Earning Her Stripes

Part Nine: Unbreakable

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

A Couple of Days Later

Taylor and her father sat in the offices of GS&T, watching as Mr Sacke paged through the collected sheets of paper, making notes as he went. Eventually, he finished it and sat up.

"Well?" asked Danny. "Do we have a case?"

"A very strong possibility of one," Mr Sacke replied guardedly. "You said you had the blood test results from the hospital as well?"

"Yes. Here's a copy." Danny handed the envelope over. "They gave her a clean bill of health. No alcohol, no drugs of any kind."

Mr Sacke opened the envelope and scanned the report. "Well, this is definitely something to keep in reserve for if Ms Blackwell chooses to allege Taylor came to school in an impaired state. But ..." He pursed his lips. "This says there were no foreign substances in her bloodstream at all."

"Well, no." Taylor wasn't sure what he was getting at. "I don't drink or do drugs. If Blackwell wants to say I do, that'll prove she's making stuff up, right?"

"This is very true, yes." Mr Sacke addressed her with the same professional tone he was using with her father, which she appreciated. "However, it throws another part of your testimony into doubt. Whatever it was they forced you to drink, it wasn't chemically reactive enough to show up on the blood test. If we bring that part up, the defense is likely to call on us to prove it happened."

"But it did happen!" Taylor protested. "It tasted terrible!"

"I believe you," he said soothingly. "Taylor, I'm on your side with this. But we can't prove what we can't prove."

"There's no way something that horrible wouldn't be bad for me," she insisted. "What if it was some kind of delayed reaction poison or something?" The sheer foulness of it still haunted her.

Mr Sacke chuckled lightly. "One of these days, I'll introduce you to wheatgrass. Taste is a poor indicator of what's truly good for you. Sugar, for instance, is terrible for you in large quantities."

"But what about poison?" Taylor said. It was almost like he wasn't listening to her. She'd learned to expect that sort of behaviour from the staff at Winslow, but this guy was supposed to be her lawyer.

"Ms Hebert. Unless the person or persons who assaulted you had access to Tinker-created substances, a delayed-action poison that doesn't come in pill form is purely a Hollywood creation." Mr Sacke tilted his hand from side to side. "And there are many harmless substances that taste utterly vile."

Taylor wasn't about to let this go if she could help it. "Okay, but making me drink something tasting that bad has got to be against the law, even if it's not poisonous … right?"

"Yes." His voice was more serious this time. "That's definitely assault. However, some sort of evidence would be useful. The container would be ideal, especially with fingerprints, but even just some residue would be good to go on with. But we don't have any of that, so my advice would be to leave it out of the narrative unless we can get something material to back it up. Okay?"

"Got it." Taylor finally had it nailed. Mr Sacke wasn't doing this because he cared. If he really cared, he'd push for everything. He was doing it for the money, and he was making sure to only include charges he thought he could win big on. It wasn't exactly a ground-breaking epiphany, and she couldn't really blame him. But to know that if her father decided to not hire him after all, he would walk away from her case with never a qualm … that hurt, just a little bit, deep inside.

"Excellent." Mr Sacke turned to the front page of his notepad. "Now, with this incident you've mentioned in October, just after you started this log of events, you're sure that a teacher witnessed it?"

"Let me see." Taylor took her collected sheets. She was pretty sure she knew what he was talking about, but it was a good idea to refresh her memory. "Oh, yeah. Mr Gladly and Ms Marsden came around the corner just after Sophia shoulder-checked me into the wall and Emma took my backpack. I was still getting up, and they both looked at me, then kept going."

"Hmm." Taylor couldn't tell if it was a good 'hmm' or bad 'hmm', but Mr Sacke made another notation on his pad. "Alright, then, about these emails. Which of these would've been sent during school hours?"

"Oh, right." Taylor turned to the correct page and tapped the notation. "That there's the timestamp for when it was sent. I can highlight the right ones, if you want."

"Oh, I see. No, that'll be fine. I have a secretary to do things like that." Mr Sacke chuckled again. "Depending on the volume that get sent during class, we might be able to nail the computer studies teacher for negligence."

Taylor wasn't sure she liked that idea. Mrs Knott's class was her favourite time of the day. "Weren't we going to be focusing on Principal Blackwell?"

Mr Sacke nodded. "Certainly. Every staff member we can present as being negligent in their duty of care strengthens our case against Ms Blackwell herself. If they're not doing their jobs right, she's not doing hers right. Understand?"

