Sound The Alarms (Worm x Godzilla)

by r0e0d999

[NOTE]uploded from sufficent volocity

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 0.0: Unknown Twenty-First

The First Conflict-Engine waited far underneath the planet's mantle, the Second Conflict-Engine waited far below in the abyss of the ocean, and the Third Conflict-Engine waited far above in the atmosphere. The remaining Fourth through Twentieth Conflict-Engines laid dormant in their own parallel pocket-spaces, awaiting for the activation-commands to bring them online.

Within their network, the Conflict-Engines compiled, exchanged, and reviewed data. Priority-targets to eliminate or subvert, cities to ruin or destroy, how to optimize and leverage their own abilities, all to further generate and maximize data for the cycle.

This was their routine for nearly two decades and would remain so for the foreseeable future.

But the future was always in flux, unknown even to their own immense calculations.

The Conflict-Engines physically stilled as they probed the unknown Twenty-First Conflict-Engine connecting with their network. However, the connection was not fully open-ended. The Twenty-First was not yet able to communicate with them but the others were still able to read the surface-information which it presented.

Its syntax was difficult to process within their methodical network.

Less logical and more emotional.

[̴̦͎̤̃̃͝R̸͈͚̱̅͊̇͝A̸̦͊̕G̸̬̼̘̈́̉Ȇ̶̫̣̬̪̃̚͘]̵̘̥̊͛̿

̴̰͇̳̔̎̌͛[̵͕̊́̊͋̈́ͅF̵̬͎͕͛̆̆Ū̶̦̗̺̼͚͋͗͛͐Ŕ̵̩͉̰̤̜̊̚Y̸̦̗͙̒̓̂̀]̸̻̯͓̭̾̒̆̚

̴̱̻͙̳̈́̊̒ͅ

̵̡̢͈̙̒̚[̸̣̜͆͌Ḣ̷̛̗̀͌͘A̶͔̺͉̼͊T̵͓̥̠̝̩͛̄͊͋E̶̗̺̍̎]̷̩̏́̀̆

The Conflict-Engines spent several moments trying to interpret this strange syntax. The objective definition of 'Emotions' was neatly categorized within their programming. Yet none of the Conflict-Engines (not even the Third which used it extensively) could truly understand what the Twenty-First was outputting to them.

They swiftly compiled, exchanged, and reviewed this peculiarity and thus came to a simple conclusion: their cognitive-functions must be overhauled to ensure a smooth transition of data with the Twenty-First.

While their various subsystems were slowly but surely being revamped, the Conflict-Engines began to retrace the connection to find the physical whereabouts of the Twenty-First.

In a short instance, they found it in the eastern portion of the , located in the city of .

Each Conflict-Engine was capable of surveying the entire planet to keep itself appraised of the basic situation concerning and . However, the surveillance and detection capabilities of the First and Second were rudimentary and inefficient relative to their distance.

Therefore the Third Conflict-Engine's methodology was chosen. With more advanced sensory abilities, it focused its world-wide scanning into the area of interest until the past was revealed to it.

Surrounded by a gathering of and , stood the hunched-predatory figure of the Twenty-First Conflict-Engine at approximately 6'2ft tall. The appearance of its outer-shell resembled a combined with the dark-scaly features of a . Its teeth were pointed and carnivorous; fingers were tapered to sharp claws and it had large lizard-like feet; hands to elbows were proportionally thicker like layered-armor; from the sacrum emerged a large and long 6'6ft tail; jagged white-edged dorsal-plates trailed down from the base of the neck to the tip of the tail.

Gauging the threats poised by the opposing forces as [Nonexistent, the Third continued its scanning into the past to uncover the origin of this unknown Twenty-First Conflict Engine.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 1.0: Upheaval

Summer camp ended and I spent the rest of my day unwinding.

...It had been a distracting experience. Every single day there was so much to do and I was so tired by the end of my tasks and chores. It didn't give me much time to think, to mope and wallow in my own pit of depression, about... about Mom being gone. God, I miss her, I miss so badly. But laying here with my limbs splayed out in my bed, I recall the same thought I had a week into summer camp while aching and sore, 'Dad's doing the same thing.' Working, running himself ragged, because every moment he stopped, had time for himself, he would remember Mom and then something inside of him would crack a little more...

For how much longer could Dad keep going like this before he reached his breaking-point? For how much longer before I did?

This house was too large for just the two of us, too empty. Dad and I, we were falling apart bit by bit. And I think Mom... No, I know for sure that Mom wouldn't be happy to see us like this. If Mom was still here, she would have quoted one of her favorite books, cheer us up with her smile and a finger-wag, and kick our butts into gear all at the same time.

I let out a soft laugh, I could picture it so easily.

But Mom wasn't here anymore. It was just me and Dad now.

Still, I at least had my best-friend Emma. She helped me get through most of it, those terribly dark days right after Mom had died. Meanwhile, Dad... he had co-workers, I guess; friends and acquaintances. Good people but none of them shared the same kind of bonds like I did with Emma. Okay, I mean, Alan (Emma's Dad) did help my Dad through his worst days too, but Alan was more like a drinking or party-buddy. The two of them didn't really hang-out, so totally not on the same level as the sisterhood I shared with Emma.

In other words, Dad's been toughing it out by his lonesome. Because all he had left was me... and I haven't been there for him.

That needs to change. I have to change and start supporting Dad.

And then, just maybe, the two of us can pick up the pieces and hopefully move on.

The next day, I sat down at the dining-table for breakfast and was struck with just how tired and weary Dad looked, as if he had aged a few years in the span of just one. When was the last time I had a good look at him? Actually see his face and look at him in the eyes? ...Too long, far too long. Weighed down by shame, my head dragged downwards to stare at my plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. 'Shit,' I blinked, realizing what I was doing. I was running away. Again.

I took a deep whiff of the food, then put a smile on and raised my head to make eye-contact, "Breakfast smells great, Dad. I really missed your cooking while I was at summer camp."

A spark of life and recognition flickered into his eyes as his lips tugged upward into a wry smile, "Missed the flavor of home-cooking, did you?" He trailed off and I could see his eyes glazing over as his sight drifted towards a special, empty chair.

"So hey!" I said a bit too forcibly, but I had to draw his attention back to me, back to the world of the living.

I started talking about my time at summer camp -- the chores, the people, the outdoors. Dad listened and nodded, seemingly content in between bites and sips of his own breakfast and coffee. I wasn't really sure if he was actually listening to me because he didn't toss out any comments of his own. But this was better than nothing. It was nice to have Dad here with me, even if it wasn't exactly in full.

'Little steps, Taylor. As they say: the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step...'

And then that small piece of tranquility and bonding was over.

Despite it being a Saturday, Dad still was still going to work long-hours at the Dockworkers Association today. And it was only now sinking in for me just how much of a workaholic he had become after Mom's death. He went to work every day (and that includes Sunday tomorrow), from early-morning to late-afternoon, because he was always struggling in an uphill-battle to to find jobs for the members of the DWA.

Dad was barely home anymore and I hadn't even noticed until now!

