, have a seat." Every word was measured.

I kept standing with my back to the door. "And you're calling me by my first name, which is weird. You'll have to forgive me for not coming closer, but I've been ambushed by Alabaster, and a bunch of Nazis already. Who knew scythes could hurt that much."

The flag-bandana she wore over her mouth puffed out. "The reports said sickles, if I remember. But you have nothing to fear from me. I've come here on official PRT business, and personal reasons."

"To kill me for making you and your bosses look bad?" There, let's get it out in the open.

Miss Militia shook her head. "Before anything else, I want to apologize for what I said to you after your capture. I initially believed you were a new trigger. Then I believed Shad-"

"Just call her Sophia," I interjected. "I only knew her as Sophia." Sophia, psycho-bitch extraordinaire.

"Shadow Stalker's testimony from the scene of the crime. As well as Sophia's initial court testimony." Miss Militia pressed on.

"Is this some sort of multiple personality thing to explain her psychosis, or are you trying to say they're different people?"

"Due to practical concerns, and several laws, the PRT tends to treat parahumans and their civilian identities as separate entities. Shadow Stalker decided to commit criminal acts both in and out of costume."

"Well, I'm guessing she's on an island resort right now. Or a spa. Beach house? All-expenses-paid vacation for a job well done. Am I getting warmer?"

"I assure you, Shadow Stalker had been dealt with to the fullest extent of the law, and is at a location far worse than this one. Director Piggot did not appreciate Stalker committing perjury at your trial, and it escalated from there."

"So you're apologizing," I said as I slowly walked to the table and sat down. "For a psycho ward and a coverup."

"Yes. I had no role in the coverup, though. We had been given a lot of information about Shadow Stalker's civilian activities that had been later proven false. We did what we could when the journal was released." And there went all my pent up fear, and it all went straight to anger.

I'm not even kidding, one quick move of her hands that I find suspicious and I'm giving the bitch brain damage.

"Really I'm just angry about the coverup. You ship me off to prison, send Sophia-"

"Shadow Stalker." Miss Militia insisted.

I felt petty at that moment. Why continue referring to Sophia as a hero? "Mega-bitch, we'll call her as a compromise, and then cover up everything so it seems like nothing went wrong. Send Sophia off for 'training' out of the state. I would have been happier if you'd been honest the first time around."

"I was not in the loop for those decisions."

"But you're still here, aren't you? Still working for an organization that will knowingly harbor vicious psychopaths. Mega-Bitch went on a lot of solo patrols, unsanctioned ones, according to the news. And Piggot didn't stop her. Just let it happen. Did you really think she wasn't using real ammo, on real people?" The press and the internet leaked the day after my hysterical laughing fit that Sophia had killed two men as a Ward and covered it up, in what I guessed were accidents. Of course, keeping trophy pics on your private phone would go against that narrative.

The red-white-and-blue clad hero didn't say anything. So I pressed a little harder. "Or were these people that didn't matter, out of sight and out of mind, like I was. Well, until I got powers at least."

"What happened on that day, Taylor?" Miss Militia asked softly. "Between you and Shadow-"

"Mega-bitch," I corrected her, getting more irritable by the second.

"-Shadow Stalker. It wasn't initially considered important until the journal, but there were things missing in the trial. The day after the rampage, the police found a large roll of-"

"I'm not telling you shit about that!" I bellowed as I stood up and towered over her. "Don't fucking think you can walk in, offer a weak, horrible excuse of an apology, and have me spill everything to you. I'm guilty! Fuck you, I'm guilty!"

The woman in front of me kept her cool. I had probably let a few flecks of spit fall onto her. "I wanted to apologize for what I said. It doesn't change what happened-"

"Of course it doesn't change what happened." I fumed, "I'm guilty, four people are dead, so I'm here. The only thing that changed is that your hand has been forced. You wanted me to join your little hero club and rebrand myself, and you wanted Mega-Bitch to go that route as well, at least until she became too hot to handle in public. Now, you need me to join, to save face. Politicians are probably circling around this incident, and preparing investigations as well. PRT's probably going to get more oversight, stripped funding, and fewer recruits." I could feel my teeth elongating, so I sat back down before I got tempted to bite her face.

"Yes," Miss Militia said. "Brockton Bay is now a black mark on the PRT's records."

I leaned back and made a show of trying to cross my arms. "Well, I don't think I'm going to join. Not with the heroes like this. Fuck no. The most honest hero I've seen is in juvie with me right now for nearly killing a hobo." I wondered what Flechette thought of all this. If she wasn't avoiding me for some strange reason I'd sum up the courage to ask her.

Miss Militia exhaled deeply, and slowly moved her hands to the briefcase on the table. "And that brings me to my second reason for being here. An audit was recently done of the Protectorate ENE, and in order to justify the expenses of your sentencing, it has been decided as of yesterday that you will contribute to Endbringer battles. The good news is that it can pave a path towards East-North-East Probationary Wardship well ahead of your scheduled sentencing. Shadow Stalker herself jumped at the deal when we offered it to her as terms of her probation."

"What the fuck are you talking about," I snarled. "There's no reason I'd jump at that. There's nothing left for me in Brockton."

"...As part of your plea deal that you signed, there were clauses that allowed you to volunteer for Endbringer defenses for reduced sentencing. Unfortunately, there were several Federal Laws over the years that allowed conscription of villains convicted of capital crimes. Several Directors had to sign off on it, but it happened as of last night. Tagg, Calvert, and Costa-Brown herself approved based on your combat capabilities, your sentence, and previous good behavior. According to federal law, each A or S-class situation you directly contribute to reduces your sentence by six months, and by three months for indirect contribution." Oh look Taylor, there's your murder sentence coming back to bite you in the ass.

"So I can just say no and walk away," I hissed.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you won't contribute to A and S-class fights, the East-North-East PRT will see reason to cut allocations for your stay at Westecher. You'd be moved to a cheaper Minimum Security facility on the East Coast near LA, built specifically for parahumans for the remainder of your sentence and funded by the West-South-West PRT."

And that would leave Cal, Clarice, and Alice high and dry. If this was a valid order, and I didn't want to be a selfish bitch, I'd have to take this deal. Fuck. The PRT. For this. "You agreed to this proposal?"

Miss Militia looked over my shoulder at the security camera. "I have no control over the decisions, or knowledge of this one until last night. The PRT, which oversees the Protectorate, decided on this course of action, after reading somewhat troubling reports that you've been targeted by the Empire, and the progress you've made as a model inmate. I've been informed the Directors feel that you could be molded into a hero, and want to keep your current environment from forcing you into further acts of violence. You'd be used for search-and-rescue after the battle, which has a fatality rate of under five percent overall, near-zero for the Protectorate-affiliated, and zero for those with Brute ratings above 3."

Which was bullshit, because I'd probably get thrown into the battle the moment I showed up in my manacles. Could I tank any of the three Endbringers? I stared down at my manacles. "Didn't know you were so concerned for my safety," I sniped. I heard the Empire regularly sent capes to Endbringer battles as well. Another group that would want me out of the way.

"Despite our public face and efforts fighting crime, The Protectorate, Wards, and PRT's main goal is to do whatever they can in their power to help parahumans deal with their powers in a safe manner for themselves and the public."

I shut my eyes and leaned back into my flimsy little chair. I had to remind myself that shoving this woman's head back into her own ass would be counterproductive and difficult to do with my clumsy manacles. I wanted to be at Westecher, I wanted whatever extreme rehabilitation program it was putting me though, and however much I just wanted to plow through the door and leave the whole place in that moment, I never wanted to be a fugitive.

"...And that turned out great for Mega-Bitch. Well, I hate to ruin your bosses' power tripping, but I'm going to have those documents sent to my brand new lawyer to see if I can wipe my ass with them." Let's see if Calle can earn his keep. There wouldn't be another Endbringer attack for a month at least, which gave me hope that this was all just posturing from the PRT.

Miss Militia handed over a small stack of papers. "I don't agree with how this is being done, so have at it."

I couldn't help but ask, "But you're still here to make it happen, and saying you're sorry doesn't make that evaporate. Haven't heard you offering letters of resignation, or internal reform efforts. Do you enjoy sending children to die? Do you enjoy watching our faces when we realize what you've signed us up for?"

"...We need every cape we can to fight the Endbringers. Thinkers and the PRT suggest you could make a difference." Miss Militia's words were a little more slurred, like she couldn't believe she was saying them.

Or I could be in a convenient place for a bullet through my skull. Or I'd make a valiant effort against Behemoth, only to get fried in an instant. Win-win for the Protectorate.

The Protectorate was supposed to be on the back foot here, from what the Warden was hinting at. How did it get like this?

"This is just so… I don't remember... What's her name? Piggy?" I made vague swirling motions with my manacles next to my head to pantomime me jogging my memory. The woman was fat and humorless when a video of her talking to me had played for me in my jail cell. In another life, she was probably some badass marine.

"Emily Piggot," Miss Militia supplied.

"Yeah, her. I don't remember Piggot being this much of an asshole." I didn't blame Piggot for throwing the book at me, at least until the whole Shadow Stalker revelation. Now that I think about it, maybe Piggot covered up a lot more than just my case. To make herself look good? Keep more capes in circulation? Who knows. Maybe she sent me here as an apology for Sophia, or a calculated one. 'Sure it's prison, but tell me with a straight face that it's worse than Winslow.' I imagined her saying.

Ah, politics.

Miss Militia shifted in her seat slightly. "Director Piggot has been replaced in the past week, after her handling of the Empire leak."

I leaned in as far as I dared. My nose was at the halfway line of the table, where the manacles were usually secured. "Strange, I had thought the leak was a success. Some Empire members captured, a couple dozen acceptable civilian casualties... Who's your boss now?"

"Director Calvert."

# # # #

I trudged back to my cell carrying the case of documents under my arm. I'd mail them off to Calle tomorrow, but tonight I'd take a look at them for myself. After my manacles were off and the guard left, I stood with my forehead pressed against the cold metal door. I forced myself to shrink down as much as possible, to push the scales back into my skin or wherever they went. When I was only an inch or two above normal heigh I trusted myself to enter my cell proper.

I didn't notice the small set of shoes next to where Alice's would be when I walked past the second doorway.