"Damn right," Danny agreed. "So, have you made any headway in contacting the Real Thing? If they can testify they found Taylor actually locked in the locker, it would totally sink her lie about the door not being secured, right?"

"Absolutely." Mr Sacke nodded. "I've put my feelers out and even asked the PRT for a contact number, but it appears they're not taking calls from the public yet. Still, I'll keep trying. Now, let's take a look at November of last year …"

Later

Danny got in the car and closed the door; Taylor already had her seatbelt fastened. "Hey," he said. "Don't look so down. This sort of thing is a process, not a one-and-done. Real world lawsuits don't get wrapped up in time for the credits to roll."

"Yeah." Taylor looked across at him. "I just … for the longest time, I held all this back because I thought I could fix it myself, and then I thought I could wait them out, and then I just … letting them pull that crap on me became my go-to move, because nothing else had worked. The more it went on, the more it piled up, the more I knew it would hurt you when you found out. And you've got enough on your plate as it is." All this was true, but there was more to it. She just didn't know if she could bring herself to express it yet.

"Taylor." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Honey. We're here for each other. I'm here for you. For the longest time I wasn't, and that's on me. I failed you, and we both know it. But that part's done. We're moving forward. I refuse to let them win."

"Which 'them'?" asked Taylor, grinning despite her dark thoughts. "Emma and her asshole friends, or Blackwell?"

He smirked and started the car. "Yes."

That Evening

Taylor finished her lasagne and pushed her chair back. "That was nice, Dad. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Despite his light tone, he looked at her carefully. "Are you okay? You still look a little down."

"It's nothing." She shook her head, not wanting to burden him. "But I think I might go for a walk."

Turning in his seat, he looked out the window. Taylor followed his gaze; the sun was down, but it wasn't totally dark yet. "Just a short walk," he said. "And take your pepper spray with you, okay?"

"I've got it right here," she assured him, pulling out the keychain canister that he'd given her. "I'm thinking I'll go around the block."

"Uh huh." His expression was still concerned. "If you're gone more than fifteen minutes, I'm coming looking."

"I'll be fine," she said. "This isn't Winslow. We live in a good neighbourhood. Nobody sells drugs, or steals cars, or even speeds."

"Not exactly a high bar," he said dryly. "Look, I can put some walking shoes on and come with."

"No." She shook her head. "I just need to … process. Everything. Get my head back in the game. And I can't do that with someone else there."

Although it wasn't aimed at him, she still felt guilty when his face fell. "Okay, Taylor. Just remember. Around the block and straight back. No more than fifteen minutes."

"Absolutely." Standing up, she slipped the pepper spray back into her pocket. She knew she only had a small window of opportunity before he thought of a reason to not let her go out, so she didn't waste any time. Thirty seconds later, she was letting herself out through the back gate.

Two Miles Away
Uber and Leet

The engine rumbled under the hood with every press of the gas pedal, and blue flames shot out of the flared exhaust pipes. Uber glanced across at Leet, both grinning like maniacs. As they waited for the light to turn green, the Snitch flitted across in front of them, getting a good visual of the waiting cars.

"Do you feel the need?" yelled Leet in his high reedy voice.

Uber held in the clutch, slammed it into first gear, and revved the engine again. "The need!" he bellowed over the resultant roar.

"The need ... for speed!" they chorused.

Half a second later, the light changed, and Uber let out the clutch. As the Snitch smacked into Leet's outstretched hand, the car took off across the intersection in a howling maelstrom of tyre smoke and fishtailing.

They roared off down the road at speeds that went straight past 'unsafe' and got the attention of 'downright perilous'. The other cars swerved out of the way, sometimes colliding with each other and occasionally running straight up onto the pavement, as they rocketed past in a cloud of smoke and a glare of blue exhaust flame. Leet cackled like a maniac as he hand-panned the Snitch from side to side.

"Uh, oh," said Uber as flashing blue and red lights cut out of a side street they'd just passed, and accelerated hard after them. "We got the cops already."

"What, seriously?" whined Leet. "We weren't even halfway through the run! Can you lose 'em?"

"Bears, woods," Uber replied with a tight grin. "They can't match us with their cars, and they sure as fuck can't match me behind the wheel."

"Aww, man," Leet bitched. "Now I'm gonna have to bleep that out."