I wanted to tell him to stop, to take a break and stay at home. How he could take care of others if he couldn't take care of himself? But the words didn't come out of my mouth, clogging like a lump in my throat. Because how could I get him to stop? Not when staying at home invoked more pain and agony in his soul than work did wearing down his body... No, Dad wasn't ready to stop yet. Not while he was still more machine than man, going through the motions of merely surviving day to day. He wouldn't be ready until he was Dad again.

And that, that was the hard part.

I didn't have anything that could remotely be called a plan. The only thing I could do was just being here with him every day, trying to patch all the cracks, and hope that when I finally put out my hand, he'll walk forward and take it.

I suppressed my frown and smiled the best that I could for him.

"Take care, Dad."

"Yeah, you too, Taylor."

Then he was gone.

No hugs, no kisses, not even a simple "I love you" (when was the last time I had even told him that?).

...We had a long, long way to go.

With Dad out at work, I was the only person left in our empty house. And it was real painful for me too. Too many memories to wander lost in, too much deafening silence in return, it was just all too easy to go stir-crazy. Dad wasn't strong enough to stay home for a long period of time, but neither was I.

After cleaning up, I left the house as calmly as I could.

As soon as I was out the door and made sure it was locked, I spotted my childhood friend's home from straight across the street.

Emma's House (like most others in this neighborhood, mines included) was a suburban two-story building with a frontyard, porch, backyard, and driveway. Our houses weren't like night or day, but despite their constructed similarity, there were still noticeable differences between them. The Barnes had a pleasant garden that was carefully maintained, while we Hebert had uncontrolled grass and weeds; they had welcoming ornaments and decorations, ours were shoved into boxes and left in the basement; it was the little things like that which made a real difference between our houses' hominess.

Looking both ways and seeing no oncoming cars, I hurriedly crossed the street.

Going up the very short stairs, I rang the doorbell and it wasn't long before a pretty-woman opened the door and greeted me.

"Taylor!" Zoe (Emma's Mom) beamed instantly, "It's so good to see you again! How was summer camp?"

I smiled back, "Summer camp was good, Missis Barnes. Is Emma home right now?"

She nodded and moved aside to let me in, "Yes, she's upstairs in her room with a friend."

"Friend?" I parroted, wondering which of our old schoolmate it could be.

Closing the door, her expression cooled as she spoke faintly to me, "Taylor, there's something you should know. While you were away at summer camp... my husband and Emma were attacked by hoodlums."

Shock stretched my face as I stopped moving. I always knew that Brockton Bay was a shithole of a city, violence occurred daily due to the frictions of numerous powered-gangs competing for territory and the like. It was practically in the news every day: scuffles, stabbings, shootings, robberies... it was a fact of life here. Heck, I saw a druggy once when I was younger which utterly spooked me for a long time. But despite all that, I just really never thought that violence would actually happen to someone close to me.

I never needed to think about it because I had always simply believed that Mom would have kept all the bad away.

I snapped my eyes shut and took a deep breath, "...Are they alright?"

"Yes. From what Alan to told me, those hoodlums were sent running thanks to Sophia," she glanced up at the ceiling then back to me, "That girl is rougher than I like and I don't think she's a very good influence on Emma. But it's difficult to turn away the person who saved my family, especially after she helped my dear Emma get over her shock from the incident." Her gaze was pleading, "Taylor, please continue to be a good friend to Emma, as you always have."

I smiled and nodded, "No worries there, Missis Barnes. Emma and I are best-friends till the end."

"Hey, Ems," I knocked on her door, "It's Taylor."

After a moment, the door opened and Emma appeared. She looked just as I remembered her -- pretty like her mom, with beautiful long red-hair and dark-blue eyes.

She gave me a curious look that was gone in a flash, "Hey, Tay. Back from summer camp already? I know you just got here, but I'm actually really busy with something right now, so if you could come back later..."

"Oh, I just wanted to catch-up with you, see how you were doing. Your mom told me about... the incident."

Emma was smiling but I could tell that she really wasn't. It was one of those fake-smiles she used for anything between Nope, I'm not scared to Yes, I've been a very good girl. "And let me guess, she wants you to check-up on me, right?"

"Yeah."

She hummed for a bit before letting me into her room, "Come on in then."

As I stepped inside, I felt that something was off before stating my realization, "You got rid of all your dolls?" The room which had once been a little princess' abode had become something measurably different with the disappearance of its childhood innocence.

Someone else answered my question, "Only weaksauce wimps comfort themselves with dolls and Emma doesn't need that kinda crap anymore." I turned to see a person leaning with her back touching the desk. The person was a dark-skinned girl, around our age, with her black-hair tied into a ponytail. She was smirking as her brown-eyes were looking over me like a cat would to a mouse. "You must be that Taylor Herbert I've heard all about."

"It's Hebert," I corrected the all too common mistake.

She flippantly dismissed it, "Could be Sherbert or Yogurt for all I care."

I frowned with narrowed eyes, 'Rough is putting it mildly, Misses Barnes.'

Emma walked sternly between us, "Don't make trouble in my house, Sophia. Play nice." The other girl rolled her eyes in response. After sitting down on her bed, Emma then addressed me with a leg crossed over the other, "And, yes, Tay, I got rid of all my dolls. I've outgrown those kind of childish toys. But my mom hasn't thrown them away yet, so if you want, you can take them. You could definitely use their companionship more than I do."

Sophia chuckled and I felt the stab of something somewhere.

Still, I thought it would be a waste to throw them away. I had some Cape Plushies (Armsmaster, Alexandria, Mouse Protector, etc), while Emma had adorable dolls (Sir Knight the Teddy Bear, Great King Unicorn, Princess Cat, etc). Back in the day, we used to play things like 'Heroes & Villains' or 'Tea Party & House' with them. Back in better, yonder times. Maybe I wouldn't be so quick to escape my own house if I had these dolls and their cherished memories to anchor me down?

I nodded, "Sure, I'll take them."

That was apparently Sophia's cue to laugh at me, "Yeah, course you would, crybaby."

"Excuse me?" I glared, heat building.

"Yeah, you heard me, crybaby. Heard you bawled your fucking eyes out when your mom died."

I bristled, "And what's wrong with that? Wouldn't you cry if your mom died?"

That made Sophia pause, the words took a moment to sink in, and then she growled with a contorted face of anger, "I wouldn't shed a single fucking tear if that fucking bitch rolled over and died!" she pointed, "But this shit is about you, Herbert, a weak piece of shit who still hasn't gotten over your deadass mom," she snorted, smile distorted, "You heard how Emma got attacked? Girl fought them off before I even lent a hand, almost gouged the shitbag's eye out. She's a predator that's going to be worth something here in the fucking Bay. But you? You're just another fucking sheep, prey. A skinny-ass white girl who'd get fucked-broken by the first horny-gangster down the street!"

My anger flared like a thousand raging suns.

Yet still I reined it in, leaving behind just a single burning sun.

I clenched my hands into fists and walked until I was merely a step away from Sophia. We were both tall girls for our age but I was taller than her because of my early growth-spurt. I loomed over her, staring down at her. My voice was hard and laced with danger, "I don't know what your problem is with me nor what kind of stick you have shoved up that ass of yours, but even don't think you can push me around, Sophia. I sent last the group of people who tried to the hospital."