"Hey Taylor, still want to have tea with me?" It was Clarice, lounging by my bed with a cup of tea in her hands. The buttons on her shirt were mostly undone, along with her hair, which dropped down to her shoulders. The room was lit by just two candles on the dresser near Alice's bed. My reaction to all this was to jump back in surprise and drop the case of papers on the floor. Dragon-me was ecstatic.

"Uh, hey Clarice." I said thickly. I shuffled over to my bed and sat down next to her, forcing myself to keep looking at her eyes. I had forgotten about her desire for a tea drinking night with me. Suddenly it felt a lot more sentimental.

I could die in as little as a month, or be transferred and never see these people again. They weren't as close as Emma and I had been, but… I didn't know how to feel about that either. Did I love Emma? Was I blind to her faults because of that? Was I projecting my hopes of chivalry and just worlds onto Flechette as well? I had no idea what I meant to them. Never bothered to ask.

And I realized I was still so angry. That fucking bitch thought she could walk in and wash her hands of everything while making me choose between a death sentence for myself or those three. "Sorry if I'm not al-alright, and I'm angry, and can-can't handle it." It was hard to keep control of my voice, even like that. The good old Hebert anger. "I had a visit from a hero who-"

"Shhh. Here," Clarice said as she pressed a finger to my lips, "I want you to try this." She took a sip of the tea, and then leaned over and kissed me. She pressed herself against me as much as she could, holding the kiss. Her mouth tasted like Chai and strawberries, and it must have been a minute before she broke the kiss off. She coyly smiled and took another sip of her tea. I sat there stunned, panting. "I had to bribe Bakuda with a commissioned love poem for Cal to get the room for the evening, then lock-pick my way in." She kissed me again for another solid minute.

Only a fool couldn't tell where she was trying to go with this. "I- I have scars Clarice." I said the second she broke off the second kiss. "Horrible ones. I'm fucked up. Like, really fucked up. I didn't think I was a person for- for a while. Weeks? Months? I'm not a hero, can't, won't be-" I mumbled as she nibbled at my neck. Fucking idiot, Taylor. Why'd you say that?

"I've felt them," she said as she traced a finger down the back of my jumpsuit, over a long scar that was a product of my delirious thrashing in the hospital bed before I triggered. "and I'm still here, aren't I? You're my fucked-up hero." She kissed me again. "You've got the hots for that drunk girl cape, and a little for me," Clarice whispered into my ear, "but I don't think she'll mind what happens tonight."

I wasn't sure whether it was a moment of strength or weakness when I said. "O-ok."

#

A/N: oooooh, intrigue! Suspense! Awesomeness! Clarice makes her move and there's a perfectly timed fade-to-black!

I know people are probably like, "WTF, MM? Why would you pull this shit?" But I remember that chapter where Miss Militia gave Taylor a hooooooorrrible apology for her treatment at Sophia's hands. And I figured having Miss Militia be an awesome, mother-figure, competent superhero after she already dropped the ball in this story would be weird.

Last edited: Apr 1, 2017

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Somewhat Disinterested

Apr 14, 2017

#2,700

I have heard your prayers, your threats, your insane ramblings, and I have laid down the WoG as such:

I might still go back and make more edits to the last chapter to shore things up. Bear with me.

And thus, mighty author Somewhat Disinterested hath spoken.

Crouching Tiger goes to Prison 23

I woke up in my bed with Clarice on top of me, wearing… far, far less than what I'd last described her wearing last night. She was still asleep, with an innocent smile on her face. I took a moment in my bed to think about the previous day, and what had been thrown my way since I arrived at Westecher.

And last night was, I don't know how to say it without sounding weird, but it was awesome. All the pervy thoughts in the world couldn't have prepared me for it, but Clarice was kind and didn't laugh at my fumbling and naivety. She even called it cute.

I could feel her breathing on top of me.

What did I even know about her, besides the fact that she was ethnically German and not a Nazi?

I tried to extricate myself from the bed without waking her. It didn't work.

"Morning, sexy dragon," she mumbled into my collarbone as she intertwined the fingers of her right hand in mine. If that was her pet name for me… it'd be awkward if she repeated that in public. "Ready for a few hours all to ourselves?" Dragon-me felt like jumping up and down in excitement, but I had to push the feeling down.

"I gotta get up and put some files in the mail, sorry." The sooner I shipped off these bullshit papers to Calle, the better I'd feel. And spending a night with Clarice wouldn't feel like a death row inmate's last request.

"Boo, adult things," Clarice whined softly and set about nibbling my ear. "Can it wait?"

I unsuccessfully tried to drill holes in the ceiling with my eyes. "The PRT is trying to blackmail me into helping out in Endbringer fights for a reduced sentence. Or they're trying to get me killed so I'll stop being a thorn in their sides. I just got a new lawyer who might fight them for me, and I need to send him the papers." I didn't want to mention that the local PRT would try to have me moved to the West Coast.

"They're making you fight on the front lines?" Clarice asked, shocked.

"Miss Militia said I'd be rescue detail after the attacks, and I can't make sense of the documents yet."

"Oh, well that's probably fine then. It'll be more helpful than picking trash up off the road. That's pretty dull."

"But I don't trust them, not after Emma or Sophia. Hell, I'm not sure if I can trust anyone." Now was probably a good time to dig up info on Clarice. "When did you pick up trash on the side of the road?"

"First time my parents caught me hooking up with a girl. We got into a nasty enough fight that I had to do community service. Nazi's aside, I was kind of enjoying it here away from my family." Clarice sighed.

Her parents must have been awful. What did it take to be an emancipated minor, in New York, anyways? Assuming Clarice lived in New York.

Clarice sat up and bounced a little on my bed, buttoning her shirt back up as slowly as possible. "Hey, uh, didn't bother you about it earlier, but why's your bed a little lumpy? It was a bit difficult to sleep on last night."

Wow, really Dragon-me? Now you're embarrassed? "It's where I hide the money people keep giving me from the smuggling."

"Wouldn't that be kind of uncomf- ooh! I get it!" Clarice slapped her hands to her cheeks. "You're like a fairytale dragon. That's so cute!"

I couldn't remember the last time someone called me cute.

I leaned over my bed and started hunting for my clothes so Clarice wouldn't see my eyes water. There's the jumpsuit, and a sock… now where was the other sock? I'd take a shower later today. Maybe after breakfast. "I... guess? I don't really have a need for the cash, and It's probably a bad idea to make a hole in the wall or floor for it." That was a bad excuse and we both knew it. Curling up around the wads of money let me sleep better at night.

I'd need both socks to walk around. Walking around barefoot was probably fine as long as it wasn't too cold, but I figured walking around in just one sock made me look like a lunatic. Dr. Smins had asked about my sockless episode after a week of other people walking around without socks, so I had to tell him I lost my pairs. Never seen a man laugh that hard for no reason. They're plain socks, not fashion statements or something important.

Then Cal had the awesome idea of smuggling in socks, which sold really well.

At breakfast I was greeted by… three new people at the isolated corner table I normally sat at. I got polite grunts from each of them. Two guys and a girl, who were eating oatmeal and toast while keeping an eye on me. Bakuda also sat at the table, looking irritable and stabbing at her cut fruit. The new people were sitting as far from her as possible. They seemed tense, as far as I knew.

It was a strange day indeed if I was the most cheerful person at the table. Dr. Smins had recently considered medication to treat what was obviously depression. It looked like a bunch of Latin-sounding names with side-effects that also had Latin-sounding names. After about two seconds of brainstorming, we reasoned that mind-altering drugs and superpowers wouldn't mesh well, in between our hysterical peels of laughter. So I was to alter my diet, exercise a bit more every day, and be open about my feelings.

The results of my, 'let's make Taylor less depressed,' campaign were a little underwhelming, but I did enjoy exercising.

That bitch Dr. Helen's thoughts were best left undiscussed. She was digging into stuff with Emma lately, so I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her I hooked up with Clarice last night. At least Dr. Smins obviously hated her too.

"Hey, Cal… Who are the new people?" Or shall I say, 'who did you just recruit, Cal?'

"This is Stacy, that's George, and the guy in glasses is Tom. They want to join your gang to avoid whatever clusterfuck's about to start with the Albany Asians and those kids you'd play basketball with in the Courtyard." I belatedly realized that Stacy was black, and sitting next to Cal without a fuss. Perhaps Cal really was taking the 'not a Nazi' thing seriously.

George and Tom kept their heads down, but Stacy looked me straight in the eye. "So you're Terror? What do you want us to do working for you?"

Crap, business talk! Act professional. "Feel free to call me Taylor. Kinda prefer it. And, uh, it's fine if you don't want to do anything. Brownie points for staying out of trouble and being nice to me." Sorry Bakuda, I have no idea what passes for intimidating and in charge around here. Maybe there are a few books on prisons I could read up on.

Stacy rounded on Cal, "You didn't say nothing about sexual favors. And for the record, I don't believe half the shit on the news these days, 'specially when it's about capes."

What. The. Fuck.

Cal smirked and took a sip from his milk carton. "Well, Taylor does have a weakness for pretty girls, so that's how Clarice stumbled into this gang. But it's not as bad as you'd think."

To say I panicked is an understatement. "Nope! Not at all true! No drugs or sexual favors or anything like that, nope! Not forcing anyone to do anything." It's hard to make 'I'm innocent' gestures with manacles. Which is probably the point, now that I think about it. So I was instead making awkward flailing motions with my arms connected at the elbow.

And that was the exact moment I felt Clarice walk up behind me. "Hey sexy dragon," she whispered into my ear loud enough for the others to hear before she sat down next to me. All the superpowers in the world, and you can't control the blood rushing to your face. Good job, Taylor. Good job.

Stacy leaned back a bit and gave Cal a skeptical look. "Boy, this better not be a trap. I didn't spend a week partying over the Nazis getting kicked out because I wanted a differently fucked-up gang"

"Ok," I admitted, "the optics look real bad on this, but I'm serious. I'm not charging sex for favors, forcing people to have sex with me, or prostituting, or whatever at this gang… table-gang, I mean table. Nope, nothing super-illegal. Not a gang." I said with a higher pitch with each passing second.

A mischievous grin lit up Clarice's face as she leaned over and brushed some hair away from my ear. "If you pass me some napkins I'll l-"

I made a strangled 'meep' noise and fumbled with the napkin dispenser, clumsily pushing it along a path towards Clarice with my manacles so she wouldn't say the rest of whatever she meant to out loud.

"Thaaaank you." Clarice sniggered and reached over my tray with her free hand. "Lemme open your milk for you."

