CANS OF WORMS
by Louis IX

Check first chapter for disclaimer and global warnings.

Mirror Mirror

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When Push Came to Shove

They pushed me.

Emma, Sophia, and Madison.

They pushed me.

Not in my locker, contrarily to their initial idea – because they hadn't realized immediately that our lockers were quite small, included built-in shelves, and the whole things weren't made to play hide-and-seek. Like, at all. Besides, I was used to having mine vandalized, so I never used it. Never approached it, even.

They pushed me.

Instead of a locker, they chose a toilet stall that they had prepared beforehand. Before the winter break, even. Apparently, they had their own way of getting into the festive Christmas mood… by emptying several trashcans' worth of used tampons, pads, and cafeteria refuse into one stall. And let it be said that, in the bathroom upstairs, the things had walls that went from floor to ceiling – the cubbyhole-like panes with holes above and below were quite modern, compared to the decrepit ruin Winslow already was.

They pushed me.

And, of course, they had made sure that the lock was reversed, so that they could push me, lock me in, and leave me to rot. Quite literally.

They pushed me.

Into the deep end.

And as I was fighting them, breaking teeth and nails (don't get ideas, it was only mine), I was seeing myself in the wide mirror over the sinks. My heart sank as I saw the human beanpole I looked like, expertly (and violently) manhandled by Sophia so that I could die.

My mind broke, and, for a moment, I saw myself in two places at once. One was knee-deep in something that could only be seen as a bioterrorist hazard. Another was in front of the sinks. I could see in the mirror the girls mocking me through the door, knocking at it, and laughing at my pleas for help. I knew, and they knew, that my cries were for naught, because the bathroom was on the upper floor, where only disused and decrepit classrooms were. No one would come. That's why I went there, usually: to be freed from them. Not this time, apparently. And not ever again.

As soon as they left, my fractured mind resolved the current situation by having the one facing the mirrors turn around and pull the door open. And mine opened too, allowing me to hurry out of there.

I'm now facing the very same mirror, and I'm still seeing double.

My clean self jumped away from the filth rolling out of the stall she has opened, but given how my dirtied self has hurried out, clean-Taylor is behind her, and it shows. I'm seeing from the eyes of both girls, and until clean-Taylor is back at her place, I'm going to get the mother of all headaches.

I'm trying to avoid a complete split of personality, here, even though I suspect that I'm the one who's real (and filthy) and the other is something that comes from the situation. Was she the result of a trigger event? Was I a cape, now?

I wince at the spike of pain in my head and resolve to think about this later, when my two images will be merged. For that, though, I needed to clean myself up – no need to force my other self to trudge through the mess just to satisfy my needs. And no bus will take me home if I reek from the mess.

Given that the bell has tolled already, classes are in session, and I feel reasonably secure enough to remove my jeans to clean them in the sink. Clean-Taylor copies the movement, both to help my current headache and to get water onto her garment – we aim to look the same, remember?

Soon, we are one again, and equally disgruntled at leaving the school in wet pants to catch the bus home. I see it when I look at my reflection in the metallic frame of the bus seat in front of me: mirror-Taylor makes the grimaces that I feel doing but don't, and it makes me smile instead. This level of discrepancy is acceptable enough for the accompanying discomfort to be completely ignored.

Hey, I'm a parahuman! That means that I can do things, right? Which ones, that remains to be determined. Once home, I will jump right to it… in the privacy of my bedroom, of course. And after a change of pants. And a shower, too – I still shudder at the phantom feeling of all that crap around my legs.

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Testing… One, Two, Three

The first test I attempt is the possibility to express my power through all kinds of mirror – it wouldn't do for me to expect my power to work, and have it fail at an inopportune moment because the thing is broken, for instance. And I'll have to test that too.

I have high hopes for this, since, during the bus ride, it had worked through a tube of gleaming metal. The part that made the grimace was on the flattest part, there, and I realized that I couldn't do much with mirrors that weren't flat. Since I was managing my body in the only way I knew of, moving a body that changed shape with each step was going to be quite difficult.

Still, once that was determined, I easily found out that I could express my power through any surface that was both flat and reflective. Even the small hand-held mirrors usually used for outside makeup touches (by people like Emma, but not me… yet).

It was automatic, even. As part of my power, I have the ability (which I will call Perception) to sense the presence of potential duplicates around me. And, with a thought, I could perceive through their eyes too, gaining knowledge about things behind me. That will be quite useful, I think.

The second test comes by itself as I am moving a hand-held mirror around, in the bathroom, to inspect my hair, especially behind my head – you can't do so without two mirrors, at least. Doing so magnifies the echoing feeling I have when facing my reflection, and I can feel quite a vertigo when the mirrors are facing each other, offering me an infinity of reflections. I can feel that each of them has the potential of acting individually, but I still have one brain, and could certainly not manage an infinity of actions, much less an infinity of images from two infinities of eyes. Given how I struggled with just one, in school, I instinctively know that it would be quite bad if I tried to do so.

The third test is in relation to the previous one, and is about my ability to act separately in the mirror than in real life. I dubbed it Dissociation, for obvious reasons (yes, my mother made me read heavy books, sorry but I'm not sorry about that). Thankfully, I have already determined that it's still my mind behind the two reflections. It means that I am not starring in a horror movie, at least. Or so I believe anyways – although you can cut me some slack for believing so, at times, given Emma and Sophia's bullying.

My Dissociation seems to work more easily. Without pain, I mean. I guess that it's because I'm in a less stressful situation, right now. If, as some say, capes are driven to conflict, I should look at how to use that in stressful situation. By training, perhaps.