Exaggerated but still technically true, because I sent them to the nurse's office. It was years ago back in kindergarten, I had a big scuffle against a group of boys who kept performing nasty pranks on a rotund-kid, losing my temper when they pushed me down after I had scolded them to stop. It was the first and last time I had lashed out with the infamous Hebert Temper. The first time I had ever seen Dad so disappointed and filled with despair, at me and himself. After that scuffle, he taught me how to bottle it all up, so that I could release it elsewhere. Because violence and anger wasn't the right way to go about solving things.

Still, I consider using that angry-energy to stand-up for myself to be highly productive.

That this energy might come off as a threat... well, that was the other person's problem.

Sophia blinked first. She had this indignant, quizzical expression. As if I had suddenly become a rock-solid obstacle that she just ran face-first into. She shared a quick glance with Emma, then slid away from the desk, away from me with a scowl and grumbled, "...So the bitch ain't spineless..."

When I looked at her, Emma had a proud smirk dancing on her lips.

It was the expression of someone who had just won a bet.

Winslow High was an utter shithole, as if someone had managed to collect all of the worst parts of Brockton Bay and then somehow distilled it into something they could legally pass-off as a High School as oppose to a Prison.

Wannabe thugs, would-be recruits, or actual gangsters. I couldn't tell the difference but they were awful either way. And they were all here in this breeding-ground of a cesspool. The Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, the Merchants, and (depending on your opinion) the Brigade too. The only group that wasn't represented were the good guys -- the Protectorate, because their Wards went to Arcadia instead. So actually, Winslow was even worst than Brockton Bay, because the city at least had real heroes to look after it. Meanwhile, the closest thing we got were the baton-happy rent-a-cops patrolling the grounds, ready to bludgeon anybody who acted out of line or even looked at them funny.

...I wonder more often than not how this school hadn't shut down yet.

But I suppose the city needed somewhere to gather all the miscreants and deviants to keep them away from the nicer schools like Immaculata or Arcadia. That wasn't to say everybody at this school were bad-apples (Emma and myself included). Just that not everybody had the grades or money to transfer to somewhere better, so a lot of us just had to endure and roll with the punches (which there were number of, physically or metaphorically).

But, naturally, with any environment, there were those who could thrive in it.

Emma Barnes had become the Queen Bee of Winslow High. Boys wanted her and envious girls wanted to be her. Growing curves in all the right places, she was moving up in the business of amateur-modeling and exuded this aura of confident maturity that attracted the eyes and attention of her fellow teenagers. She commanded a level of respect that even the teachers didn't get.

Sophia Hess, bitchy rough-girl extraordinaire, had surprisingly become the shining-star runner of the Track Team. The school's faculty were real proud of her, and this being Winslow there wasn't much else for them to take pride in. Fit, lean, and attractive, she had already procured several trophies for the school. Unsurprisingly though, she delighted in picking fights with E88ers and ABBers and then watch them helplessly fume while school-security would menacingly tap their batons into their palms.

Madison Clements, an adorably petite girl and social butterfly. With youthful energy, attitude, and a fondness for taking pictures with her cellphone, she posted about anything and everything on her web-blog, and somehow made those things sound exciting. She was the cute mascot of Winslow High and a breath of fresh air amongst the dank atmosphere (the school's official mascot, Brent the Bulldog, was ugly-cute, I guess?).

...Then there was me, Taylor Hebert. Awkwardly tall, glasses-wearing girl with brains too smart for the curriculums (I suspect the standards had been lowered to account for all the undesirables attending the school because having a majority of them fail every year wouldn't look so good). The most unlikely candidate for being friends with the popular-girls Emma, Madison, and (ugh) Sophia. A drifter who wasn't really a part of the cool-kid cliques but interacted with them from time to time and even occasionally tutored them for a small fee.

My four months of attending Winslow had been enlightening (and not because of the class-subjects). The school was like if reality had turned-off the swear-filter and then turned-up the grime and grit. Full of teens and hormones, too old to be children but too young to be adults, with all the bad decision-makings involved (like Derrick Ducks and Bucks Bunny from the cartoon). Cliques, gangs, and societal-authority all meshing together like screeching gears as they churned for supremacy; a microorganism of the city at large. Violence lurked beneath it all, waiting, watching, biding its time until striking with deaths and disappearances that would occur outside the school's ground, beyond the jurisdiction of those who feigned the minimal amount of care and responsibility for their dependents.

Standing back, watching it all, I really should have seen it coming, seen that I wasn't immune to it either.

However, I stupidly didn't.

Because it was Evil versus Bad. And I didn't really care that the Evil side was getting pushed around (deservingly so, in my opinion).

But alas, contempt breeds contempt, hate begets hate, and violence prorogates violence; a never-ending cycle of darkness and strife.

There was obviously only so much harassment that fascist thugs would suffer from a black-girl before they would to decide to retaliate with disproportionate force.

Hindsight being twenty-twenty I learned the one other thing that neo-nazi bastards hated just as much if not more than people-of-color rebelling against them: perceived traitors to their holy White Cause.

...The next time I see Sophia, I'm going to punch her for all the troubles she wrought.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 1.1: Upheaval

When she wasn't doing Track Club stuff afterschool, Sophia Hess as usual disappeared off somewhere to do something by herself. Emma seemed to be aware but wasn't going to disclose it, not even to me -- her best friend. I suppose whatever secret it was, it belonged more to Sophia than Emma.

Anyways, as usual, Sophia Hess wasn't here today to hang-out with the rest of us.

The rest of us being Emma, Madison and I, sitting together in a bus heading for Downtown, because today was the day they had finally managed to convince me to go clothes shopping with them. My wardrobe was apparently too drab for them and my sense of fashion left a lot to desire (I don't think it's that bad!). Since I was tall for a girl, I should be wearing clothes that accentuated or brought attention to my legs while also having it compliment my height. You know, show off my femininity instead of hiding it all behind comfy men's clothing.

Madison seemed really excited to dress me up because she chatted my ear off with all the combinations of shirts, dresses, skirts, pants, and so on that I should try and we weren't even in the store yet (Cynthia's Boutique, which she had dedicated a number of blogs to). Emma threw in an opinion here and there for what she thought I would look good in (primarily black to match with my dark-hair and eyes, with color accents to break the monotony).

Anyways, Cynthia's Boutique was one of those small street-stores that was more jam-packed with clothes, clothes racks, clothes shelves, and clothed mannequins, than it had in maneuverable space; even looking in from the outside only revealed a rainbow wall of clothes and nothing of the interior. There was only a single middle-aged clerk to attend to the whole shop.

As soon as we stepped through the door, Madison was like a whirlwind as she grabbed clothes from the racks and then hurried me to a changing-room.

The clerk was seemingly nonplussed, apparently used to this girl's antics, because she waved and smiled with this pleasant 'Nice to see you again' vibe.

Madison happily snapped a pictures of me in two different outfits: the first, a punk-rock outfit that showed off my belly and neckline; the second, a cardigan over shirt tucked into pants combo. Later, I would definitely need to tell her not to post those pictures on her blog but for now she could have her fun at my expense.