"Bleep whatever you need to," Uber retorted, throwing the car into a four-wheel drift to get around a corner. "Just make sure you catch me losing these losers."

"Shit!" yelled Leet, pointing ahead, where two more cop cars had just turned on their bubblegum lights. "You're gonna need to lose those, too!"

"Piece of …" grunted Uber, horsing the car around another corner, "… cake." Once more on the straightaway, he applied pedal to metal, and the car responded with gratifying alacrity.

They were well into residential housing now, away from Leet's planned track, but that didn't matter. Blazing down empty streets, peeling around corners like they were on rails, that was what the game was all about. But the pursuing cops were still coming on; the sirens were audible even over the roar of the engine.

"Cut across that park!" yelled Leet, pointing ahead to where a park had been built into the corner of a residential block. Directly ahead was a T-junction, so the park was their best chance of getting around the corner without losing too much speed. And if they demolished part of a playground going across, who cared? The car was built tough to deal with crap like that.

"Got it!" Uber downshifted and swung the wheel, aiming to maintain enough speed to pull away from the cops. There was a swing-set in the way, but it wouldn't even slow them down.

They didn't see the girl until it was far too late.

Taylor

The cool breeze whispered past her ear as she strolled down the sidewalk. It was nice out here in the lowering dark with street-lights coming on, along with the lit-up windows in the houses she was passing by. Alone at last, she was able to properly concentrate on what was bothering her.

It wasn't the banality of the lawsuit, or even the fact that their lawyer was literally in it for the money; if someone else had hired him, he would be pursuing her and her father with an equal amount of zeal. This shouldn't have been news to her. She was old enough to know how the world worked. The only altruistic heroes out there were the ones in actual costumes, like the Real Thing.

Reaching the point on the block farthest from her house, she looked across the street to where a small neighbourhood park sat silent and empty. When she was younger, her mother and Mrs Barnes had taken her and Emma to this park, where they'd played for hours while the two women relaxed and chatted. From what she could see, it was a little run-down from those days, but the nostalgia was still there.

Making a snap decision, she checked both ways cursorily before crossing the street and entered the park. There was a convenient swing-set that she plonked her butt down into, making sure the pepper spray was ready to hand. Slowly, gently, she began to swing back and forth.

Her problem was that, even with all the pain and suffering she'd undergone, there would be no genuine consequences for everyone who'd wronged her. Punishment in kind was just not going to happen. They'd call it justice but it wouldn't be, not really.

Winslow almost certainly had some sort of fund they used to pay for lawsuits, and Alan Barnes probably wouldn't even miss whatever payout he was ordered to make. Or, they'd just keep appealing over and over until her father ran out of money or they got a verdict they liked.

Even if I got the money, it still wouldn't make up for the shit I've been through.

Back and forth, she swung. Back and forth. The sound of car engines drifted to her ears through some trick of the night air. She could hear sirens now too, but wasn't worried. Cop cars blaring sirens never came down her street.

Sitting and brooding, she was caught utterly by surprise when the hotted-up car came roaring around the corner and down the narrow street toward the park. She froze, vaguely wondering what they were going to do when they reached the end of the street, because there was no way they'd be turning at that speed. And then the car swerved toward her.

"Shi—!" Eyes widening, she tried to leap up from the swing, but fumbled her grab at the chain. In the last split-second as the front wheels came up over the curb and the car lanced across the playground to the swing-set, she had time to form the thought, Dad is going to be so pissed.

The car smashed into her … and entirely redefined the concept of 'crumple zone'. The left-hand headlight shattered, its remains driven back into the body as the impact bent the chassis. Spinning around to Taylor's left, the car flipped up and rolled. With a final crash and shattering sound, the redirected vehicle demolished a merry-go-round and ended up on its roof.

Taylor hadn't moved.

"—it!" she finished, then blinked. Looking down at herself, she saw that part of the swing-set frame—and chain—was moulded to her body, the clothing underneath unmarred. She peeled it off, then headed over to where the car lay, one front wheel spinning gently in the night air. The sirens were definitely closer by now.

"Hey," she called out, leaning down and pulling the nearest door clear off its hinges with a metallic tearing noise. "Anyone alive in there?"

Groans answered her, and she nodded. Okay, they're fine. Good. I don't need to deal with this shit, on top of everything else.

Discarding the door, she crossed the street again and continued on her walk. An intense curiosity was welling up within her as to exactly what had happened back there, but she firmly told it to shut up. The last thing she needed was that sort of publicity.