Bakuda seized that moment to throw in her two cents as Clarice gently opened my milk carton for me. "It's also funny as fuck watching her try and do basic things that require fingers with her Brute-six manacles on. Terror's like an invalid who mewls if she spills milk on her food. Front row seats to that are pretty much priceless. But she's still fuckin' metal. Beat that Nachter fucker to a pulp and regenerated from a Nazi attack in seconds."

In my defense, that milk spill only happened once. And I was really sad and hungry. Just the memory of it made me mewl slightly. The guy named George cracked a smile and then tried his hardest to look down and cover his face.

Awkward. I know.

"Hey! I think her mewling is super-cute." Clarice protested as she put up sloppy 'devil horns' with her hands. "And she's no more 'metal' than me."

Cal's eyebrows shot up. "Considering how obsessed you are with those ponies, I find that hard to believe. So you two had the room to yourselves for the night?" Any more blood in my face and my head would have popped like a balloon. Yup, and there's Clarice's foot gently rubbing up against my leg.

Not that I'm complaining about that.

Clarice nodded enthusiastically. "And totally worth it. Anyway, what have you and Bakuda been up to lately?" She asked as she curled a lock of hair around her finger. It wasn't something I'd noticed quickly, but since I talked with her about her writing, Clarice seemed happier and more confident in herself. It was coming at the expense of all of my dignity, but I considered that a small price to pay.

Cal shrugged and said something about the prison library getting some books checked back in that he wanted to read, while Bakuda let out a ragged cough after Cal nudged her and whispered in her ear. "Oh, yeah… Been at my lab Tinkering for most of the night. My fucking Event-Horizon bomb isn't working like it should, and my tesseract bomb stopped being interesting five hours ago, since I can't get all the parts I need to work in the fifth dimension. So now it's just a four-dimension bomb for fucking peasants."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Bakuda. I think your bomb shows are pretty cool." Clarice said, "And thank you very much for letting me set up for the night."

"Figures you two got up to something," Bakuda muttered after she shot us a quick glance. I guess it was that obvious. "Hope you had the decency not to use my bed." Clarice and I shook our heads vigorously in denial.

"What's the name of this group anyway?" George asked, speaking for the first time. He looked like the dictionary definition of 'ginger', and had a tenor that wavered a bit. Also kind of sweaty.

"Terror and Blood!" "Team Sexy Dragon." "Death's Teeth," Cal, Clarice, and Bakuda said simultaneously. Then they devolved into a heated argument over the merits of their choices.

I gently tapped my manacles on the table until I had the attention of everyone else at the table. "Uh… Can I veto all of those? They're, not really my style."

"What about Team Terror?" Cal asked. I felt ambivalent, so I shook my head from side to side.

"That's good," Cal said. "I got a stencil for our branded T-shirts going with the Team Terror logo."

"'Team Terror' logo?"

"Two T's with manacles under them... Hey, stop pouting! It'll make money, and someone's gotta do merchandizing."

Another downside to manacles is that you can't bury your head in your hands.

846

Somewhat Disinterested

Apr 14, 2017

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Somewhat Disinterested

Apr 24, 2017

#2,797

Oh look, another chapter, just like that.

Crouching Tiger goes to Prison 24

"I think you should take the deal." It was two days after Miss Militia's delightful visit, and my lawyer was telling me the worst possible thing I could have heard.

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" I shouted into the receiver trying very, very hard to not break the phone in my hand. I instead pretended that Callie's neck was in my other, tightly-clenched fist.

A guard, Steve-who-wanted-to-start-a-rock-band if I remembered correctly, rapped his knuckles on the door and gave me a questioning stare in the little window, but I waved him away. He didn't need to deal with my legal crap today.

"Not kidding at all," My lawyer replied. "This deal is better than the one Shadow Stalker got. You get hazard pay, time off your sentence, and the dangerous fights are optional."

"They're threatening to move me to another facility if I don't comply."

I heard a chuckle at the end of the receiver. "That's just internal PRT politics. Calvert doesn't have the conscience Piggot had and wants to use the money for something else. My guess is that the Brockton PRT brass want you to go away in any way possible, even if they have to beg Alexandria to take your case as a villain. Politically, you playing ball and taking this deal hurts the PRT more in the long-run, despite them claiming victory now. I think with a quick phone call to your therapist and the PRT I can get their threat to have you moved to another facility dropped regardless of the outcome of this little stunt."

Oh yeah, I forgot Smins tolerated me, though he still counted as a PRT guy.

It was mentally exhausting keeping up with all of this, trying to outmaneuver a bunch of shadowy assholes with nothing besides journals and a few people I couldn't trust in the slightest. "Let's just start with the elephant in the room. I have a mysterious benefactor. It's going to be like Great Expectations, won't it. Except the guy's a mass murderer who thinks I'm peachy keen?" I asked.

And there was the smooth lawyer-voice. "I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to disclose the name of your benefactor. It was a condition of them paying me."

I looked around the telephone room, and felt out for electrical devices. Of course it was a phone room full of electronics, and I could be wiretapped, so it felt futile. "Can you at least tell me who it isn't?"

"While I understand this doesn't establish a lot of trust between us, I'm not entirely comfortable playing twenty questions, especially since everyone and their uncle has a Thinker on call."

My fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm on the table. After sleeping on it last night, I had realized that having more than just Tattletale on the outside was a good idea. She loved to run her mouth off too much, and probably didn't have anything like my Brute package to keep her safe. "There are only three… entities I'm actually worried about. I need to know if my benefactor is Kaiser and the Empire, Coil, or someone from the Protectorate."

Coil was just a hunch, but I couldn't see the Merchants or the ABB bothering with me, much less having the interstate reach that the Empire clearly did. I could easily imagine Kaiser putting in the couple thousand dollars with a law firm to get me out on my own, only to ambush and murder me with every cape possible when I got out. Joy.

Strategically, it would be a brilliant move, same if the Protectorate did that to try and pretend they were having an interdepartmental feud with the PRT over me. Though it seemed their move was to volunteer me for Endbringer battles. Well, Endbringer cleanup, which everyone is now telling isn't unsafe.

"Ah, well, I can see your concern. I can assure you that they're not your benefactor, nor do I have any sort of contact with the Empire or Coil. The Empire has its own cape lawyers, and Coil is a non-entity in the legal world to my knowledge. I can also say with confidence that I've never been hired to defend the Protectorate or PRT." He sounded a little smug about that.

"I'm sorry I have to mention this, but you must understand what I'm capable of. If I find out you've lied to me about this-"

"Of course. Constant implied death threats are perks of being a villain lawyer." More smooth-talk. I felt a bit like sulking. If this was how the adult world worked, I didn't want to grow up.

I looked down at the phone-room table, with a happily purring plastic-and metal box. Bakuda had jury-rigged a recording device yesterday for me for this exact purpose. The cassettes could only record once and project the sound for about five feet, but it was an interesting application of her ability. I did have to pressure her to not make a detonator for it, though, arguing that the audio was more useful intact. I think that was the first time I'd actually confused her.

"So in a month or so, I'll have to put my trust in two organizations that want me dead. The Empire, and the PRT. And I'll be fighting against things that destroy cities."

My lawyer tsk'd, and I heard more pages turn on the other end. "I think you underestimate the weight that an Endbringer Truce carries, Taylor. To my knowledge, there have been only three recorded instances of the breaking of the Truce. The first was a hero, who was sent to the Birdcage within a week, and died a week after that. The next two were villains who took the chance on eliminating a competitor. There are pictures on certain sections of the internet of what happened to them, perpetrated by both heroes and villains. It's not for the faint-hearted, and I'm not sure whether the PRT were able to end their suffering. The truce extends to cleanup activities and search and rescue as well, which are the only things you've been conscripted for." I made a mental note to look that up, just to call his bluff.

It was gruesome to think about, but somewhat heartening. Though that sounded like another rule that could be used against me. A Sophia in a spa robe shouting, 'She tripped and fell into him, so she broke the Truce! Kill her!' Played in my head a few times as I mulled it over. "Lovely. And what's the chance of me getting falsely accused of breaking it?"

Calle sighed. "Slim to none, Taylor. Dragon provides armbands that record position, audio, sometimes video, and life statistics of each cape who participates."

"I don't like this," I admitted. In theory, the Endbringers were so scary that no one made a joke of them. Now that I'd probably made my way to the top of Kaiser's shitlist…

The phone made a small crackling sound, as though my lawyer was shuffling papers. "Yes, well, the problem is that because you were successfully convicted of murder, several Federal laws can now be applied to you. What's worse is that this small program has had around a 95% success rate. No fatalities outside of some nasty incidents with the Fallen during a Simurgh cleanup, and a few runners. I know it doesn't look like it on paper, but if we refuse this deal, the next ones could become far worse, and we still need to construct a future for you after your stay at Westecher. Three Directors signed off on this personally, including Costa-Brown herself. The woman's a menace I tell you, and far smarter than a bureaucrat should ever be. I worry that if you refuse this, your future options won't look good, and you'll lose the PR advantage."

"I can't believe I'm getting my arm twisted for this."

"The judge had mentioned in his ruling that you'd be doing community service, so this was a possibility. We could fight it, but it would take time and resources that I wouldn't be able to use for something else down the line. I assure you though, if the PRT forces you into an actual Endbringer fight, you won't have to go, and my firm will fight it tooth and nail."

"Fine," I snipped. "Send the papers back so I can sign them. I want to name some terms of my own though." At top of that mental list was to be outside of Miss Militia's sniping range at all times in a combat scenario, and never alone with her.

"Will do Miss Hebert. I will include several necessary legal and estate documents you'll need to sign in your package. Will that be all?"

I contemplated for a moment. "I need some info on the Muller family in New York. Their daughter, Clarice Muller, is in this facility with me and something feels... off about her. She's nice, but I'm worried she could have ulterior motives." I felt shitty doing that, but really, wasn't it odd that she was into me? I could think of a minimum of fifty people at the facility who were more attractive and less dangerous, yet Clarice practically latched onto me the moment she arrived.

"With all due respect, we're not private eyes, though I'll see if I can subcontract something for you."

"Sounds good." I said, and clicked the phone on the receiver.

I gave myself a solid minute of internal screaming, and a little bit of external screaming, before I decided to leave the phone-room and have my manacles re-attached.

When it was time for the Courtyard, I tried not to storm over to where I usually sat. The situation outside was going to start raining shit on me at any moment, but inside Westecher was a different story.