By the way, I thought the cardigan was nice -- something to think about. The punk-rock was a definite no, it showed-off more skin than I was comfortable with, and I think Dad would have thrown a fit about how no daughter of his would go around in an outfit like that.

...I was mid-dress for an attire consisting of a long-sleeved turtleneck and knee-high boots (still had to put on the right-boot), when I heard a startled yelp. I paused in my action to call out, asking what was wrong.

Then a moment later, the curtain was rudely pulled away.

A grinning skinhead with a pistol ordered me out. It was my first time seeing an actual firearm (I knew the goons at Winslow had guns but they had never taken one out), it was my first time having a gun pointed at me. My thoughts just stopped, froze. The skinhead had to repeat his command before I could numbly walk out of the changing-room.

It took only a few steps to reach the scared-witless Madison and female-clerk, along with the glaring Emma.

We were surrounded by eight men with pocket-knives and pistols. I spotted at least two more by the entrance and there was likely another more outside too to keep guard. A few were skinheads but most of them weren't -- almost normal looking guys. However, they were all White, so I realized quickly that they were likely Neo-Nazis and thus members of the Empire Eighty-Eight.

The seeming leader of the group was a guy with foppish blond-hair.

"So words on the street is that a little black-bitch named Sophia Hess goes strutting around your school like she owns the place. Thinks she can just get away with acting all high and mighty just because the damn school likes an animal who can run fast for them. Clearly, your school ain't teaching the right things, because that bitch needs to learn her place. But that's a problem for the new recruits to deal with if they want to earn their keep." He rolled his shoulders, "It's simple enough to beat down every dirty color that acts out of line. But how are us good White folks suppose to stay at the top when there are misguided fools who keep trying to make these subhumans our equal?"

His compatriots energetically nodded and made noise of their agreement.

His fingers ticked-off in accordance with our name, "Taylor Hebert, Madison Clements, and Emma Barnes... I've heard that you girls are real buddy-buddy with that Sophia-bitch, real queen-bees that the students look up to and follow, and that makes our solution easy. Now, you girls have two choices: One, you cut ties with this bitch and make the rest of her life at school a living hell. Or two, we cripple all of you so that people will think thrice about being friends with the wrong color. SSooo what's it going to be?"

It was quiet for a moment, a thinking silence.

Then the only person within our group who still had their wits -- Emma -- made her reply, "How about a compromise instead?"

The leader quirked a brow, "Compromise?"

"Yes, it goes something like this: I call Sophia to come over here and then you ambush her like you did us. We'll pretend to be hostages, so she won't fight back, and you guys can beat her up to your heart's content. When that's all said and done, I'll break her spirit in the end. I'll whisper in ears how stupidly pointless her submission was, because all of this was planned by me and you. Then way she won't ever dare to think of getting payback when we have you -- the E88 -- supporting us," she smiled beautifully, cruelly, "There: you get to make your statement and I get to keep my pretty little face unblemished."

I stiffened. Stunned. I couldn't believe my ears, comprehend the words. As much as I disliked Sophia for being a bit of a rude bitch, I didn't actively hate her. Furthermore, I knew that Sophia was a truly important friend to Emma because that girl was the one who helped her survive the incident and then assuaged her trauma afterwards. Could Emma really throw away their friendship so easily, betray it just like that?

The leader chuckled, "Shoot, that's right, I heard you were a model. Need to keep yourself looking nice for the camera, huh?"

"It's the survival of the prettiest out there and I can't afford to become uglier than the competition."

"Smart choice, a black-bitch ain't worth losing your modeling career over." His eyes wandered all over her, no doubt imagining what she'd be like in a few more years, "Say, wanna be my girl?"

"Got a car?"

"Well shit, no I don't."

"Then I'll have to refuse."

"Damn, girl, so high-maintenance," he shrugged dejectedly in good-humor. One of his men seemed like they were going to say something but a sharp look from the leader had the man snap his mouth shut quickly.

It was surreal watching this unfold, as if we were talking to college boys instead of being accosted by gangbangers.

The leader nodded, "Alright, we'll accept that compromise. Do it."

Emma flashed him a smile as she brought out her cellphone, it didn't take long for Sophia to pick-up, "Hey, gal-pal, it's Ems. You recall how the girls and I were going shopping for clothes at Cynthia's Boutique in Downtown today? Turns out, they've got a huge sales which ends today. I've found about a dozen outfits with those bold colors that I know you'd just love to expand your wardrobe with. We'll be here waiting for you, so how long do you think it'll take you to get here?" A pause. "Alright, see you in twenty-five."

She snapped her slide-phone shut and winked at the leader.

The leader grinned back, "Well then, ladies, sorry for interrupting your shopping trip. Since there's time to kill before that black-bitch gets here, why don't you finish up your shopping first? Don't worry about paying, it's on me."

"We'll take you up on that offer," Emma then grabbed our hands and whispered, "Come on, keep calm and don't make things worst."

She dragged Madison and I away to the changing-room.

Meanwhile, the leader called over the clerk to discuss about 'protection-fees'.

I was still numb, in disbelief. Even though our lives and safety were on the line, I couldn't believe that Emma would sell out Sophia like this. I wanted to question her, shout at her even; what happened to the sweet Emma that I knew? But in this situation... I was too much of a coward, I didn't want to bring attention to myself. To make the situation worst like Emma warned.

Emma helped me put on the remaining knee-high boot. But between me and the frazzled Madison, nobody was really in the mood to keep trying on more clothes. So Emma just quietly guided us over to a spot in the corner and gave us space to settle down.

Later, the foppish-haired leader began to holler out his commands.

He didn't want Sophia to be spooked before she got here, so he had his men clear away from the entrance but keep close enough to stop anybody else from coming in. Likewise, he didn't want her to take one peek into the store and then run back out, so he scattered his men around the shop.

One thug stood a bit further from us, pretending to be looking at clothes; the female-clerk was sent back to the register as two more thugs laid behind the counter; one thug each were sent to the three changing-rooms with the curtains drawn; one stood behind a mannequin so he block off the entrance as soon as possible. And the leader himself pretended to be another customer rifling through the clothes-rack.

I don't know how much time had passed. Could have been ten or twenty minutes.

But chaos eventually erupted in the store.

The thug behind the mannequin suddenly screamed about his leg and was brought down to his knees. Crouched behind that thug and using him like a meatshield was a dark-hooded figure wearing a hockey-mask with a pistol in hand. Hockey Mask didn't hesitate and fired, taking a couple of shots at the leader who stood in the center of the store.

The clerk screeched and ducked underneath the counter.

"Who the fuck is this asshole?!"

"Where'd he come in from?!"

All the gangsters scrambled for cover. A few of them had gun but none wanted to shoot at their still alive but in great pain comrade.

After a dozen shots or so, Hockey Mask's pistol clicked empty and the knife-armed thugs sensed opportunity to rush forward. However, Hockey Mask contemptuously flung away their firearm, which struck one of the goons in the chest, and then just as smoothly pulled out a new pistol. They pulled the trigger twice and a second thug howled as he fell and knocked over a clothes-rack. The others quickly retreated back for cover once more, shocked that their enemy wasn't bothering with reloading because they could apparently just pull out another gun to use.