As she strode along briskly, one thought kept running through her head.

Powers. Holy shit, I've got powers.

Sergeant Phil Goldman, BBPD

Phil stood back and observed as the paramedics carefully extracted Uber and Leet from the wreckage of their car. It was totalled; the entire front driver's side corner had been driven back into the body like they'd collided with a wrecking ball or something. The problem was, he couldn't see what they'd hit. A concrete pillar was his first guess, but there was no such pillar nearby.

And then he heard the sound which told him it Wasn't His Problem Anymore. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Armsmaster's iconic cycle easing to a halt at the side of the road. Not far behind him was a PRT van with its distinctive paint job.

The armoured hero climbed off his bike and strode over to meet Phil. "Evening," he said. "How are they?"

"Paramedics say nothing serious," Phil reported. "They had five-point straps, and their airbags went off just fine. A few muscle strains, maybe a couple of light fractures. Chances are, they won't even need the hospital. You'll be able to toss them straight in the cells."

"Good." Armsmaster's jaw tightened. "Serves them right for driving dangerously in a residential area. What did they hit, anyway? That swing set would hardly have done so much damage."

Phil pushed his cap to the back of his head. "Well now, there you've got me," he confessed. "They hit something, alright. That left front wheel looks about ready to fall off on its own. But I'm damned if I know what it was."

"How long before you got here did they crash? And how did that door come off?" Armsmaster gestured toward the car door lying loose beside the car. "That damage pattern does not suggest it was torn off in the accident."

"About forty-five seconds, maybe a minute." Phil shrugged. "Okay, chalk that up to another count of 'I have no idea'."

"I do." Armsmaster led the way over the door. A purplish light sprang out of his gauntlet and illuminated the whole door, then narrowed down to a particular spot. "There."

Phil leaned in and peered at the marks thus illuminated. "Are those … fingermarks? Did someone tear that door off?"

"That's my guess. But they may have been wearing gloves, or generating a personal force field. No fingerprints." Armsmaster sounded mildly disappointed.

"So it was a cape? A Brute?" Phil looked around at the swing set. "They were standing there when the car came around the corner, mounted the curb, and hit them. The car basically broke, then flipped over. This person ripped the door off, then … what? Flew away?"

"It's a working theory. A non-flyer would've been knocked back, which would've reduced the impact. This person was basically like a stone wall." Armsmaster smiled tightly.

Phil thought he knew where the hero was going with this. "An Alexandria package. Like Glory Girl."

"Exactly like Glory Girl." Armsmaster held up a finger. "Excuse me. I need to make a call."

As Phil headed back to his patrol car, he figured he knew exactly who Armsmaster was calling. And if Glory Girl had been out and about, and had left the scene before the authorities showed, she was probably going to be in a bit of trouble.

Teenagers. He rolled his eyes. They were bad enough going out and crashing cars without powers.

Danny

The back gate twanged while Danny was leaning out the front door, looking to see if he could spot where the sirens were coming from. He closed the door and hurried down the entrance hall to the kitchen, opening the back door just before Taylor could put her key into the lock from the outside. To his enormous relief, she looked hale and hearty.

"Are you okay?" he asked, trying not to let anxiety tinge his voice. "There were sirens."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Some idiot was roaring around the neighbourhood in a souped-up car. I expect the police were chasing him. As soon as it started getting too close, I came home."

"Good, good," he said, relief flooding his body. "Did you manage to work things out?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I think I've got a new perspective on things now."

Armsmaster

"Console to Armsmaster. I've contacted Brandish, and she swears up and down that Glory Girl has been on patrol with her around the College campus for the last half hour."

"Armsmaster copies," Colin replied. "I've managed to access the stored memory for the forward mounted cameras, and I have imagery of the unknown cape. Concur that it's not Glory Girl."

He stared at the picture in his HUD, of a person—his software tentatively identified the visual profile as teenager, female—outlined in the headlights just before impact. To Uber's credit, he'd been turning the wheel to avoid the girl, but there just hadn't been enough time, distance or traction to do so.

Of the girl herself, Colin could make out no details. Solid white, with some odd discolourations here and there, she was basically a girl-shaped blaze of white against the darkness beyond. More filtering of the image might help, but he wasn't confident about that.

Who are you? he wondered. And just how strong are you?

End of Part Nine