"You heard the news?" Stacy asked grimly when I approached what was becoming 'my bleacher'. Anyone was welcome to join, even though the asians were skittish around me for some reason. Though Bakuda talked to the asians whenever she was around, which kept things from getting violent between our respective groups… Then again, I don't know what she'd actually say to them.

Stacy was a little irritating. While Clarice and Cal just went with whatever happened, Stacy constantly asked questions and pressed me about the political situation of whatever was going on over the two days I'd met her. Though I didn't really blame her this time.

"Oh, yeah, news. Some Nazis are coming here again. Just one of them though." I grimaced. "According to Bakuda, the heroes and PRT aren't going to take any shit from her this time. She's only here because the first time she escaped from juvie was arguably her trigger event, and she doesn't deal well with solitary." Or the Warden also thought she was redeemable as well.

"And what if she starts making life difficult for the civilians?" George asked. He'd supposedly cried himself to sleep his first day here, and I wasn't sure what he got sent to Westecher for. He seemed like a more filled-out and less-annoying Greg.

Which frankly were Greg's defining traits, if I remember.

I shrugged. "It'll be hard to continue that behavior if she's in a full-body cast, or I'll see if I can trick her into getting herself moved to Max Sec. This time we'll be the entrenched ones."

We had another villain joining the facility soon, I found out from listening in on guards and staff and putting two and two together. Rune the Nazi, actually named 'Cassie Harren.' Cassie sounded far less intimidating than 'psycho neo-nazi who may have killed people.' Cassie was a powerful touch-based telekinetic with a lot of combat experience, but fortunately she was here alone on a plea deal, a non-brute, and having some second thoughts after her capture and outing as a huge asshole. At least that was the rumor at Westecher. Cal had put out feelers with the former Empire kids still at Westecher, and they weren't too happy about Rune showing up. Or they were at least unhappy about having all their dirty laundry aired. Either way, the Empire kids had been quiet and nice since I got their ringleaders kicked out, so I didn't give them much consideration. If they started plotting something, I'd probably hear it. People were starting to owe me favors

I tried to do a Godfather-style 'day of my daughter's wedding' impersonation when a former Empire guy had asked for a mini-toaster on loan, and the others broke out laughing, which ruined my concentration. The poor guy pissed his pants halfway through the impersonation, so I guess that was a standing ovation in juvie terms.

He did eventually get his mini-toaster, once we figured out a means of payment.

We apparently had the best smuggling ring in the facility, and so Clarice had the bright idea of expanding into information brokering. It was interesting to hear all the gossip and speculation from the facility, sort of like a puzzle.

For the first time in a while, I felt like I had a good idea of what was going on inside Westecher, with a little bit of control.

So what happened the next moment completely blindsided me.

"Hey, is that Flechette by the hoops?" Cal asked, looking up from the English paper he was working on. I'd tried to not think about Flechette since she'd been avoiding me

"Yeah," Clarice whispered in my ear. "Doesn't she look kinda… drunk?"

" 'Ey!" The clearly drunk Ward shouted in our direction. "Need'a talk!"

—— — - - - -

A/N: So, just so you guys know, the deal offered is actually a good deal, and perfectly safe for Taylor or any other powered individual. Except she's now paranoid about walking over a burning bridge. Two steps forward, one step back, I guess.

859

Somewhat Disinterested

Apr 24, 2017

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Somewhat Disinterested

May 7, 2017

#3,035

yup, no idea where I'm going with this. May have to edit the beginning as well.

Crouching Tiger goes to Prison 25

Bakuda spoke up from where she was sitting, clicking her pen repeatedly. "Confoam bombs, boss? Or nastier stuff… I'm not a fan of that arrogant twit. Probably thinks I'm not worth her time."

Click-Clack, Click-Clack, went the pen.

I grimaced and shook my head. "Long story short, that measure will lead to a lot of consequences. I'll need to rely on the troopers." Which actually meant I'd be relying on my regeneration if Troopers didn't notice an issue fast enough. Nice guys, lazy shots. I was thankful they were never trusted with bullets.

"Hey, uh, how's everything going?" I asked her when I figured she could hear me. The asian gang she'd been hanging out with were observing the two of us from a distance.

"'M fine… Fine. Shad'dap!" She staggered over to me and gripped the fabric of my jumpsuit with a hand, before letting go and shuffling back. Movies had 'drunk' characters act in a clumsy and exaggerated manner. Flechette, was clearly plastered, but there were only brief moments when she'd lose control of her motor skills.

"You seem a little drunk…" I said. It was an understatement. She looked like shit. When Dad had come home drunk, we'd never had these conversations. He was never an aggressive drunk, and I had no idea how to deal with one now.

"I'm fine!" Flechette muttered and looked at me with unfocused eyes, taking a fast step back, as if she were unbalanced. I'd heard of alcohol poisoning before, and she looked close, at least to me.

I grabbed onto her shoulders to steady her. "Flechette, are you ok?"

"Don't touch- Well-I'm, I'm fine!" Flechette shouted as she punched me in the shoulder.

That punch hurt. A lot.

Huh, I was bleeding.

And I blacked out just as an incredible amount of pain hit.

— - — -

"-d do you have any fucking idea what you just did?!" The Warden bellowed at Flechette. I craned my head from where I was to see that she was sobbing in her little confoam cocoon. Should I feel sorry that she was crying? I mean, she hit me with something hard enough I blacked out, but she was pretty.

Wow, I'd never seen him that mad before. Also, I hadn't seen the Warden from this angle. I was usually more… upright? Upright. I think my mind was loopy from drugs.

Drugs, why drugs… Kinda numb, I felt… Oh hey, I was in some sort of nurse's office.

Not fun, unless I got lollypops.

"Uh, fill me in boss-manny-man. I have noooooo idea what just happened." I mumbled. Am I high?

"Well, I'm glad you're awake at the very least, Miss Terror," The Warden said as an aside in my direction. "The doctor was able to extract the pencil and you-"

The light became slightly less blinding, and I saw medical instruments, bland white walls, and I felt… stuff on me. Oh. I was definitely in a doctor's office. "Giemme out." I said as fast as my slurred voice could manage.

The doctor, who in hindsight I felt very sorry for, spoke up. "Sorry Miss Terror, we can't let you leave just yet, we need to check up and possibly cut some-"

I couldn't help but grow seven inches. God, there were needles in my skin. There were needles in my skin. "I want to leave this room with these devices, now," I demanded. "And I don't care where you take me, or who I'm with." It took every ounce of will to not have electricity spark all over my body to get everything out and away.

The Warden nodded at the prison nurse and doctor. A door opened and I staggered out of the room, ripping out the needles in my arms myself.

A few minutes later, the Warden, Flechette, and I were sitting alone in his office. Flechette was still sobbing, and I was ever so slowly shrinking to my normal height. I really felt for her, here and now. I could have pulled a Miss Militia and yelled at her for her fuckup so I could relish in the irony, but I would have hated myself in the morning.

But, I was definitely using the fact that she stabbed me to get the PRT to back the hell off of conscripting me for Endbringer battles. It might fuck over Flechette, but I wouldn't get that lucky twice.

Also, she stabbed me with her powers, which was a dick move.

Still, I really wanted to forgive Flechette. I'd seen Emma show off fake tears to mess with me, as well as Sophia's fake tears in her effort to get me mobbed by the law during the initial stages of my trial. But today's performance would have been oscar-worthy if Flechette had been faking. Her eyes were blotchy, her face red and scrunched up, and snot was smeared around her nose. Pretty girl, ugly crier.

"Where'd you get the alcohol, Flechette?" The Warden's voice became soft, for the first time since I'd known him.

"A gang…" She sniffed. The Warden shot me a look, but I shook my head in negation when Flechette was preoccupied sobbing. "Am I going to have to leave?"

The bald man sighed. "It depends on how much supervision and control you have from here on out. I'll be honest and say I was expecting you to relapse sooner. More importantly, are you going to lash out at Terror again?"

"… No." And I noticed Flechette's hands were handcuffed for the first time. Brute three.

"Then I think you should talk to each other now, to avoid this conflict in the future." What a weird world.

"Uh, Flechette?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

"Why'd you avoid me the past few weeks?"

"Thought you'd take your anger out on me. Over the whole Sophia thing."

"But why'd-"

"I was just fucking projecting," she said bitterly. "Didn't believe Smins until just now when you had the gall to ask me what was wrong, instead of beating me down or at least not being that nice. Fuck, did I ever mention half the New York team hit on me, and I just had to sit there and take it? God forbid I be New York's Bitch Ward. The other half thought we'd be best friends, each and every one, and I just couldn't take the forced pleasantries constantly being around them. Fuck. And they probably were being nice, and I just read into it all too much, and-"

"Still better than Shadow Stalker." I interrupted before she beat herself up too much.

"And you can still joke about that utter cunt… God, I'm so fucked up," Flechette whispered. "I can't be a hero like this, and I hate it, and I hate being alone. But I have nothing else, no one else. Those gang kids wouldn't give a shit but for my powers, and I think the Protectorate's the same. I'm a fucking tool."

I leaned over to give her a hug, then realized I had Brute Six manacles on. So I just bumped shoulders with her.

Goddamn, was I high right now from the anesthesia.

"So why'd you start drinking again? No judgement heeere," I giggled. "I'm probably high as a kite right now from whatever the doctor gave me. Totally get why you'd wanna be drunk right now." I'd freak out later about a doctor stabbing and injecting me with something that would probably hurt everything inside of me, but everything was clouds, numbness, and roses at the moment.

"I just, really wanted to not feel anything again, like it would take pressure off me. And when I had one drink, I wanted ten after it… Felt great until it wasn't working anymore. I'm fucking awful. Fuck."

I gently bumped her head with mine until she looked up from her self-pity sobbing party. "Wanna eat with some other awful people? My table's got a former Nazi, a mega-megaloman-bomber-bomb… person," those words were hard when I was juiced up, "some kids who probably did some real dark shit, like, sacrifices to Satan to get girlfriends, some girl who slept around and fought her parents, and a spreeeee killer with, like, the biggest manacles you've ever seen?" I know killing people wasn't funny, but I would have found anything funny at the time. I'd reflect on how I was an awful person for making fun of Emma and the others' deaths later.