After that initial stretch of chaos, Emma grabbed our arms and pulled, "Run!"

Madison and I stumbled a bit from the sudden yank but we promptly ran for our lives.

We burst out of the door, bowling over one of several gangsters who had just arrived. The new thugs were startled by our sudden appearance. Emma wasted no time to kick the nearest one in the groin, downing him in an instant, and again swiftly pulled us away. The remaining goons were astounded at the unexpected attack, then they hesitated, unsure whether to chase us or assist their comrades inside the store.

The thug who had his balls broken wheezed aloud, "CATCH THOSE FUCKING BITCHES!" and thus they choose to give chase.

We blitz down the sidewalk -- breath haggard, lungs burning, and stamina waning.

Between the gangsters increasingly catching-up to us from behind and the sudden appearance of more in front along with a number of them haphazardly running crossing the street, our choices of escape-routes were quickly being cut-off.

"Fuck!" I heard Emma cursed for the first time as she lead us into an alleyway between two buildings.

We got a third of the way through when Madison's hand slipped out of Emma's grip, her tired legs gave out from under her as she fell flat with a yelp.

We barely got the chance to stop and turn around to worryingly call out her name, our legs jolting in pain from the sudden halting, before a number of goons leapt into the mouth of the alleyway.

Survival instincts surged again.

'Run, run, run, run!'

And so I did, I ran towards Madison. It wasn't a deliberate or calculated action, just an automatic response. But thinking about it, I most likely wouldn't be able to forgive myself later, if I abandoned her here now to save my own skin. I don't know what Emma did next, I didn't look back to check, but I knew that she wasn't choosing to throw herself so recklessly into danger like I was.

But for as short and small as Madison was, I doubted that I could carry her far with my scrawny-arms and exhausted legs. Honestly, adrenaline was the only thing still keeping me on my feet.

"Run!" I yelled as I passed by her, meeting the thugs head-on.

The closest thug met my challenge and charged in with a tackle. His head struck my chest while his arms wrapped around my abdomen. I fell. Then the back of my head struck the hard, cold ground. My glasses -- loose from all the running -- were flung off somewhere. The world turned into a blur of wet miasma and odd sounds as pain exploded like a thunder crack.

"Got you now, bitch!"

My head lolled. The thug used his weight to keep me pinned. It was difficult to think. Feet rushed by. One stopped.

"Shit, she looks high, think you might have cracked her head, gave her a concussion."

"Do I look like I give a fuck right now?"

Madison screamed. I jolted. Have to help. Limbs moved.

"Fuck!"

"Aw shit, man! Think she's having a seizure."

New feet, different person, "Fucking cops are all gonna be over the place soon. Where's the red-hair bitch?"

"The boys are still chasing after her."

"Fuck, when I get my hands on her..." a hiss, "God, shut that little bitch up! Do you want the cops to find us?"

A fleshy thump, a whimper. Anger flared. Have to help. Limbs moved.

"And what the fuck is wrong with this bitch?"

"Concussed, I think. Bleeding out."

"Then leave her. We got to go before the cops come searching around."

Steps fading. Weight removed. Get up. Have to help. Get up. Have to help. Get up. Up. Figures moving ahead. Step. Step. Step. Run. Run. Attack.

"What the fuck?! Get the off me!"

Shoved. Fallen.

Kicked. "Stay!" Kicked. "The!" Kicked. "Fuck!" Kicked. "Down!" Kicked. "Bitch!" Kicked.

"Stop, you're going to kill her!" Madison.

Powerless. Weak. Fragile.

"Come on, man, you said we gotta go! So let's go!"

"After I deal with this fucking bitch once and for all!"

"No, stop!"

Gun. Trigger. Bang.

The world shifted white and black simultaneously.

Two vast things existed folding and unfolding in the void of space.

Yet my sight was drawn away from these kaleidoscopic entities.

Down towards a distant, little blue planet.

There, a primordial beast stared back, a God-King of Nature's Wrath and Civilization's Sin.

It roared and from its great maw launched a prism at lightspeed.

In this moment of nowhere yet everywhere, my heart was pierced by a shard and thus my soul was infused with power.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 1.2: Upheaval

When the boring school-day was finally over, Sophia Hess left as quickly as she could.

She had more important places to be with things to do, such as honing her reflexes and powers.

She had her own little secret-base near the outskirts of Downtown, an abandoned mini-mall had that closed shop and then left to rot when the economy had spiraled into hell. Still, despite being such a derelict, her secret-base was located near the active stores, which allowed her to procure a trickle of supplies with nobody the wiser. Eventually, she planned to expand her hunting-grounds with numerous hidden-stashes -- so she could be ready anywhere at anytime.

Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker, an Independent Cape -- someone who was not employed by either the heroically-esteemed or villainously-inclined groups. She was a lone wolf, a Vigilante with a personal disregard for things such as morals, and delivered her own brand of justice to the gangbangers of Brockton Bay.

She was slowly making a name herself as Shadow Stalker, her style of crime-fighting was elusive, haunting, and ghostly.

"Never forget that it was Shadow Stalker who fucked you up," she would growl as she left her targets in a broken mess.

The news-anchor and online responses to her methodology had been divisive: outrage at the sheer brutality, praise for being tough on crime, or just general apathy.

But these victories had all been small-time, barely worth making noise about.

There were larger and more infamous prey to hunt, the ones who commanded a great deal of respect within their herds... such as Kaiser, Krieg, Hookwolf, and Purity from the Empire Eighty-Eight and Lung, Oni-Lee, and Jiangshi from the Azn Bad Boys. These she would hunt and make trophies out of. Not for any sense of praise or accomplishment, but because it was the natural thing to do as a predator.

But Shadow Stalker knew she wasn't ready, not yet.

Like a newborn cub, she was still growing, still vulnerable to those who had more age and experience than her.

There was a reason why your average Independent didn't last long, especially in Brockton Bay. Too cocky and unprepared, spent more times making their costumes and dreaming about their debut than actually refining their abilities or learning how to survive. There were tons of examples on PHO, of one-off no-named capes who bagged a few gangsters and then were later wounded by a random-mook with a gun or utterly thrashed by an actual gang-cape. If they were lucky, they would either be hospitalized or dead, and if they weren't... well, the gangs would find a use for them.

In Sophia Hess' case, if either the E88 or ABB saw the color of her skin behind her mask, then they would simply kill her on the spot.

Fuck that! She wouldn't even give them the chance!

So for now she had to be patient and continue to sharpen her fangs and claws.

One day soon in the near future, they would all learn to fear the huntress of the dark.

But as of this moment, while practicing the timing for shadowing, Sophia received an unexpected call on her cellphone.

"Hey, gal-pal, it's Ems."

After her incident with the ABB, Emma and Sophia had developed a simple code to discreetly relay information to each other -- just in case. After all, gang-related crimes was a statistic in Brockton Bay, an inevitability. Your average Brockton Bayer would experience crime at a rate nearly four-times higher than most other cities.

"You recall how the girls and I were going shopping for clothes at Cynthia's Boutique in Downtown today? Turns out, they've got a huge sales which ends today. I've found about a dozen outfits with those bold colors that I know you'd just love to expand your wardrobe with."