Alone? With the Wards? With dad?

Questions for later. Now is the time for experiments. I have already established that each of us (me and my double) can move around differently from the other, without feeling any pain. Discomfort begins when there are real differences between the instances, especially visual differences that can't be shaken away… such as a completely different outfit.

The discomfort diminishes, though, instead of going through the roof, when either me or my double steps away from the mirror's line of sight. With a small mirror, it's quickly enough. And I still perceive from both sets of eyes.

Actually, and because I have seen many movies involving such (I blame my father for his love of Earth Aleph's imports), I dub the place where she is "mirror dimension". It contains everything my reality holds, but can move in strange ways, especially if you hold two mirrors.

When a double is walking around in the mirror dimension, I don't see her reflection in the mirror where she has started from. Thankfully, I can recall her rapidly if needed, reinitializing that mirror. It's painful, though, like a sudden spike of headache, lasting the barest time necessary to replace my reflections at their normal place.

Yes, plural, because I was already experimenting with two mirrors. And, strangely enough, one reflection could leave her frame, and head to another, shaking hands and smiling.

The next series of test I dub Interaction. My clone, back in Winslow, was able to open the door on my side, by acting on hers. Apparently, we can choose for our actions to apply in the reflection, or not. Each difference from normal increases the discomfort I feel, though. It means that I feel better if she opens a door and the movement is reflected on my side, than if she does it only on her side (the only objects not subjected to this are personal belonging, like clothes, for obvious reasons).

I can do the same, too: opening doors on my side only. Not that interesting, for now, as I have no proof that another person could move in the mirror reality like I do and necessitate that I'd flee that way. Still, I can.

My double can also use equipment on one side, and choose either to do nothing on mine, to reflect the effect, or to show the equipment and effect. Taking a knife, I try all three effects on a slice of bread.

It's quite scary, too. Equipped like that, my double can actually stab anyone without being seen. Thanks to the existence of the "mirror dimension", she can even walk around the city and do so while I stay safe at home – not that I would do it, though (even if I entertain the notion of searching for my tormentors, that way, it's short-lived, as I'm not like that).

I'm close to identity disorders if I call "her" another version of myself whom I direct with the same brain I use for myself. But I have to do so for you to understand that I am safe at home, while another version of myself walks around another version of the city… where everything is the same, but at the same time different. Signs are written backwards, for instance.

Moving "her" around requires concentration, though, which causes a problem when I'm surprised by the front door opening and my dad calling my name from downstairs. My double, who had been in the process of crossing the street (not the simplest feat to do unobtrusively when nobody sees you) stops… and is hit by a running car.

The sudden discrepancy in body makes my head hurt for a moment, until I remember to reinitialize that mirror's double. And, true enough, in the compact mirror I was using, my face reappears. And my headache abates.

At the same time, I heard the sound of the car hitting something, in my reality, as well as its screech of tires. I hurry outside, where dad is, already. Thankfully, the car that hit "her" isn't much damaged, and hasn't hit anything of value. Or anyone. It still sobers me.

Dad's expression pushes that feeling towards dread, and I look at him plaintively. "Inside?" I ask.

He nods. What follows is scary, because I'm not used to it. At the same time, I have been pushed to my limits, became a parahuman because of it, and the least I can do to my father is to admit to everything.

Yes, he has been called by the school upon them finding that I hadn't attended classes. Yes, the Principal has also been told that I have soiled the bathroom. But I have been bullied. By Emma. Who lied to everyone concerning me, including the bathroom incident. And, I'm a cape, too.

In the end, he acts predictably and wants me to join the Wards. I don't really want to, because I think a team of teenage capes will be quite the same as high school and I was tired of teenage drama (yes, I'm one, and I'm full of angst; so sue me).

Appointments are made, and I end up having to wait a few days before they can process my joining – something about a gang damaging the PRT building while getting one of their capes out of its prison cells.

For today, dad returns to work after extracting a promise that I won't skip school in the intervening days – and we are still Monday. Joy.

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The Next Day

As I wake up, I still have the usual dread of going to school, reinforced by my father's words as he left for work – his parting shot, as it is. "Don't forget your promise, kiddo."

Sure. I'll go to school. That's also when I remember the other important fact: I am a cape, now. I can use my power to send a mirror version of myself through the mirror reality, with varying levels of visibility and tangibility: with both pulled to the minimum, my double isn't seen or even felt – not that I linger long inside another person… urk. And, at least, I won't have a repeat of the car accident, too.

With that kind of tactical advantage, I can detect my bullies before they see me, and avoid their ambushes. I still keep my smile in check and my head down, in order not to warn potential onlookers that I know exactly what's going on: I know exactly where Emma and Madison are, I can even trip them, while still evading them despite their moving around to intercept me.

Keeping the roaming double requires concentration, of course. Strangely enough, I'm not even winded despite said double running everywhere.

Despite my efforts, and to my surprise, I'm still ambushed by Sophia: my double having moved through the corridor before me, I knew it was empty, and then it was not, because she's right there. Has she teleported in? Moved through walls?

"Going somewhere, fuck-face?" she sneers, before stepping forwards suddenly and aggressively.

Eighteen months is quite a long time to get accustomed to someone's moves. Seeing her, I realize that she intends to deck me, right now. I thought I was over feeling scared of that particular girl, but it isn't true. And that's when my power reacts by itself, almost. Instead of landing on my unprotected face, her fist goes through my double's head.

What?