I'd probably have to nap soon, too. These drugs must have been tinker tech like Armsmasters, not that they worked when he first used them on me. But I was smaaaaalll now, human sized instead of awesome-dragon sized. Just a tall, skinny scarred girl without a mask.

After what was probably a second, I said. "I'm Taylor, by the way. Not that you wouldn't know."

"Lily." The girl whispered.

"That's a pretty-pret name." I said. Was I hitting on Flechette? Should I be? I wasn't sure.

Lily sniffled again. "Yeah, I'd like that. To join your table," she croaked out. "Hey, you know what's funny? After all that shit I gave you for being a villain, I'm gonna have Rune as a roommate."

"Well, I woulda been a shit roomie." I murmured into her shoulder. "Like, a lot of loud sex. With sexy people. Or I'd fart a lot in my sleep and smell up the place. Thhhhbbb-" My forehead dropped onto Lily's lap, and I tried snuggling on it.

I think I purred, and I heard the Warden's voice for some reason."Let's get you back to your-"

I didn't remember much of the day after that.

— — - — -

Three days later, I walked up to a blonde girl sitting alone in a corner bleacher during Courtyard time. She wore a plain domino mask and her villain jumpsuit. But for the self-important sneer she was showing the rest of the Courtyard, Rune looked less imposing than I thought an actual Nazi cape would, although photos of her previous wizard outfit were incredibly stupid.

"I heard you called Thomas Billin a faggot." Thomas was the gay guy in Westecher who had weeks earlier told me he was saving himself for Legend, and that being friends with me would be awkward. Frankly, my leering had been a little rude, but that was water under the bridge. My network got him a cheap full-bodied Legend poster, and everything between us was all roses and gushing over Legend's latest public announcement to the press in the TV room. I was worried Clarice would mind the others in the room staring, transfixed, at the hero until I noticed her drooling as well.

And I hate to stereotype, but his skills as a gossip were beautiful. Regardless, even if Rune said such a thing to someone I hated, I'd put my foot down anyway.

"I may have. Wha'dya even care? Hurt his precious snowflake fee-fees?" She sneered at me, with her hands gripping the bleacher, white-knuckled.

Nazis. I decided to go for a cheerful grin without sharp teeth. "Well, I happen to care that stupid, pointless things keep getting me involved and dragged to the Warden's office for chats. Do you know how difficult it is to wash out confoam from long hair with Westecher soap?" I had my own soap thanks to the smuggling rings, but she didn't need to know that.

"And I'm to be an inconvenience? Bitch. That was a pathetic intimidation attempt. Hook'll eat you for breakfast."

If Hookwolf was anything other than a faraday cage, he'd last two seconds against me if I were sufficiently motivated. Half a second if I could hit him with a strong enough change in air pressure to make him explode. "If you continue to act out, you become one."

Cassie Heren gave me a nasty smile. "Like I said, pathetic. Hardly any bark, and zero bite. Think you really can beat Kaiser, you flat dyke? He's fought a fucking Dragon and won. I can fly out of here whenever I want. Fought off more gangs for years than you can count. We'll fight Endbringers-"

It occurred to me that Kaiser losing his leg to me wasn't common knowledge. Or the fact I'd fought against Alabaster and crushed Nachter. In what organization would everyone know every operation? Certainly not Rune.

I stepped on one of her feet and leaned in until I was two inches from her face. We could both hear her bones creak slightly under my weight, but credit to Cassie for not crying immediately. "Go ahead, fly to Kaiser, but remember he has always lost against me. He sent Nachter and Alabaster and they lost, I ripped off his leg when he wouldn't get the fuck out of my way, and every Empire member in this facility is gone along with several of his guards." It hadn't been hard to find out who on the roles had disappeared after the Alabaster break-in, it just took time to make sure they weren't actually on vacation.

I pressed down a little harder and, ah, there's the whimper of pain. There'd be a lot more guilt for what I was going to do if Cassie hadn't been a Nazi. "I'm not going to 'defeat the Empire' and throw you all in jail when you step out of line in some bullshit heroic attempt to save the day, or take you on for some reputation bump or territory, and I don't care what fucked-up things you believe in your head as long as you don't say them.

"I have no plans, or ambitions besides enjoying my stay in Westecher," I continued. "No. I'm going to hurt you, and keep hurting you until you beg the Warden to leave. And I'll enjoy hurting every Empire flunky you manage gather around you as well. But they know from before with Nachter, which is why you're alone today. There's no Medhall or Othala to run to, no redo for fuckups."

Now she understood. I had an organization at my back, and she didn't. Rune wasn't used to fighting alone like that. "That's not-"

I twisted my heel slightly, and heard a sharp gasp for my efforts. Now I sorta understood why Bakuda gloated so much when things went right for her. "Fair? Not how heroes do things? Or prisons gangs? Or villains? I don't give a shit. People like you will only stop pushing after I step on you." I pushed my foot down a little more, and Cassie's eyes shot pure venom at me as a vein in her forehead pulsed. Must've hurt.

"Go on, cry or use a parahuman power, I dare you. Make this easier for me," I hissed as I leaned even closer. "The Warden cares about only one thing here." The one thing I had a monopoly on, reformed Capes. Bakuda and I were certainly not going to join a gang anytime soon, and Flechette and I had reached an accord of sorts, even if she'd probably take a break from heroism for a while. Amble was… more inclined to run than do anything else.

"And that would be what... Strength, money?" Cassie hissed through the pain.

"You think I'd make it easy? You'll figure out yourself." I hopped off the foot and stepped away from the bleachers, glancing back for a parting shot. "And don't think you can mess with Flechette. The girl can throw and stab like no one's business."

With my gang-boss duties over for the day, it was time to publicly suck at basketball.

— - - — —

A/N: So, Lily gets her day in the limelight. Joy?

Not super happy how this turned out, but I'm open to criticism, as usual.

Last edited: May 8, 2017

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Somewhat Disinterested

May 7, 2017

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Threadmarks JailDragon 26 [Interlude]

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Somewhat Disinterested

May 8, 2017

#3,155

Interluuuuuude! Just like with the last chapter, I maaayyy have to edit some stuff, but I think pretty much everything I wanted is there.

Thanks to Char-Nobyl , NemoMarx and Assembler for serving as Betas

Crouching Tiger goes to Prison 26 [Interlude]

Clarice

Clarice was sixteen and in love, and in a nice juvenile detention center safe from every problem back in New York until she had to return.

She hummed an old German folk tune as she went through the Westecher lunch line. No one called her names, not even the Empire kids who knew of her parents' families. The non-white kids warmed up to her since she'd started hanging out in Taylor's gang, which was also a plus.

It was much better than when she was fourteen and in love. Explaining to the dreamy hispanic boy she met at the mall that her parents were kinda-sorta… Nazis wasn't fun. It didn't help she still had an accent from living the first six years of her life in Germany. Clarice's parents weren't so deep into Gesellschaft that she went to the camps, but she still worried that one day they'd figure out how little she cared for Nazism and ship her back to Germany.

There were rumors of what happened to people at those places.

And Uncle Brad was even worse than her parents. The less said about that disgusting bucket of grease the better. After Clarice got old enough to figure out what the stuff he said around her meant, she'd avoid him whenever she could. The final nail in the coffin was when he took her to a New York fighting pit when she was twelve and her parents were out of town, before he'd been outed and unsuccessfully sentenced to the Birdcage. That day she was certain she'd never be a Nazi. There was nothing amusing about forcing dogs or people to tear into each other for sport.

It was disconcerting being surrounded by relatives who were all about unity, pride, and strength while feeling none of those things. Clarice used to be happy and carefree, but it all changed when she returned from the fighting rings, and she noticed how different her parents were from other adults. Something was very wrong with either her, or her parents, and public school provided the answer.

By the end of middle school a year later, the other kids at school knew her family was racist, and either kept away or treated her like shit. She had no friends, and wasn't 'strong enough' to hang out with the neo-nazi kids her parents would approve of. She was just short and curvy, with a cute face and nice brown hair. She didn't openly oppose her super villain backed parents, because what could a thirteen year old girl with a slight German accent do against hardened, brainwashed killers besides bleed on them?

At the start of high school, Clarice began to fear what her family would do if they wrote her off as an Aryan failure just as much as if they took an interest in her. The stress mounted, so she looked for an outlet.

She took to anonymous sex with other kids over the internet as well as writing to cope with the stress, looking for some sort of friend, or a safe way to run from home. The Wards only took parahumans and the civilian foster care system was riddled with abuse and neglect, not that Clarice thought the local social workers stood a chance against card-carrying Gesellschaft members. And cute teenage runaways often led to forced prostitution, or worse.

Life wasn't a Disney film with princesses and dragons, it seemed.

Well, it was like that, but not the way Clarice initially thought.

Not that the forced prostitution couldn't happen if she stayed at home. Some days Clarice worried she'd have to sell her body for her parents' cause in Brockton Bay under Kaiser. Again, those kinds of things were just rumors like 'the camps' back in Germany, but Clarice knew without a doubt her parents didn't love her. They hardly questioned her when she went roaming around the city, simply happy she wasn't into 'those drugs' or 'those neighborhoods.' It wouldn't look good if a Moller was seen there.

Two boys made eyes with her as she passed by their tables in the Westecher lunchroom, but Clarice simply waved to each of them and kept walking. She didn't need or want what they offered. Well, to some degree she did, but that was a discussion with Taylor that would happen much later. Or with Dr. Smins, now that she thought about it.

Of course her obsession with sex wasn't healthy, and Clarice took care before Westecher to hide the fact that she liked girls as well, but it was something that could be covered up easier than drugs or politics. She found Taylor's journal online when it leaked, and for once she felt like someone would understand how she felt.

Then that Queen Bitch at school named Anika framed Clarice as some sort of cheap whore, which led to some unpleasant altercations with male classmates the following week. Inspired by Taylor's journal, Clarice got revenge by seducing Queen bitch's boyfriend, and then things got… ugly. Jail time for him, juvie for her, and the wrath of her parents to enjoy when she got back.

So now Clarice was in juvie. Her parents paid for it because they thought she'd warm to the Empire presence there out of necessity, or at least be cowed into submission, but Clarice found a third option. She skipped over to the corner table she'd been eating at lately, taking care not to spill anything.

'What do you like to do, for you know, entertainment, or when you're bored? Your hobbies, I guess.' After her run-in with the nurse's office, she was considering going into emergency health care. The nurse outfits were far less sexy than certain magazines led her to believe. She also read that nurses could spot and report cases of child abuse before things got too bad, so that was a plus, not that her parents would hit her enough for nurses to notice.