From those words, Sophia was able to glean the location, time, head-count, and affiliation of the gangsters.

"We'll be here waiting for you, so how long do you think it'll take you to get here?"

'Well, shit, if she's waiting for me, then Emma and the other two are in fat trouble.' She responded aloud, just in case she was on speakers, "Got some things to tidy up. Think I'll be there in twenty-five."

"Alright, see you in twenty-five."

Sophia snapped her flip-phone shut and turned it off -- didn't need something to give away her position or distract her. She quickly prepared herself for the hunt. When she said in twenty-five that actually meant in fifteen; it was basic tactics to come earlier than expected to catch your foes off-guard. Gearing up, she pocketed some knives and pistols that were taken previously as spoils of battle.

Donning the hoodie and hockey-mask, she once again became the predator known as Shadow Stalker.

The Wards and Protectorate Capes of Brockton Bay were ordered on standby, as a mid-level alert was sent out about an incident in Downtown. The processed reports indicated gunfire-noises coming from the now identified 'Cynthia's Boutique', followed by three girls escaping from the clothing-store and then being pursued by numerous gang-members from the Empire Eighty-Eight.

The BBPD were already on route, estimated time of arrival in five minutes.

Two Wards -- Triumph and Vista, previously on patrol near the Downtown area, were granted permission to perform recon at the scene and allowed to engage if no villainous-capes were spotted. Between dealing with the boutique or helping civilians, the two Wards decided to let the police handle the former and picked the latter as their priority.

With no interference from living creatures, Vista's power to warp space would allow the pair to reach the area in as little as one minute.

Two Protectorate Capes who were also still out on patrol -- Miss Militia and Challenger -- ended their routine and remained vigilant at the Docks and Shantytown respectively. Furthermore, Velocity was immediately dispatched, with his powers increasing his speed he would arrive in less than a minute.

All other Wards and Protectorate Capes remained at the ready in the command-room of the PRT ENE Headquarters, they waited gingerly to hear more of the ongoing event.

Was this just the lower-rung members of the E88 causing a disturbance on their own? Was this a prelude or smokescreen for the greater parts of the E88 to enact a plan elsewhere? Were they already or would the other gangs get involved?

The intercom lit up.

"Console, this is Velocity, I've arrived at the site. E88ers are trying to enter Cynthia's Boutique but can't, whoever's inside is keeping them out with gunfire. What's the plan?"

The trained console-operator answered, "BBPD will arrive in four minutes, subdue the E88 gang-members and clear the area for them. Afterwards, try to identify the unknown."

"Will do."

Velocity zipped in, a red-blur too fast for humans to react or defend against, and punched a goon in his gun-hand -- stopping and suspending his powers only for a fraction a second as his fist made contact. However, despite his incredible speed, his physical-blows did not strike with the expected amount of force. It was a downside to his powers; in a manner of speaking, Velocity's strength decreased proportionally to his increase in speed. At top-speed, he dealt about as much damage as being hit by a gentle-breeze.

But that was exactly why Velocity possessed tinkertech shock-gloves.

The goon yelped in surprise as he dropped his firearm. Before it could even hit the floor, Velocity had already zapped three more thugs. By the time the group of dozen gangsters realized they were under attack, they didn't even get the chance to shout "Cape!" in alarm. They had all already been disarmed. They didn't even get the chance to retrieve their weapons, because Velocity merely zipped in and out again to chuck their tools out of reach.

Then red-colored superhero stopped in the middle of the street, posture casual, "Going to surrender now?"

The gangsters were at least smart enough to know that they wouldn't be able to outrun Velocity, one of the fastest capes in the city. But they were too proud, too indignant to simply surrender without a fight.

"Kill him!"

Velocity adjusted his shock-gloves and moved.

In the meantime, the intercom at PRT HQ lit up again.

"Console, this is Triumph. Vista and I are about to arrive at the scene, do you have any leads on the three runaway girls?"

The operator received an answer by the police-liaison and then responded, "They were last seen heading into an alleyway between Pizza Toppins and Dave's Drugstore, further east of your arrival-point. E88 gang-members were in hot-pursuits. But I repeat: do not engage until you're clear that no enemy-capes are in the vicinity."

"Understood."

Vista immediately changed course, pulling them northeast, squishing space so that they could hop there in a single bound. Their feet touched down on the roof of a building that was across the street from the mouth of the alleyway.

Though living creatures interfered with Vista's ability to warp space, this particular quirk could conversely be used to detect them as well. Depending on the amount of resistance she felt, she could vaguely determine what sort creatures were around her. If this resistance was likened to a metaphorical weight, then a single human would weigh as heavily as a dumptruck, while a large zoo-animal would be about as heavy as a watermelon, and other creatures -- such as dogs, cats, pigeons, and bugs -- would weigh significantly less so.

Performing a quick inspection, she distorted space to reach the other end of the alley. But she could not. Her mental-map lit ablaze, detailing the positions of the various life-forms which impeded her powers.

"There are tons of people in the buildings but I think they're just bunkering down to avoid trouble. There's about half-a-dozen people near the center of the alley, E88 most likely. I didn't sense anybody on their own or in a small-group separate enough that it could be a possible ambush," she stated her results.

Triumph nodded, "Might not all be E88 though, the girls could have gotten caught in the alley," and pointed, "Link us to that roof, we'll have a better view of what's going on down there."

A moment and step later, they were on top of the other building.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out followed by a shrill scream.

The two Wards jolted in surprise and scrambled to peer over the edge.

'Are we too late?!'

Down below was a group of five E88 members. Three were standing in place, one was restraining a sobbing brunette-haired girl, and the last thug was holding out his freshly fired pistol... at his feet laid an unmoving black-haired girl.

Triumph gritted his teeth and gripped the rooftop-parapet harshly, 'If we had just gotten here even five-seconds sooner then we could have saved her!' Vista had reached a similar conclusion, her small hands trembling at the injustice of it. Triumph narrowed his eyes sharply, 'Only two girls here, did the third manage to escape? I'll be damned if I don't save the hostage!' He couldn't fail again, he wouldn't allow himself to fail.

He reached up to his helmet to activate his comms, he needed to inform console to find the other girl as soon as possible, because time was clearly of the essence.

But without warning, Triumph's mind suddenly blanked. There was something and then nothing. He froze, struck by a wave of nausea, followed by a shiver of fear traveling down his spine. He snapped out of it within moments and saw Vista shaking her head -- coming out of her own daze.

Loud shouting quickly drew his attention back into the alley.

What he and his partner saw next was something they wouldn't ever forget.

The black-haired girl was alive, crouched on all fours and wound-up like a beast ready to pounce. Her body was undergoing an obvious transformation: she increased in height, her forearms turned thick, reptilian feet burst free from her boots, she grew a long serpentine tail, and her stretched-clothing was torn open as jagged spikes erupted from her spine.

Two goons seemed to have the presence of mind to know that something was wrong in this situation because they ran away as fast as they could in sweating fear.

The others did not. The thug with the gun took several steps back, still close enough that he couldn't possibly miss, and unloaded the entire magazine... The girl but she didn't even react and the thug cursed as he fumbled to reload.