My vision has distorted for a short time, accompanying another spike of headache in the likes of the resetting of a double, and I am now seeing exactly as before (in that split-vision manner typical of maintaining a double)… but we have exchanged our places. Nice! From this day forward, I'll call this ability Transposition.

Since my double was behind Sophia, when we switched, it will look to her as if I teleported behind her.

"The fuck?" she wonders, turning around wildly. And then she notices I'm there and I see what I can only call "unholy glee" on her face.

My double is, once again, behind her. This time, though, I don't intend to teleport there (not that I had intended earlier, either). Instead, I have her use something I had her grab as our day in school started, from the mirror version of the school's sporting equipment. And Sophia is hit, from behind, by an invisible but very tangible (for now) baseball bat.

The sound it makes makes me wince, and the bat is slightly off after that. But, at least, she stops whatever she intended to do and topples down like a puppet with her strings cut.

I panic again: I used a parahuman power to assault a "civilian". I'm clearly in the wrong, here, and probably soon-to-be discovered, too. Once again, necessity is the mother of invention. My double and I grab her and hurry inside the nearest bathroom.

As we do so, I notice in the mirror the picture of Sophia being carried by my double (from one end) while my end was held by me, invisible in the frame. And I have an epiphany, of sorts: what better place to hide than the mirror dimension?

How to accede it, though?

The answer is simple, again, and my double helps by approaching the mirror, her hand going closer, touching it… and then going through it. She grabs at Sophia and pulls her with her. And then she continues pulling until she's in a place not covered by any mirror. Hidden away.

I check on my side, and see no Sophia. Since my double is occupied, and I'm not proficient enough to use another to scout the corridors, I rely on observation, previous knowledge of usual ambush points, and luck, so that I can go to class without meeting Emma.

For once, luck is on my side.

In the mirror reality, I check Sophia's head to see if she's in any danger (not that I could ascertain it with certainty, but at least her skull seems in one piece still). And then I notice her vest pocket, gaping, with her phone inside.

I take it. Why, I don't really know. First because I know it will annoy her. And, second, I'm sure there are evidences of wrongdoings, there. And, once I started… I rifle through her schoolbag, too. And find another phone there. Strange.

I don't really know what to do with that. In fact, I'm sure that police officers can check for fingerprints if they look through the phones. I wipe the phones to the best of my abilities, as well as the bag and its content.

Improvising as I go, I leave Sophia there and head towards a locker not that far away. The advantage of being at the bottom of the totem pole of popularity means that nobody cares that I'm around when indulging in booze, and I know where I can find strong spirits.

It's relatively easy to get some, and use it to soil Sophia's clothes. It's more difficult to have her drink the rest of the bottle, but I manage. And then I pull her outside. For a girl like me (or my mirror image anyways), she's quite heavy, but I manage.

I know that police patrol the area regularly. It's child's play to heave a bit of rock at their passing cars, after positioning Sophia as if she had been the one doing it. They stop, take one look at her, and then pull her inside the car. I hitch a ride too, only slightly tangible enough not to be left, but not as much as to dent the seat.

They put her in a cell for alcoholics, and start going through her things. And I can't help but smile when I notice them finding texts where she mentions her bullying… and more. Killing? Who's that girl?

Well, I don't know, but I have to leave because the double in the mirror image of the police station is not my real self, and my real self will need help soon. A sharp pang of pain, and the double is dismissed, before reasserting itself from my reflection in the window overlooking the nearby classroom – yes, the ones the teachers find opaque when Emma and I are in close proximity.

Like now.

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Fallout

Classes have ended, and Emma has finally succeeded in finding me. The insults are getting nastier and nastier, even involving my dead mother and the crying fit I got at that time. True, I used her as an emotional crutch. And, now, I regret it. But I'm also not quite the emotional wreck I was. Getting one over Sophia has also liberated me, in some way.

"See what she does?" I ask suddenly, cutting Emma short with a squeak of fear, as I walk close to her. My double keeps her in place despite her coterie taking one step backwards. I then grab her shoulder with a hand while the other points at her.

It's surprising, really, how quickly our roles are reversed in this pantomime. For eighteen months, I tried to keep myself out of sight, and held myself in what could generously be called a crouch. During that time she walked proudly, head held high above a straight spine. She's now the one cowering, her eyes searching for a possible protector in the crowd. And I'm now the one towering above her.

"I was her friend, once." I continued, addressing the silent girls. And potential others. "And then, my mother died. That was three years ago. You would have been sad, too, I believe. You would have cried, as well. You would have found a friend to do so safely."

I lean forwards, my double scanning the crowd while I grin at Emma. But it's all teeth, and not at all friendly – whatever the case, Sophia was a great teacher in intimidation techniques. And if she's not there… the ground is mine to take back.

"Right now, you all are friends of Emma, right? You have shared secrets with her, right? Then remember this, and me, as what she does to her friends and their secrets."

I release my erstwhile friend, and she tries to scuttle back to the safety of a circle of friends, only for the girls to walk away instead of grouping around her. This is an almost physical blow for the social butterfly, and I can already see the tears threatening to roll.

Just before she can leave, though, I have a parting shot for her. And perhaps Madison, too, whom I could see as becoming a pariah-by-association, too. "Oh, and Emma? I would like my mother's flute back. Whole and clean, if you don't mind."

That, or eighteen months of torment. But beggars can't be choosers, or something.

Speaking of which, I'm asked to see Blackwell soon afterwards. Would a teary Emma blab already? Not at all. In fact, it was yesterday's news all over again.