"Hey sexy dragon," Clarice whispered into Taylor's right ear as she sat down at Taylor's table. She was planning on spending tonight with Taylor again. It wouldn't be one of 'those nights,' so she didn't have to bribe Bakuda to sleep at her boyfriend's room. Then again, why am I paying for that? I suspect Bakuda is playing me...

Taylor blushed and squirmed. "Clarice, staaaap. Why do you do this to me?" She whined.

'First off: No, I'm not taking advantage of desperate people like that. Second off: I'm not becoming a crime boss. That's the last thing I want to do. I just want to do my time and leave. Third? I-I just... Fuck.' The imposing girl before her trailed off, and Clarice thought she'd die, or even worse, have to finally submit to the Westecher Empire members.

The cape spoke again before Clarice could fall into even more despair over her options. 'I'll get them to back off. Is tomorrow at the Courtyard good? I kind of want to look up some more stuff right now, and it'll be easy to find these people if they're all in one place.'

Clarice numbly sat down at the computer beside the girl, and looked up cat videos. It couldn't have been that easy.

But it was that easy. Within days, the Nazis were toast, and Clarice only got pummeled once before Taylor consolidated power.

I can certainly settle for you not holding your second promise. This is the best gang ever. "Here. I'll make it up to you," Clarice said as she opened Taylor's milk carton and put a straw in it after she set her tray down. Everyone thought the manacles were stupid, even the guards, but Bakuda had been right about them being kind of hilarious. And Clarice knew Taylor could just break out of them when she felt like it anyway, so what was the harm?

"At least I can move my fingers, I guess." Flechette groaned from a few feet away. That girl was going to wear manacles for the rest of her stay at Westecher, to go with daily checks of her room by guards, according to the rumors.

Listening in on rumors was fun. Rumor had it that Taylor went toe-to-toe with half the Empire and drove them off. All by herself.

Flechette, the hero, was new to the table, and frankly, Clarice hated her. She didn't deserve Taylor, and after Flechette's little pity party was over, Clarice would have words with the girl for stabbing the first good really person to come across her life. Not that she blamed Taylor for wanting to bang the girl. She was damn fine, despite being a worrisome bitch. 'I'm scared Taylor will hurt people, but won't help anyone while I drown myself in alcohol, boo hoo me. In fact, I'll stab the poor girl for grabbing onto me when it looks like I'm about to pass out.'

That's how Clarice expected Flechette to talk to people. Then again, after Taylor had gotten off the drugs, she and Flechette talked alone for an entire Courtyard period. Even from a distance, Flechette looked like she wanted to cry the whole time and looked very, very sorry.

I still want to punch the fuck out of her stupid, lush face though.

For all Clarice knew, Flechette might reform like Bakuda had, and be less of a pompous bitch. And she'd be in good company. It wasn't like the gang's girls and Cal looked good on paper. Clarice had seen the videos from the Cornell capture of Bakuda. That girl was seriously psycho.

The hair-trigger Tinker rolled her eyes. "You're like a stray idiot magnet, Terror, I swear." Bakuda and Clarice had wide philosophical differences with regards to Taylor, but they were united in their dislike of Flechette.

Clarice couldn't help but remember her first conversation with Bakuda. The day after Clarice started brushing Taylor's hair she made a friendly offer to brush the psycho's hair as well. 'Look bitch,' The skinny asian girl snarled as she jabbed her finger in Clarice's face. 'I know you're trying to milk the boss for protection, and you'll drop her the second a better option comes along. It's what people do when they have nothing to offer. We're not friends, or allies until I say otherwise. So stay the fuck out of my way and don't think your manipulative little ho tricks will work on me.'

The Tinker had issues, and Clarice was worried that Bakuda was going stir-crazy from being cooped up in Westecher. The girl constantly lived on a downward emotional trajectory if she didn't get to blow things up. Bakuda would randomly rant and rave about limitations and fools keeping her from greatness until people calmed her down, and the exhibitions certainly helped, but Clarice was a little worried.

Cal was playing with fire, that one. The bomb girl was more villainous than Nachter or that new 'Rune' bitch was pretending to be. Clarice shuddered to think what Gesellschaft would do with Bakuda had she been born German.

But Taylor.

She was beautiful.

Not physically beautiful. Even without the horrific scars Taylor would never be pretty like Clarice herself, or model-gorgeous like that utter, heinous bitch Emma Barnes had been. But Clarice didn't care.

She was kind, thoughtful, and iron-willed. She decided that Clarice, by virtue of existing, wasn't a lackey or a quick lay and made sure to include her in the growing social circle that had started at the bleachers. Taylor insisted that Clarice had inherent value as a person despite what anyone else said. So Taylor was beautiful to Clarice, more than all the other plastic-faced high school bitches Clarice used to secretly lust after.

For the first time in her life, Clarice didn't cringe around other people, terrified of what they'd do to her if they found out her secrets or if they felt she needed to be kicked down. Taylor told her to feel like a real person instead of some hopeless doll that people extracted whatever use they wanted. She needed someone like that in her life, and she didn't even know it until it was almost too late.

In fact, Taylor was her last chance.

It was ironic that just when Clarice was actually willing to give up and let herself be used for sex, obedience, or a face to kick that the girl she turned to for protection wanted none of those things.

So intimacy was now a joy for her, something that she could use and share to make Taylor feel wanted as well. Obedience was a joke amongst Taylor's gang, despite the fact that any of them would follow her orders unquestioningly. The best past-time for the gang was to see who could rib Taylor the most, though Clarice still cheered whenever Taylor made a basket in the courtyard. Taylor needed encouragement, and was actually getting pretty good at the sport.

Taylor had the cutest blush whenever she thought someone was giving her 'the look', and she'd blush even more when Clarice would nibble at her ear and allude to perverted things they'd do when they had time for each other.

She was also a parahuman. But Taylor didn't really act like a typical parahuman. Clarice hadn't believed Cal Gordon when he alluded to that in their first conversation. She was determined to be friends with Cal as well, and thus far they'd bonded over handling the neuroses of their parahuman partners. He'd helped her for no reason within days of her arrival. Cal was a schemer, like most scrawny boys of the Empire, but there was something in him that Clarice liked besides the acknowledgement that Empire dogma was stupid.

'Yeah, Terror's a bit weird.' The boy with hair just better than a buzzcut drawled as the two of them watched the news in the TV room. It was some report about a crime wave in LA. 'But if you're looking for a break from the Heil Hitler Rah-Rah Hate Wagon, she's the girl to beg to take you in. Just do me a favor.'

Clarice flattened down her prison jumpsuit to show off her curves, and remembered she'd be willing to do anything. The other white guys in that mixed gang had tried to use her for favors, but she knew within a minute around them they'd throw her to a curb once the Empire came knocking. Amble's a pushover, and Flechette probably won't protect anyone non-asian. 'What's the favor?'

Cal Gordon snickered. 'Don't bring up this conversation, and don't try and flirt with me too. Bakuda's not the girl you wanna mess with fighting over a guy.'

Of course, Taylor could act scary, but it didn't define her. All the other capes Clarice had known or heard about were… wrong. Brainwashed, twisted and terrifying to be around. Or creepy in the case of the heroes running around and acting so forced. Capes were violence and pain and will personified behind a dehumanizing mask. But Taylor didn't even bother with a mask. She was just a kind and introverted girl who had been broken like Clarice almost had been broken in New York. Clarice, like every other reader of that diary, had been privy to Taylor's innermost fears and thoughts. And in a crazy way, it gave her strength to know what Taylor had been through and survived.

Clarice hoped she could one day be honest with Taylor, the thoughts and secrets she didn't even dare write down in a coded journal. Maybe after they ran away to some part of New York City safe from her family and Gesellschaft.

Wouldn't it be romantic?

— - — - - —

That night, Clarice sat on Taylor's bed, with her hair sliding through her fingers. It was beautiful hair, and when Taylor was fast asleep she'd bury her face in it and dream of the fast-approaching day she'd fearlessly tell her parents to their shocked, bigoted faces that she was in love with a girl. A girl who grew taller, and stronger when angered, covered in golden scales.

Of course, that hatchet-faced bitch probably already told someone in a letter from her cell in Max Sec. Clarice was not looking forward to her parents visiting next week.

Her knight in shining armor would protect her. Well, golden dragon, more like.

Taylor and Bakuda were discussing some sort of Cal guy, not the same Cal who was dating Bakuda, but a lawyer. Despite being on the periphery of capes, Clarice didn't want to be a part of that culture or get powers herself. So everything Bakuda and Taylor were saying went right over her head.

The only warning she had was Taylor bolting up from her bed.

"Bakuda, Clarice, something's wrong. The-"

CRASH

Bricks flew everywhere, and Clarice was knocked back by some sort of explosion.

"Fon' oo." Said a low and rumbling voice.

That must have been Lung. Ten feet tall and covered in scales and fire, with a maw split two ways and rows of sharp teeth. He had broken down an entire wall of Taylor's cell. Clarice immediately realized this was a jailbreak and recruitment attempt. Well Bakuda, if you ever wanted to leave and be the super villain of your dreams, here's your chance.

"Oo' no' Yzyin, 'eave. 'see's mi'e" You're not Asian. Leave. She's mine.

"I'm not going anywhere. Bakuda's her own person, and this is our fuckin' room you just demolished." That was Taylor, her dragon, seven feet tall and also growing scales. Clarice backed up against a wall she dimly remembered was close to the bathroom door. Was she concussed from a flying brick or just breathing in smoke? She couldn't tell.

"Whadd'ya want?" Came the other villain's voice. Bakuda was angry, even though she was always angry. Clarice looked over to see the psycho holding a plastic bag with one hand and panicked. Any bomb that would take out Lung would take us with it, please, please don't do anything stupid.

"Oo, 'ba'uda." You, Bakuda. The monster growled.

I can do something at least. Clarice scrambled to the massive steel door that separated Taylor's room from the rest of Westecher and pounded on it until her hands bruised, "Help! Get help! There's a super villain here."

There was more shouting behind Clarice's back she couldn't make out, followed by fire spreading through the cell in a blast, and then just as quickly winked out. Was it something Bakuda did with her bombs?