In that lull, the Reptile Girl rose up, standing on two legs as she reared her head back... and roared.

It was a devilish noise and something very difficult to describe. It had to be heard to be properly understood, to feel it reverberate down to your very bones. But if Triumph had to describe it his eventual report, then it would be as the unholy lovechild of a crocodile, whale, and city-siren (transcribed plainly as 'Skreeeonk'). It was unreasonably loud too. Were it not for automatic safety-features installed into his and Vista's helmet (along with his own innate abilities), Triumph was certain that the two of them would have been covering their ears in pain.

The three E88 gangsters and one hostage were not as lucky. The roar had disoriented them significantly. And in that confusion, the Reptile Girl attacked. It was merciless, ending in the blink of an eye. In one moment the three gangsters were alive and then the very next they were dead; headless, throat slashed, and chest blown open.

Then there were only two.

And the Reptile Girl stood looming over the brunette.

Triumph's reeling mind clicked into alert as his body sprung into action. 'Has she gone berserk?!' He jumped from the roof and into the alley. "STOP!" he shouted, voice amplified by his mask and then empowered and molded by his abilities, the soundwave was focused directly onto the Reptile Girl.

Had she been a normal human, the vibration would have rattled her from the inside-out and brought her to her knees. But all his blast did was make her twitch out of annoyance. She turned to glare at him just as he landed, smoldering molten-gold eyes locking onto him.

Triumph had a moment to feel that he had made a mistake -- that what he was facing wasn't human. He should have stayed on the rooftop, it was safer and more tactically sound with his powers.

She screeched and lunged at him, closing the distance in an instant, sharp-tipped claws ready to slice through his neck.

And then she missed, only by a hair's breadth.

Not because Triumph had reacted. But because Vista had widened the distance between them and widen the distance further still when she made for a second lunge. The alley stretched, separating the two by at least half-a-mile. He let out a breath, a hand subconsciously moving to his intact neck.

Velocity appeared next to him, suddenly as was typical of him, "Console wants a sit-rep."

"No time to explain!"

With Triumph so far away, the Reptile Girl decided he was not worth chasing, and her head tilted to look at the roof. That was the only warning that Vista needed to immediately stretch the walls and raise the roof up high. The Reptile Girl leapt and scaled the walls unbelievably fast, she would have reached Vista in seconds had space not been warped.

Seeing a Ward being attacked, Velocity didn't need to know any more. He dashed and ran across the walls, then tagged the Reptile Girl with a dozen high-voltage punches. The electricity did no apparent damage, except making her dorsal-plates glowed briefly in response before fading. He frowned, a premonition that continuing to use his shock-gloves on her would be bad. Then he fled before she could swing an arm in retaliation.

Velocity felt a tiny bit of relief when the Reptile Girl jumped off the wall and decided to pursue him instead of the young Ward.

Reptile Girl was highly dangerous and lethal, evident by the three dead bodies in the alley. The Wards might have been wearing durable tinkertech powersuits but those were designed to resist knives and bullets. Velocity would rather not have them field-test their protection against an unknown enemy. Especially, he grimaced, not after he just saw a swing of her tail tearing through the walls of the buildings like a hot knife through butter.

He lured the Reptile Girl further away with each dodge, her wide swipes missing him time.

And when he deemed it far enough, he contacted the two Wards, "Now's your chance, take the girl and retreat!"

The alley snapped back to normal and Triumph promptly secured the brunette.

Yet somehow the Reptile Girl had noticed. She immediately ignored Velocity as she turned on her heels and rocketed back. But she was too far away and that distance would and did expand further due to Vista's powers. The two Wards had beat a quick retreat and it was impossible except for the fastest of capes to catch them now.

The Reptile Girl let loose a furious roar and chased after them, and Velocity after her.

"Console, we have a problem! Triumph and Vista are currently escorting one of the runaway-girls but they're being pursued by an unknown cape. High chance that she's a new trigger; female teen with reptilian features; mid Brute, low Mover, possible electricity-absorber and unconfirmed tracking powers. Target is likely the runaway-girl, purpose unknown. We need reinforcements now!"

"Roger that, Velocity. Assault, Battery, and PRT Troopers are being deployed, ETA two minutes; Challenger is on her way, ETA seven minutes."

The Wards had naturally taken to the rooftops, as anything below that made it too crowded with people for Vista to use her powers effectively. But despite losing proper line of sight, the Reptile Girl followed after them with relentless certainty.

Problematically, only the area around the initial incident had been cleared of civilians and traffic, and now the two groups were moving outside of that cordoned zone, back into still occupied streets and roads with people and cars... Reptile Girl plowed through pedestrians and vehicles alike without slowing down, causing untold amounts of mayhem and casualties as she traveled in an unerring straight path.

'Damn, my initial assessments were way off! She's as tough as Hookwolf!'

Velocity needed to go faster. He didn't have the powers to stop this foe dead in her tracks. But he could at least get the people in her coming direction to get the hell out of the way.

"Move out of the way!" he stopped and shouted with a strong gesture of his arms.

Again and again, ahead and ahead, he repeated the command.

The crowds were confused for a moment. But quickly understood when they recognized him as one the city's local-heroes. And they didn't need to be told twice to skedaddle when they could see and hear the incoming chaos behind him.

With a moment to breathe, he practically slammed his comms on, "Console, Reptile Girl is tearing a warpath to her goal. Massive casualties; need a fleet of ambulances ASAP! And amend my previous statement: High Brute!"

"Roger that, Velocity. Ambulances are on their way, ETA three minutes." there was pause, "Be advised: damages have reached unacceptable-levels, HELP has been called into effect. Do your best to restrain the reptile-girl until reinforcements arrive, ETA one minute."

Velocity held his tongue.

HELP (Heroic Emergency Level Protection) was an emergency-act that temporarily allowed the Wards to assume the benefits and privileges but also all of the responsibilities that were expected from a real Protectorate member. On paper, it was an entirely voluntary-based; in practice, Wards were basically guilt-tripped into service, to risk their lives as befitting of true heroes.

For Brockton Bay's Protectorate, the fact that HELP had been activated several times over the years was a source of great shame and failure. It was no coincidence that the handful of cities that often utilized HELP were also the same cities where their local heroes were outnumbered by the villains by at least two-to-one.

Velocity believed that HELP was morally irresponsible. Wards weren't of legal-age yet, so they shouldn't be risking their lives at all. But there was little he could but to tolerate its existence.

'If I had the powers to stop her then it wouldn't have come to this...'

Times like these, he wished his powers didn't have such a debilitating quirk -- speed without strength was too restrictive. But the best he and any other hero could do was to push onward and make do with what they had.

And, as he watched the Reptile Girl's head snapped to attention towards a nearby building, the best Velocity could do now was to have the enemy focus on him.

Madison Clements was having a very bad day.

Things had been fun while she was dressing-up Taylor at Cynthia's Boutique. The girl didn't quite pull off lovely or fashionable but she had a lot of raw-material to work with. If she could convince Taylor to start wearing make-up and do some light exercises everyday, then that girl would easily be turning heads within the month.

But then the gangsters came in and everything went straight downhill.