"I wasn't in school yesterday." I repeated, in a monotone.

"We have reputable witnesses saying that you were there."

Typical. Those witnesses should have told the whole truth, shouldn't they? Still, I had enough leeway for this, and the boost of confidence from earlier helped. "Which class, again?"

"None! You spent your day putting filth in the bathroom!"

"And… you have proof, of that?" I ask. After the they-said-I-said, it's the next logical step, and it's a wonder I'm the one to take it.

Blackwell smiles in unholy glee (perhaps I was wrong, and Sophia learned her intimidation techniques from her, and not some rabid animal) and nods. "Yes! We have… footprints!" A pause.

"That's all?" I ask, already knowing that the footprints available upstairs belonged to four girls, not one. Besides, as soon as I got the heart of the matter out of her, I dispatched a double to examine the scene.

There's a janitor in front of the door. He looks at his watch with a frown, and I guess he has somewhere else to be. Inside, I recognize the mess, and confirm the presence of four types of footprints. Of course, only one goes from the soiled toilet to the sinks. And that should put me as the instigator? I know how Emma works with Blackwell, and suspect that she had bleated as soon as she came back to gloat, only to find me not there.

Despite my ability to perceive everything my doubles do, I choose not to experience the disgusting filth. Strangely enough, less disturbing perceptions allow me to devote more brain power, and thus more doubles, to the task of cleaning the toilets. I'm no expert, though, so I mainly use my new power in relatively new ways: delimitating the area, I shift everything inside into the mirror reality. It need a few adjustments, which I make on the fly, but I succeed without warning the guard.

"Yes!" Blackwell is saying, and it takes all my concentration to do the cleaning and continue my battle of wills with my Principal – with the added idea that I don't really care about her, in fact: as a Ward, I will probably be put in Arcadia, soon. "Now sign here to admit it!"

"There's no way I'll do that." I reply, pushing the paper away. Dad always said to read what you sign, but if that piece of crap holds anything like what she says, I will simply not do it. "Furthermore, I contest those charges. I didn't do anything to any bathroom, since, as I repeatedly told you: I wasn't there."

"I'll show you, then!" she exclaims. Finally! I stand to follow her, and feel quite smug when she's already sweating upon arriving there. And then she opens the bathroom, and doesn't find a thing. I even had enough time, during our walk, to have my double open the windows and create a draft that circulated enough air to remove most of the smell.

As for where I will end up putting everything I hid away? As it happens, there's a girl held in police custody, and I will perhaps leave a third of it on her. Another third will probably land on Emma in the middle of the night. And Madison could very well wake up and stand up, tomorrow, only to fall on her face in the same kind of mess.

Or not, I'm still undecided. I don't want them to trigger and find powers to make my life hell in retaliation. Besides, I spent the last months praying for a divine miracle and making elaborate schemes for vengeance, only… when I really think about it, I realize that it would make me like them: a bully.

I prefer to think of myself as the better person. Not forgiving, and certainly not forgetting, but not demanding an eye for an eye, either – an ancient compact, also called "mirror punishment", ironically (given my power). For some reason, I could imagine my power grumbling, at my willingness not to exact those punishments.

Still, as my overweight Principal sweats a bit and then looks like a moron when opening the door to a relatively clean toilet stall, I smile, and ask. "Yes?"

She looks, then, and becomes quite red in the face. She starts an argument with the janitor, in which it's soon established that no, I haven't gotten here before, and that yes, he has seen the mess upon following her orders after she had listened to the "arrogant redhead and her troublemaking friends" (his words, not hers). But no photo has been taken, since he doesn't have a phone with a camera and, even if he had, she would have had to ask. And then he asks for her to pay him for the overtime spent guarding the empty bathroom, and threatens her with the unions once it appears that she intends to refuse.

All in all, a good moment to escape. I have a home to be in, and more tests to do with my power. I also reflect about my future. What exactly am I going to do with my powers? With the Wards? I don't even know who they are! Despite them being teens, and the fact that cape culture is a thing (as well as a course, today), I am no cape geek.

I resolve to get a good look at things on that front, and open the ParaHumans Online site. Three hours later, I have no more ideas about how to live my life, but a zillion ones about the Wards. Now to tell the truth from the conspiracy theories…

Some things seem evident, though.

One is that I should go there with a name and the basis of a costume, already. Otherwise, those decisions will be made by people I'll never see and to whom I won't be able to complain to. As a girl, they will probably try to put me in a skirt, with a skin-tight top, and naked limbs. Given my gangly appearance and prudishness, my lack of Brute power, and the fact that I preferred my anonymity served first… I want an all-encompassing costume, able to hide my true shape (and sex), and through which I could express my power.

I want an armour made of mirrors, in fact. And once I thought that, I got the itch to draw it… and build it. With a shield.

It's too bad that another local cape already has an armour that could potentially do that… with steel blades. I'm no Kaiser, though. I won't use glass either, because some capes have really scary power in relation to that – hint: her name starts with Shatterbird and ends in blood.

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Baby Steps

The next day is quite quiet. Emma recoils whenever she sees me. Madison sneers but otherwise keeps to herself. Sophia is… not here. I suppose that the phones told quite a number of things to the cops. I don't care anymore.

It allows me to think about some of the more outrageous conspiracy theories I read yesterday: for some people the PRT's power categories were solely made as guidelines on how to dispatch the given cape. And to say that some heroes (and villains, too) are proud of their little "how to kill me" tags!