"Clarice, get as far away as you can," Taylor's voice echoed over Lung's roar. The massive steel door couldn't be lock-picked from the inside, and Clarice wasn't thinking straight anyway. What do... I do? What do I do?

There was dust, and smoke, and little flames in odd places. The cell door was locked, Clarice knew, as a general precaution. They'd have to alert the guards in order to open the door, and the guards would have to run all the way to the cell. She vaguely heard shouting in the distance, but it was hard to tell from all the noise.

Fire sprinklers went off, at least, drowning the four of them in water until Lung and Taylor slammed into a wall as they fought and it stopped. Another brick slammed into Clarice's knee and she went down.

Clarice crawled for cover behind Bakuda's charred and upturned bed, despite the pain. Fuck! I can crawl through this, I can do it. Just hold out and try not to make anything worse for the other two. Taylor will win. She always wins.

The little German girl kept her head down as she heard terrifying snarling sounds and explosions, and prayed for something, just once, to go right and rescue them. Legend, Scion, hell, even that stupid bitch Purity or Kaiser himself could show up to save them from Lung. A second roar matched Lung's and there were more sounds of ripping and snarls, crackles, and 'whomfs'.

I'm just a civilian, there's nothing more I can do here. Then it became quiet, but for the sound of Clarice's panicked panting and low coughs through the dust and smoke. What's going on, why's it so quiet?

"'Ools." Fools.

Then a massive silver scaled hand swooped from above, picking Clarice up like a rag doll. The brick to the knee had hurt, but the Lung's heated viselike grip was torture. She couldn't help but scream until her voice cracked, futilely struggling as he pulled her outside with him, into the now-burnt grounds of Westecher. Lung must have been twelve feet tall at this point.

"Oo, come with 'e now, Akuda." You, come with me now, Bakuda. There were rumors according to Uncle Brad that Lung ate his enemies or any poor white girl unfortunate to meet him at night. If the burns or hits to the head weren't going to kill her, Clarice now had to worry about cannibalism.

Out of the corner of Clarice's eye, she saw Taylor had backed up, covered in golden scales, snarling as sparks raced along her body. Bakuda was looking between the two of them, Lung and Taylor, as if she was deciding something.

I'm sorry Taylor, I tried. I'm sorry I'm so useless. Lung squeezed his hand, and Clarice felt parts of her chest crack. Someone was screaming, then whimpering like they were in pain. Was it Clarice?

"-He's going to kill her if-" Clarice's head buzzed and she saw stars for a moment. "-don't leave with him," Bakuda shouted over the flames, or was it Taylor? "I can't-"

That's right, Bakuda wouldn't help me anyway. She doesn't care. All I ever had was Taylor.

Taylor was right there not ten feet from Clarice, and she stood, massive and serpentine, covered in soot and scales like a real dragon from a fairytale Clarice always dreamed of, with eyes reflecting fire and fury. An influx of agony from Lung's heat made Clarice scream in a desperate last wind, and she thrashed as much as she could to try and push her way out. There was no way she hadn't been burned to a crisp already, and she didn't dare look down. Even if she survived the night, she'd have nothing left of herself to offer Taylor.

Just a used up girl with a worthless, burned face. And I'm going to-

Clarice's vision went blank.

She didn't feel herself drop to the ground, but at least she was free of Lung's grip.

She saw… things in the sky she couldn't explain or hope to remember in detail.

-die.

And then she woke to the sounds of fire, screams, and roars.

- - - — — -

A/N: Bet'cha guys weren't expecting that kind of a backstory from Clarice. And now we have the first trigger event I've ever written! Ka-Boom.

Also, how's that for the start of a blah-blah usual-canon Lung fight!? Weren't expecting that, were you?

edit: 301 people reading this at once right when it drops? wooooooowww...

Last edited: May 9, 2017

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Somewhat Disinterested

May 8, 2017

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Threadmarks JailDragon 27

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Somewhat Disinterested

May 11, 2017

#3,465

non-interluuuuuude!!

In which Taylor gets in touch with her feelings.

Crouching Tiger Goes to Prison 27

I thought after I had killed Emma that I would never snap again.

I was wrong. In fact, the anger of that day paled in comparison to what I felt as I saw Clarice get snatched from her hiding place. Was this all we had to look forward to at Westecher, sitting around like ducks for gang recruitment?

Bakuda shouted something at me, but the blood pounding in my ears tuned her out. I was stuck, and I didn't know what to do. It infuriated me, and my mind raced with possibilities.

Lung demanded that Bakuda go with him, and I turned my gaze at Alice. She had been uncertain, but as she watched Clarice scream, she grit her teeth.

But Lung only had eyes for me. He squeezed Clarice again, and we heard a cracking noise. She would die if we didn't get her to a hospital within the hour.

That bastard wanted me to choose. Lung could kill Clarice anyway, take Bakuda, and I'd have lost two of the only people I cared about in seconds. Or he could take Bakuda, and leave me with a mortally injured Clarice, and I'd get to watch her die in pain.

I couldn't do anything, nothing I thought of would work. No plan or attempt at negotiation either would help. If I used a vacuum to suffocate Lung, he'd just squeeze Clarice to death out of spite. Another step forward and he'd hurt her more. Bakuda took steps towards Lung, resigned to her fate as a downtrodden minion for a monster. She didn't look at me, but I think she mumbled an apology.

Then I-

- I picked myself off the ground in time to watch Clarice melt through Lung's fingers like goo.

And Clarice was gone.

I was so angry I couldn't see straight. All I saw was Lung's smug fucking scaly grin as he pointed at Bakuda. Like he could trample all over us and win.

I didn't care that murdering Lung and eating him, ripping him into pieces beneath my claws as he begged for mercy, would probably get me sent to the Birdcage or Max Sec, or shot in the open by Miss Militia. I didn't care whether Lung ran away from tonight after I ripped him to shreds and was captured later. I'd break out, find him, and eat him alive. Grind him into dust. Whatever hurt the most.

I didn't care anymore.

Lung didn't have time to throw another fireball before I was upon him. I ripped into his left eye with my teeth before he was able to bat my head off of his face. Because getting your eyes ripped out hurts, right? I grew another foot as I tried coiling around him, to crush him with everything I could. I was still too small, but I could still fight as I grew.

Electricity coursed through me, lighting up the sky as I ripped into his torso with my front claws and pushed as much current into his chest as I could. He twitched and fell back.

I got a pained roar from Lung for my efforts. Good.

His right hand slammed into my back, shearing off scales, skin, and bits of muscle. Then he grabbed on and tried to burn me alive. It just made me angrier as one of my hind legs found purchase on his back and I ripped into his spine and sent more current into him.

The fire hurt, but I didn't care. I lost an eye, ripped off one of his wings with my teeth, regrew my eye, tore into his shoulder, all while I was on fire.

It was an annoyance and a distraction from me killing Lung. I created a vacuum bubble around us so that he couldn't light me on fire anymore. The heat on my scales was still agonizing as I ripped into him, and he ripped into me.

But I didn't care. I didn't care if it killed me, I was going to eat that bastard alive.

He was regenerating, I was regenerating. That's fine. There were distant shouts, screaming, didn't matter, didn't care. In fact, I was keeping everyone else at Westecher safe by bringing this battle into the grounds away from my cell.

I pushed him back, growing larger, coiling and throwing him down, ripping into his throat, spraying blood so hot it fizzled on our scales.

I ripped off a second wing, Lung roared in pain and tried to escape after slamming me over the head with all of his strength. His wings beat into the air and he pushed off the ground.

That he thought he could leave made me furious. After a second of swaying slightly dazed, I snapped up in the air and grabbed his leg, pulling him as hard as I could back into the ground. Timing it with a current and a massive air-pressure climb and burst around his eyes to make them explode.

He became distracted and I whipped my tail up to strike him in the face and interfere with his wings, ripping into them.

In control of the battle, I ripped into Lung and threw him to the ground. I was much larger than him now, and he felt the fear. I could smell it on him. I tore into his arms, his legs, his chest until I could see his spine. I ripped off each hip after each leg, his roars became more feeble with each moment, mine more triumphant.

There wasn't much left of Lung as he started shrinking back to human form, but he was clearly in pain. A bloodied arm and his upper torso remained along with a barely-discernible face. He was so... small, even as a human. I distantly remembered an ABB member back in Winslow who looked like him.

Winslow, how ironic. He was probably the one who laughed as he passed my locker that day.

Crunch.

Oops, just started on the remaining arm. Lung's feeble moan was music to my ears, and his regeneration could barely keep up with stemming the bleeding.

I took satisfaction that was going to avenge Clarice.

As I was about to bite into Lung's neck and begin the drawn-out death of Lung, a blast of light blinded me and knocked me back off my prize.

I snarled and looked up at the source. If another one of Lung's lackeys interfered with my revenge he'd be a snack as w-

Legend.

He had his glowing left hand raised towards me and had determined demeanor. "Terror, I think it's a good idea to stand down and let me arrest Lung."

In defiance of most common sense that said I couldn't beat a member of the Triumvirate, I slapped a scaly hand over Lung's soon-to-be corpse that covered everything up to his empty eye sockets. I must have been seventy feet long at that point, and still growing. Legend floated closer. Like hell he was going to steal my kill. My jaw couldn't work to make human words, so I tried using air currents.

" 'O." No. Electricity flashed around me in arcs to make my point as I let the single word ring through the air. Lung was mine to torture and kill, not the Protectorate's. I'd make a shrine to Clarice with Lung's bones in my cell later. I'd already killed four people, and this time the kill would be justified and unmourned.

"Taylor, Lung has done terrible things, but he deserves justice, not murder. I don't think you want to go down this route again." Legend said softly.

I snorted and growled, shaking my head, growing another foot. Ten more feet and that stupid blue lightbulb would be within biting distance. Besides, I could crush Lung in my hand at a second's notice.

I had all the power, and I could toy with the little sniveling shit while he begged for his own life. Wouldn't it be ironic for what you did to Clarice, you monster?

Before I could tell Legend to try taking Lung from me, I felt a person-sized person run into my aerokinetic sensing range.

"Okay people, hold the fuck up and don't do anything stupid!" I distantly heard Alice shout from behind me. "This is way above my pay grade, but I'm stepping in." I felt her get closer to me, running. Very well, I decided. Bakuda is smart, so she'd give me good council, hopefully on how to kill and eat Lung the most painfully. She was fifty feet away now, followed by a liquid… thing. Other people were soon milling around near the edge of my range, but they weren't important enough to zap or suffocate. I felt Lung regenerate a little of his necessary systems, so I pumped him with more electricity until the regeneration stopped. Discretely, so that Legend wouldn't have reason to blast me again.