Is it a tinfoil-hat thing, or should I hide a few things from the government? Given some of my dad's rants, I was already unbelieving of the lie that "the government controls everything for our benefit". So… should I give the government, leaky sieve that they are, all the keys to my power? With ways to get me if I ever want out from under their thumb?

There is also the matter of the people involved. Will I be able to get along with each team member? I should perhaps visit them before the week is out, get a feel out of the place before signing in.

First things first, when the school lets out, is to return home to satisfy my new urge to create myself a costume. Stupid power now thinks I'm a Tinker, of all things. Just because it has ideas about making an armour out of its element of choice: mirrors.

Well, it's just a starting costume, right? And asking dad for help involves him much more than me going off by myself into the night. It doesn't take long to convince him, as soon as he gets home.

We're short on cash, but I assure him that, if everything pans out correctly, I will soon be able to contribute meaningfully to the household charges. Legally, too. Yes, I got information about the Wards' salary, too.

Still, with the reserve we have, we successfully buy biker helmets (the ones that cover the whole head) as well as actual capes, quick-drying paint spray cans, many faux-leather belts that we'll use as straps (and lining, using glue, for the metal not to clank on itself), and a few sheets of polished metal – in several shops. As I outline what I want, dad also mentions that he has some tools in the basement, and just grabs consumable recharges for the soldering iron and the grindstone.

The first draft is ugly, but it's the thought that counts. We both wear the same outfit, except mine is painted in highly-reflective silver, while his is matte black and grey. The capes aren't painted, of course, and are just there for cover and potential misdirection. They are both dark red. We both wear wigs, with long hair flowing behind the helmet, for an additional level of misdirection. His is grey, and held in a ponytail. Me? I decide to braid my black hair tightly and hide it in the back of my helmet as well as down my back. I'll have a wig with white bangs, instead.

Of course, the paint has been applied to the metal only after we worked it around logs of various sizes, so as to provide protection for the legs and arms, as well as the torso. Strangely (or not, as powers are bullshit, again), as long as the metal was reflective, I could work with it easily. Once painted black, I couldn't change dad's protections quite as easily.

All in all, it's quite impressive, for a first job. Too bad my Tinker enthusiasm is so effective, as well as contagious, as we go to bed in what can only be called "early morning" – the sky's already lighting up.

Dad called it in, though, cutting through Blackwell's banter like a knife, and then politely informing his own colleague of his absence… up to the weekend – because he wants to do right by my cape self, up to the moment that activity will fall back to actual heroes.

And then we sleep.

Sleeping during part of the day allows us to be quite fresh when the night falls – early, too, as this is still winter.

I still spend the last hours of sunshine testing a few more possibilities in relation to my power. Such as what happens when I look in a hand-held mirror while the double move the same mirror around.

Apparently, it shows what's in front of it, as normal. Except that, instead of having my double move away, I don't move her in relation to the mirror, but both in relation to me. It means that, while I can still see my smiling face, the surroundings are different. And thanks to my ability to push things into mirrors (and my double's ability to do the same), I can easily move things around.

Night time. We both change, dad and I. He has an aluminium bat, painted black too. I have a shield made out of a barrel that was split and then polished and paint-sprayed. The last bits of leather belt are both glued and riveted for me to be able to hold it effectively – and, once again, only the fact that it's a mirror (of sorts) can explain why it's so easy for me to hold it. Same as the armour.

We get up, pile in the pickup truck (stowed in the garage, for discretion), and drive out without the helmets. In a side street, dad parks his car and we finish the trip on foot.

Where to? The Boat Graveyard.

There are many scraps of metal we can get for free, perhaps even whole sheets like those we already have. Besides, cleaning the Graveyard is one of dad's goals in life. Thanks to my abilities, it's quite easy to move our loot towards our basement. Dad smiles mysteriously when I reply positively to his subsequent question about doing the same with his Union building as target.

As we leave, we end up fighting Lung.

Well, not exactly.

Dad was observant enough to stop me before we turned a side street, and asked me what was there. I'll admit that I had forgotten about that task, not feeling myself threatened – and considering that I did it in Winslow, and not in a darkened street in gang territory, that should tell you something. And despite the fact that I'm the cape and dad is not, his presence reassures me too. It helped me, too, reminding me of sending a double ahead.

And, ahead, there was Lung, instructing his goons to "kill the damn children". I almost broke cover, at that, but dad held my arm. "How old is he?" he whispered.

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Little Owl, that has everything to do with it. You can't jump into fights without knowing why they happen."

"But, dad… children!"

"Taylor, you are my child, but are you a child?"

"No! Why would you- Oh!"

"Exactly. In my eyes, you'll always be my child, but you are now a teenager, soon to be an adult. Older people see those much younger as children. If Lung is old like me, those "children" can even be adults."

A pause, while I digested this. "Alright. But we follow. And if it's really children, we intervene."

"Only with your double. And only if you see no other way."

"Speaking of… I think we should have…"

"Yes?"

"A phone. You know? To call the cops, or the PRT?"

He was silent for a few seconds, before nodding. "You're right. But no using the phone when it would distract you."

I nodded too, the lesson all too clear in our mind – mom died while texting, after all.

All in all, we had nothing to do. Lung found his "children", who happened to be a gang of thieves with even more capes than his own. They moved around quite a bit, and he ended up facing Armsmaster, at one time. The Protectorate hero shot him with some tranquilizers, and even cut one arm out of the villain, but Lung still fled before he could be apprehended, keeping Armsmaster occupied with a fire that was threatening an inhabited building.

Of the small group of villains, there was no trace.

The next day, dad asks me if I want him to drive me to school, or if I prefer to make the ride separately. Not understanding, I still admit preferring the car.

"Good. Because I have had it with Winslow." he replies, surprising me. "If you're going to be a Ward, you are probably going to move to Arcadia. This is just me hastening the first steps."

I hug him in thanks.

In the school's parking lot, he stops abruptly when he notices the occupants leaving a blue Mercedes. "Alan." he growls.

"And Emma." I add. But there is no aggressiveness in my tone, because I see that the redhead seems… broken.

We end up together, waiting for Blackwell. "Oh it's you two again." she says, seeing Emma an I. "What do you want?"

"Out." I reply. "I want those transfer papers I asked you six months ago. Those I filled but which you shredded. You didn't even have the decency to wait for me to leave your office."

"Out." Emma mutters, too. "I can't… Taylor, I'm sorry… Sophia…"

I lift my hand, not to fight, but to indicate that I don't want to hear whatever she wants to say. Still, I see her recoil in fear. Alan seems haunted, too.

"We will talk about this." Dad tells him, and several seconds tick by before Alan nods.

"Well, if you want to get out, get out!" Blackwell sneers at us. I notice that she, too, has more lines of worry etched on her face. Her clothes are less immaculate than usual. And her hands tremble.

There's something I'm missing, but I also won't look a gift horse in the mouth. The secretary is instructed to print the relevant forms, and we leave the hellhole. For good, I hope.

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Warding Schemes

Back home, we look over the forms and browse online information about joining Arcadia. There's a waiting list, apparently, and I don't have the grades to skip it… not anymore, that is. Since my joining of the Wards wasn't completely determined, in my mind, I also browsed the same data in the other schools: Clarendon, and Immaculata. All three share a disturbing data point, in the fact that they are expensive.

"I want to visit the Wards." I tell dad.

"We go tomorrow." he replies, still looking at Arcadia's website.

"I want to visit them today." I insist. "I really don't want a repeat of Winslow, if someone decides to make me their punching bag, and the authorities don't do a thing."

"I will be there. Little Owl, you know I'm sorry about… everything bad that has happened to you in the past years. But I will be there, now."

"Dad… they are the government. If you sign me away, you won't get me back that easily. I just want to make a visit. Once."

"And if you can't mingle?"

"I'll see then. I'll be a rogue, perhaps."

"Rogue? Isn't that a villain?"

"No, it's the name they chose for those not in the government and who aren't villain."

He frowns. "Seems like a villainous category, for me." A pause. "If you don't like it here, we can perhaps… move to another city?"

I look at him with wide eyes. "You'd do that for me? Leave your friends, your job?"

"Little Owl, you are everything I have, now. If you aren't happy with the Brockton Bay Wards, and can't be a non-villainous parahuman, I'd rather move with you than see you be inducted in a gang."

I hug him. "So… a meal, then a visit?"

He nods.

We eat.

He also calls them in advance, because I am going to be in costume, and he doesn't want them to shoot me first and ask question only second – as to why I want to use my costume, it's because I don't want them to see my civilian self if we end up at each other's throat.

And then we go to see the Wards (not the wizard). Together. To my surprise, he gets into his costume alongside me. We ride up to a parking lot near the PRT, put our helmet on, and walk the rest of the way.

"I hope you can find a way to move faster." he says as we still have quite a bit to walk, and people already watch us warily.

"I can." I reply. "I don't think I can take you safely, though."

"More tests, perhaps."

"Definitely."

Despite the long walk and the stares, we arrive without being delayed, and are only given a cursory inspection by the PRT troopers in the lobby. Of course, various gadgets on the ceiling (cameras, mostly, but not only) turn this way and that to follow us. Thankfully, the information has moved accordingly, and we are soon cleared to make a visit into the Wards' room. Not as regular tourists, though, because they had also realized that we were scheduled to sign me in the next day.

As such, I got a Protectorate hero to lead us there, and extol to us the benefits of the program.

Dad nodded and hmmed along, while I concentrated on not making a mess of things on my first impression.

I was able to shake hands with most of them. I learned that Gallant was off with his girlfriend, and that Kid Win was stuck in remedial courses in math. Vista, the youngest, was also the one most inquisitive once it was determined that I was also a girl. Especially after the other one left – I wasn't privy as to why, and refrained from asking.

"We have never heard about you." the hero, Velocity, asks my dad.

"I'm not a cape." dad replies. "I'm just a father concerned about his little girl. I wasn't going to leave her run alone in the night."

"That's good to hear." Velocity admits. "Not every teenager brings their parents into that new life. For those first nights, the survival rates are… atrocious."

He nods. "I know. She almost jumped at Lung."

"WHAT?"

"Apparently, he wanted to kill some people he called children, but who simply were younger than he was. Capes, too. Kept bellowing they will regret stealing from him."

"That's why…" the man breathes, before starting. "I'm sorry, I must report this. Armsmaster was wondering why Lung was rampaging somewhere unusual. Unless you have another piece of evidence?"

He shakes his head.

"Then thank you, and good day to you. Ask one of the Wards to bring you back, once you're done."

Meanwhile, I was feeling ashamed at doubting the basic human decency that allowed people to work as groups most of the time: none of the teens here are bitches of stupidly arrogant or anything like Sophia. There was some resentment about their lost member, but, as I said, if they were gone for good, I'm quite unconcerned.

The next day, I'm inducted in the program.