A regenerated eyeball popped from the current, getting another muffled moan from him. I was elated.

Legend chuckled. He clearly wasn't looking at me torturing Lung some more. Fuckin'-PR-filled-bastard-pretty-boy trying to keep me from vengeance. "It seems that way. I flew here when I heard from the Warden there was an attack on the prison by two parahumans. One of them being Lung."

"Yeah, not even close to the story." Alice snapped. "Fuckin' Lung over there showed up to recruit me, and I didn't bow to his scaliness quick enough, so he decided to take this girl Taylor here's been banging hostage." I snorted, but nodded my head. That was a very ineloquent way to sum it up, but I let Bakuda continue. She was mine, and I let her speak for me.

If I was feeling charitable after chasing off Legend, I'd even let her use some pain bombs, or that weird Escher one shed been rambling about before I finally destroyed the pathetic, mewling piece of shit trapped beneath my claws.

Then Clarice would be avenged, and Bakuda would prove for all to see that she was mine and that I protected mine to the death.

Alice continued talking as fast as she could. "So a fight breaks out in our cell, which we certainly weren't escaping from, and he tortures this girl for fun to get me motivated to be his footstool or something. Then she triggers and fuckin' melts in front of us. So Taylor here. Goes. Nuts. And then- I get it, I get it assholes, I'm sorta breaking the conditions of my imprisonment, but where the fuck'm I gonna go when Terror's a massive dragon and Legend's right there!"

Triggers? She died. And I will make a shrine from the remains of Lung for the first girl to love me. And I will guard it as mine, as well as the rest of Westecher from any intruders.

Legend looked over and behind me. "You men and women can stand down, I have everything under control."

Bakuda then takes a deep breath. "Yeah, so, whatever. I'm the fuckin' best negotiator, that's right. Lung gets his ass whupped, and now I'm pretty sure if you don't let her kill Lung she'll be even more pissed and take it out on you. She's not really thinking rationally right now, and I doubt she even realizes that Clarice, the girl she was banging', is still alive."

I gave Bakuda a nice purr in acknowledgement. Damn straight, Clarice was still alive, which means-

She's alive. I risked taking my eyes off Legend to look behind me. "'Ere. 'sh. 'ee." It was pretty loud, but I hadn't spent much time controlling volume on that aspect of my powers.

Bakuda was standing not thirty feet away with a naked and very stricken Clarice hiding behind her. Her eyes darted from mine to Lung's prone form and she shivered.

Clarice had triggered. Was she scared of me? I wasn't able to save her, or help her when it mattered. Was she scared of me?

All I could feel was shame, and… Loathing. Killing Lung wouldn't help her, as long as Lung never returned or was capable to doing this to anyone else.

I faced Legend and threw lightning everywhere around me, as well as wind gusts and a roar. When it quieted down, I intoned, "'F 'e's 'ot 'Aged. I 'ill 'mm." If he's not Caged, I'll kill him.

"Yeah, and you better believe that!" Alice shouted up at Legend, backing me up. Good Bakuda. "She could break out whenever she felt like it and paste Lung again, and no one here could stop her."

The floating hero nodded after some deliberation. I grew a foot during the silence. Really? It's difficult to consider whether you should just let me eat the rest and be done with him? "You have my word. I will advocate for Lung's incarceration in the Cage for this."

Fine. I still win. I made Legend stand down under my terms, and what is mine is now safe from Lung.

I forced myself to calm down, as difficult as it was. Maybe I shrunk a foot or two. Lung was beginning to return to consciousness, so I hissed at him.

"Oo ill o to th' 'ird'age, 'rr I 'll 'ill oo mmsel'." You will go to the Birdcage, or I will kill you myself. That sniveling little sack of shit nodded and coughed up blood.

Sirens entered my awareness. I stepped off of Lung and turned back to the prison. The room was damaged, but could be rebuilt, and it was warm enough that I wouldn't mind staying in the room as it was remodeled.

Legend was still there, to gloat at me as if I was the loser of this round. "I've spoken with Dragon, and she's approved of the design. She also wishes you'd consider joining-"

I felt Bakuda wave him off through the air. "I'll consider it when she puts her ass on the line for me. I'm Terror's lackey now, not the government's."

Ha. Take that, hero.

"I'm feeling magnanimous, since Dragon decided my designs were better than hers. Here's a stasis bomb I was working on with Dragon for the past two weeks. Lung will be too fucked up to do shit for a week, but you can easily move him. I couldn't work out all the kinks for this one, specifically the Lovecraftian bullshit that happens when two large objects get hit, but he'll unable to move, use his powers, or speak." I felt Bakuda throw a ball, and a weird 'vwap'-sounding explosion.

"Very well," Legend said gravely, "we'll take it from here. I'd also ask that you and Terror consider fighting the Endbringers in the future. We're going to need all the help we can get from powerful capes such as yourselves."

That got a snort. Pretty boys weren't going to sway my decision on the Endbringers. Unless Behemoth decided to tap-dance on my face and threaten Clarice, I wasn't doing jack shit with the Protectorate and Empire in range to backstab me. "Pfft," I heard from Bakuda, "I'm only going if golden-boss-girl goes. So… probably not anytime soon, considering how badly you guys have been trying to fuck her over."

Ha! So I do win. Bakuda is mine, as is Clarice. She will sleep on my bed next to me with Clarice and my pile of-

Fuck. I grew another foot in anger. Lung probably burned all my money out of shear pettiness when he first entered. And broke my tea set. But I shook my head and pushed it all aside. There would be time to earn more money, and Clarice was what really made my bed of money a bed for me to sleep on.

Clarice followed behind me at a distance I felt uncomfortable about. I shrunk down to about thirty feet in length so she could ride on me, but she didn't take the hint. Clarice would glance between me and Lung every ten feet we walked. When we get back to my cell, I'll wrap around her, and hold her, tell her I avenged her for Lung, and there'd be nothing-

A couple of mutters and shouts of alarm broke my concentration. About, well, all of the guards were standing in a semicircle around me with foam launchers pointed in my direction, and I distinctly smelled urine as I approached. Brave, but they were an annoyance. I took a step forward, and they took a step back. I'd let that continue, but some would end up walking backward into my cell, and I didn't want those that weren't mine sharing my cell with me.

The Warden stood by the side of the with a megaphone, grim and determined. "Terror," his blaring voice into the night, "we ask that you step away from Clarice Moller so she can get medical help, and that you return to your cell." Brave man, that Warden. He may not have powers, but I could see him strapping on real armor to fight me. I'd respect that enough to let him live with most of his limbs after a fight.

Clarice, who was mine, spoke up before I could explain how stupid it was to try and separate us. "Uh, if it's-it's ok. I can meet with a doctor and the Warden, uh, tomorrow. I don't want trouble. I think I'm ok, now, I don't feel burned anymore. And Taylor's worried about me… So, uh..."

Well, it was decided then. We were going back to my cell to sleep, and Clarice wasn't going to be in danger again.

With a gentle growl, I stalked closer to my room. Fitting that the wall had collapsed enough that I could slide through. The fires were out and the heat had subsided, and I was tired enough to not bother with all the troopers around me. The troopers shouted things to one another, and I ignored them. One blasted containment foam at me when my tail got a bit close to him, but I just redirected a current of air so that all the foam got on the trooper instead. Internally, I chuckled at the irony of him foaming himself. Perhaps he'd have an awkward meeting with the Warden in a foam cocoon soon.

The next trooper to foam me would get nipped at. I had teeth for a reason, and they had rip-able clothes for a reason as well. Fighting with them would be like dessert, if Lung was the full course meal.

"Err- hah.. "wheeze- "uh... Miss Terror?" I recognized the out-of-breath voice. It was Westecher's doctor on staff, a small person in a white coat standing next to a small woman in a white coat and a hat, both carrying some cloths and a large box with a red cross on it. I turned my head to show I had noticed them and they had my full attention. A doctor who could help Clarice in ways I couldn't was fine by me. Still, it was… Annoying that he'd get between myself and Clarice and my cell.

"I, uh, need to check on Clarice's condition to make sure she's healthy." I looked down at Clarice, who nodded after some hesitation and stepped over to them. As she left my side, blushing slightly, I noticed that her more private parts were covered by metal. No, I realized, they were metal, and that was part of her body. It was some part of her power, but that could wait until later.

That fucking worthless piece of meat made her trigger, I reminded myself. And I grew another foot.

The doctor and the nurse rushed forward to wrap a blanket around Clarice and say words to her that I tuned out. I shrunk another ten feet as I realized that Clarice sounded more relieved and calm the longer she spoke to them, though she smelled of fear the entire time.

The troopers allowed me to crawl back to my room, and Bakuda got back from whatever talk she had with Legend so I pointed her with a claw to the Warden. She could handle him with words or whatever.

It was hard to fit in my cell as I was, but I shrank down to about twenty feet long and coiled around the remarkably-intact remains of my bed, to wait for Clarice to join me. She was in my range of detection, talking with the doctors, and I waited. She would be fine, or else.

After another five minutes of talking with shapes I suspected to be Bakuda and the Warden, Clarice returned and stood in the doorway. Her arms were folded, and she shivered a bit.

"So, I guess you are my shining dragon," she said.

I nodded my head, and pushed her inside towards me, purring and nudging Clarice with my snout until she joined me on my burnt bed. Bakuda was outside shouting things at the Warden, probably about fixing the wall, or some tinker shit.

"Could- could you shrink a little more?" Clarice whispered after she climbed into the nook I had made for her with my coiled body. I nodded and shrunk down another foot. She clutched onto me and cried, muttering in German and shaking. I licked her face to let her know I was there for her until she fell asleep.

And in my heart I knew the next sniveling worm to hurt Clarice would die without the mercy of a painfully slow death inside the Birdcage.

— - - — - -

A/N: I may have made Taylor a little too nuts in this chapter, but I kind of like it.

Also, here's what I was thinking of having Clarice be when she triggered

T-1000 baby!

I've held off on showing off her capabilities, but she does have metal-Changer, and decent enough regeneration to heal from burns. I do like the idea of her being able to transform into a metal tiger, (just because it would be funny.)

Last edited: May 11, 2017

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Somewhat Disinterested

May 11, 2017

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