As I have been warned to expect, I have to fight the people in the Image department to keep my armour. I also rejected their too-obvious name or "Mirror", as the costume is enough of a hint, thank you very much. Instead, I took the name dad often uses to call me, repeated and expanded upon during my first visit. Initially Little Owl, my cape name ends up being Hedwig, the Snowy Owl. Nothing to do with mirrors, and my power has nothing to do with snow (that just came from my white wig), or owls, or even sorcery (for the Harry Potter reference).

Perfect.

Power testing allows me to refine my power and control, but I only give them the minimum indication of what I can really do. I'm registered as a grab-bag with a bit of Tinker, Mover, and Shaker.

The Tinker part is necessary to get the budget and an explanation for the urges to craft, as well as the blueprints I was already collecting. The Mover is thanks to my Transposition (sold as teleportation). And the Shaker is because, to them, what I do looks like telekinesis (if the items are visible) or force fields (if not). I don't tell them about the fact that it's another me, moving there in a mirror dimension, nor what I can store there (or retrieve).

What I'm forced to tell, though, is that there is something happening with mirrors, around me. It's when someone targets me with a beam of light… that ends up reflected incorrectly on my shield. I yield that nugget of information, but train like mad to make this work – it was just when, in the mirror, my double held another mirror facing the one in front of her. Nice to know that I could reflect or just redirect laser attacks, too.

Thanks to the increased budget, I can refine my armour (and dad's, too, if he ever has to get armoured to defend against a cape or something). The panes get bullet-proof, as do the helmets, gloves, and boots. The helmets get a HUD and a storage space for a phone, also gotten courtesy of the program.

As a Ward with some Tinker ability, I have Armsmaster as a part-time mentor, like Kid Win. The poor boy is quite happy to share the load, in fact. As a single teenager without even having determined his specialty, he was under quite a bit of pressure from the driven adult. Especially as Armsmaster considered one-on-one mentoring as "inefficient" – his word, and also probably an insult, given his own specialty. So, with me joining them, it alleviates the load for the two of them.

All in all, a net gain for everyone.

There is still the fact that Shadow Stalker is Sophia Hess, which I learn afterwards, when somebody makes an off-hand comment and, upon my prompting, tells me the whole story.

The police department has rules to call the PRT as soon as they have to deal with parahumans. With Shadow Stalker, they called right after she awoke… and phased through the wall – almost an acknowledgment of guilt, there. The Protectorate was called too, and Armsmaster had the girl in electrified manacles. And then, because she had been on probation and it was established that she had indeed killed on several occasions (even after joining the Wards), she was sent to the special prison they had for parahumans. One where you don't get out from, even with her power: given her vulnerability to electricity, a workaround was easily done so that she could ditch her ankle bracelet. On the PR front, it was told that she was moved to Alaska for disciplinary reasons, only for the transport to crash without survivors.

Again, it's a gain for everyone. Except for her PRT handler and Blackwell, of course: once their culpability was established (in covering her violent tendencies in her civilian life), they both saw the inside of prison cells, too.

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Sandbagging, Much?

Most powers are established as a package deal, where the new parahumans quickly discover the limits of their power and deal with them. More recently, powers have been granted in a "grab-bag" manner: more abilities, but less powerful – and, in comparison to those numerous Brutes and Blasters, they generally had utility powers they could make use of, as Rogues. In some rare cases, such as Dauntless, the power gives incremental benefits over time.

I thought I was a "grab-bag" trigger, and that my powers were already known – Perception, Dissociation, Transposition, as well as that set of Tinker-like abilities. Already quite content from all this, I hadn't realized that I could still discover more "abilities".

The first came when I was training my "Shaker" power, clubbing or tripping my opposition with baseball bats. Except that, when training with someone with a versatile weapon like Miss Militia, I saw her transform it into a sword and slice an approaching bat in two. And I realized that I could do the same.

Later, I also realized that I could manifest only parts of an object in my reality (or as an effect). And, for a blade, it could be just the edge. That allowed for cutting tools with an edge as thin as an atom, eventually – like monoblades… or the blade Armsmaster had amputated Lung with.

Thanks to my being mentored by Armsmaster, at times, and being more observant than, say, Kid Win (not that difficult), I was privy to a bit more than most. It means that I also know that his blade was a prototype he was still working on – and isn't that an invitation to disobey the "no untested Tinkertech in the field", or what? Said prototype, once finished, would be able to deal with those villains with a thick hide, including Crawler… and the Endbringers. Or so he hoped.

I swore I would help. With my "new" abilities acting with my "force fields" to make them able to cut and slice (like the villain Vex's ability), I could very well be able to. Or not: after my discoveries, I made some research (on computers not linked to me or the PRT) about the topic of dimensions. Especially the "other" ones.

There was much discussion about the nature of the universe, about physical laws and such, and also the information that some capes seem to manipulate dimensions too. Myrrdin and Circus, for instance, both have the ability to store items into extra-dimensional storage. Same with the Toybox Tinker named Dodge, who created whole rooms out of touch with reality. Or another pseudo-villain named Othello, whom the PRT helpfully documented as "having the ability to teleport by passing through another dimension" – the data wasn't public, but, as a Ward, I could access it. And realize that his power looked a bit like mine.

Apart from those, few villains played with other dimensions, and I hoped that the trend would continue, because my doubles were as vulnerable as any squishy non-cape, out there.

Despite this "vulnerability", I found myself pushing my doubles to act against villains by themselves. It started by a little experiment – with Clockblocker, of all people. When he asked if I had special powers in relation to fair mirrors (the kind that deform people), I wondered, I tested… and it worked.

I could pull people inside the "mirror dimension", much like Earth Aleph's Doctor Strange and his mystic people. I could also leave behind a duplicate, deformed by the mirror (or not deformed at all, if the mirror is flat). And as long as the person wasn't used to this, I could control the duplicate. And, while my doubles were normal (even though really athletic) in the mirror reality, the people I pulled in saw their access to their powers scrambled for a bit. Once again, if they weren't used to it, they couldn't use them. And if I chose to leave a duplicate behind, it was that duplicate who had control.

I didn't advertise this, like, at all, because people reacted very badly to Masters. Look at how Gallant is presented: a Master himself (with his emotion beams), he was introduced as a Blaster… and Tinker, for the power armour Armsmaster had created for him, and that Kid Win maintained.

When inspecting my various power interactions, there was also the question of teleporting through another power, too. Endbringer fights could happen all over the world, and capes with teleportation powers were often used to bring other parahumans for the fight. Would I still be able to use my powers if all my doubles stayed back?

I squared some of it with Vista, when we went to patrol together (and by training with her beforehand, of course). Her changes in space only impacted the "real" reality, and I had to make my double run to catch up… or reinitialize it. It annoyed the youngest Ward, at the beginning, because she thought it was only vanity that had me pull a mirror each time we stopped. After a while, though, I stopped doing that, as a single glance at my reflection in the arms of my armour was enough – and it was certainly less conspicuous.

When the Undersiders tried to rob a bank, my other selves were able to club the four villains to unconsciousness while my "real" body was merely waiting outside with my new friends, obeying orders and procedures and whatnot. Yes, I may disobey orders, so sue me: my time at the hands of a government-sanctioned "hero" had inured me against the infallibility of authority figures.

Lung came to free them, only because he wanted to kill them himself, the reason being that they robbed his casino, before the bank. When he did, though, Armsmaster got to test his nanoblade again, as well as his enhanced tranquilizer formula. I helped with the first, and it worked like a charm, leading to a literally disarmed dragon transforming back into a disarmed human. His power having receded, he was going to stay like this for a while.

Oni Lee and Bakuda were Lung's underlings, in the Asian gang. They had started a campaign of terror across the city, to act as a diversion, but Tattletale, recruited by the PRT and rebranded as Insight, had gotten that information to Armsmaster before Lung had attacked. That had allowed Lung's capture, but now we had to deal with an infinity of suicide bombers with esoteric ordnance.

Except for the fact that each jump damaged Oni Lee's mind. Soon, he was too apathetic to continue, and "forgot" to jump after arming his last bomb. And he died.

As to Bakuda, despite being clever, she couldn't face alone the might and wrath of all the capes in the city. Attacked during the days by the Protectorate, and at night by the gangs, she was soon as dead as Lung's other lieutenant.

That left the Merchants and the Empire to try to occupy the ABB territory, only to find Coil already there, his tinker-tech weaponry-equipped mercenaries enough to deal with most capes.

That's when the Endbringer sirens sounded in the city… with the specific tone to indicate that it was probably targeted by the forces of nature. Leviathan, apparently.

What follows is a blur, but I remember standing at one end of a street, the massive creature on the other end. I had special attachments I had commissioned for my helmet, with mirrors right next to my eyes. With an angle, because I still couldn't stomach the headache of perceiving an infinity of reflection. But it was enough to have enough doubles to cross the whole street.

I saw Leviathan pause, his head turning this way and that, meaning that he could perceive my doubles. Those doubles, though, could see with their own eyes that Leviathan had no power over their own dimension. It was perhaps multi-dimensional, given how dense his body was, but it didn't cross through mine.

It was quite thankful because, when he sped up and used his tail to mow through the whole row of duplicates, it only bisected my original body, the one in the middle – to the shock of everyone around, who couldn't perceive the doubles.

I still had Transposition, though, and it meant that even if one of my instances died, I could always replace it with a living one. Which I did.

Of course, I got to suffer the aquatic echo, right then, and had to replace myself a second time. And several times after that: my gory remains were replaced by a healthy version of myself with a visible effect looking as it each was a mere picture that was turned around.

Despite the messy deaths, I was able to attack the beast, especially as its "intelligence" seemed to think of me as downed for good, each time – like Dragon's bracelet, in fact. Thus, having put me outside of its mind for a while, I was free to attack it. It was even turning its back to me, at times, concentrating on the other capes.

Blade after blade sliced at his ankles from several angles. Being thin like atoms, they cut through and forced the beast to kneel. That allowed my attacks to creep upwards, getting the arms when Leviathan got on all fours, and then the face.

I couldn't do much more than that, because the inner layers of the Endbringer's "flesh" were harder than its skin. But, at least, I can believe I participated in the effort to make it flee.

Insight nodded at me soberly when she saw me afterwards, and thanked me. But she didn't write down what she had inferred from seeing me in action… because she didn't want me to retaliate. Finding her would be so easy, given that I could have my doubles move around in the mirror reality and spy through any mirror. And act from there, too.

No. For all intents and purposes, I was "just" a regenerating Brute, a teleporting Mover, and a forcefield-based Shaker. Not everybody's worst nightmare.

And if you imagine that Shatterbird's scream will neuter my power, remember that metal surfaces can work… as well as any puddle in the street.

I can be everywhere.

Perhaps I am.

Have you checked the dark corners of what your mirror shows you?

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To be continued… …bɘunitnoɔ ɘd oT

Author's Notes: Inspiration for this one? Mirrors – not only real ones, but also the movie with that name (the one with the second R reversed, and Kiefer S. as the main protagonist).