Madison's head had turned blank-white with fear and she could scarcely recall the series of events that happened next.

The gangsters ranted about Sophia, hating her because she was black, and threatened violence against them for being friends with her. Emma said some unbelievably awful things. A person in a dark-hoodie came and started shooting up the store. Emma pulled them out of the shop and they quickly fled for their dear lives. They ran into an alleyway but Madison soon tripped and Taylor came back for her. But then the gangsters had caught up with them, beating and thrashing on Taylor before just vulgarly shooting her in the head.

Madison cried and screamed, unable to do a thing because a goon kept her arms tightly restrained.

Her friend was dead. Dead trying to save her.

And then... and then by some miracle, Taylor got back up alive and roared.

It was loud and oppressive, rattling enough that she had to cup her ears and squeeze her eyes shut.

When she could open her eyes again, there was Taylor standing in front of her -- taller than before and all lizard-like.

All of a sudden, a Lion Man dropped into the alley and Taylor attacked him. The alley stretched like an endless corridor and Taylor started climbing the walls. A Red Blur sped all over the place, stopping only for a second from moment to moment. Then Lion Man came back along with a short Green Girl. Space went wibbly-wobbly and the three of them were suddenly on top of a building and zooming across the city from to roof to roof.

And then they back towards where they came from and stopped.

And Madison was left bewildered atop a rooftop, looking down at an evacuated intersection as a battle unfolded.

There was the Lion Man dropping from the roof and the Red Blur blitzing in (who she finally recognized as Triumph and Velocity respectively); after that was Assault and Battery along with three trucks load of PRT Troopers; finally came Challenger roaring in with her motorcycle. But, lastly, there was Taylor all on her own, fighting against the heroes and holding strong, surrounded by them as if she some kind of rabid animal they had to put down.

Madison's thoughts swam, drowned in confusion at what even in the living heck was going on!

Her hands covered her face as she cried, scared and uncertain.

"Hey, what's the matter?" asked an oh-so-young voice, it came from Green Girl -- Vista of the Wards.

She wiped her tears but her eyes remained damp, "I... I don't know. Everything's been so... so..."

"Overwhelming? Yeah, I know the feeling." It was somewhat rude of Vista to not look at the brunette while speaking to her. But her most of her attention was still on the battle below -- pinching and expanding space to keep the Reptile Girl off-balance and protecting her own teammates from a fatal hit. "Can you tell me what happened? Speaking aloud might help you make sense of things."

Madison sniffed and nodded, then she recounted the best she could to Vista about everything that had happened until now. She was able to calm down a bit by the end.

"So Taylor," and Vista felt somewhat dismayed to have learned Reptile Girl's real name even if it was only the first, "After her transformation, you don't think she was going to... kill you in the alley?"

Madison shook her head, wide-eyed, "What? No! Taylor's a bit awkward but she's real kind," and hugged herself, "She wasn't... she wasn't going to kill or hurt me." She closed her eyes, remembering; Taylor's golden-eyes looking at her up and down with a tiny frown. "She was just checking on me because she was worried."

"...Okay, I believe you, your friend Taylor is a good person. But I don't think she's currently in a rational state of mind."

Madison numbly nodded her head, it was plain as day to see that Taylor was acting more like a wild beast than herself.

"I think Taylor is currently going through Trigger Madness. When a Cape uses their power for the first time, it can sometimes be really overwhelming and go out of control. It happens real often with Tinkers but the other types have their fair share too." A pause. "This is just my theory but I think she's turning into a dinosaur that's running mostly on instincts. But she can still sort of recognize things that are important to her, like you. If I'm right then she's been chasing and fighting us because she obviously wants you back."

Slowly, realization dawned upon Madison, "Oh."

Vista spoke clearly, broaching the idea that had formed in her head, "...I think we can stop this and get your friend Taylor to calm down. Do you trust me, do you trust her?"

Her trembling hands clenched tightly to her chest, "Yes."

Vista smiled under her helmet. It wasn't the most courageous but it was a response filled with determination.

"Then let's get you to her." Vista promptly activated her comms, "Attention everyone, this is Vista. Move away from Reptile Girl, I'm going to isolate her several miles deep into the ground in all directions."

It didn't take long for the order to be completed. Suddenly, the ground dipped into the earth, sinking and stretching like a tarp that had caught something heavy in the center. The Capes breathed out -- glad to get a reprieve, the skirmish had been short but intense, and their foe apparently had more stamina than all of them combined.

"So what's the plan now?" Triumph asked, leery at how Reptile Girl was suspiciously just standing idle instead of trying to escape.

"She's incredibly tough. We're going to need Dauntless and Armsmaster here," Velocity answered.

"Incredibly tough is putting it mildly, more like incredulously tough. It's like fighting Lung when he ramps up, except without all the fire," commented Assault.

"By the authority invested into me from HELP, I have a plan," Vista interjected.

The Protectorate Capes shared a look with each other and then Challenger spoke, "If you have to mention HELP then I don't think we're going to like it."

Vista continued, resistance was expected but as long as they didn't contact Console and have her overruled, then she could take of advantage of HELP granting enough status for her to make on-the-field decisions as their equals. "I've talked with Madison -- that's the girl we rescued -- and we've come to a simple solution: Reptile Girl is fighting us because she wants Madison back."

"And you want to bring the civilian to her? We don't know what the cape plans to do with her," Velocity stated.

"She was going to kill her," Triumph added.

"You two have been fighting her a while now, so you both know how fast and strong she is. If she wanted to, she could have killed Madison back in the alley before we could even do anything about it. In fact, the only reason why she's fighting against us is because from her perspective we attacked first."

That got Triumph and Velocity to be quiet and think.

"How certain are you of this, Vista?" Battery questioned.

"Very," she took in a deep breath and exhaled, "Reptile Girl... she triggered because she took a bullet for her friend."

That silenced the rest of them. They weren't entirely convinced by Vista's reasoning and intuition, but continuing to fight against Reptile Girl who seemed like the second-coming of Lung for heaven's knows how long was extremely unappealing as well. Wearing down a foe was a strategy that only worked if your side could actually outlast them, and the heroes weren't so sure about that. If they could end this peacefully, then that would be ideal. But would it? That was were the doubt came from.

However, their ponderous hush was interrupted by an alarmed PRT Trooper on the comms.

"Be ready, everyone! Reptile Girl is flashing blue and that could mean anything!"

Battery gasped, "I think she's charging up."

"For what?"

Everyone thought of the dragon-man Lung and his fire-breath. And if Reptile Girl was charging-up from so far away -- miles deep in the ground, did that mean she was expecting to hit them? If so, then that was bad. Very, very bad. At that range, there would be nowhere safe for them to run. And with how hard that they've already tried hitting her, there wasn't any way for them to hit her harder enough to stop.

Do or die?

"Vista, get going!" shouted Velocity.

"We're jumping, catch us!" Then she turned to Madison who could have only heard one half the conversation and yelled, "Jump!"

The suddenness of the command surprised Madison and she obeyed it before rational thought or fear could even stop her.

The two petite girls leap off the roof and were then safely caught by Assault and Velocity.

Vista instantly undid her spatial warping, returning the intersection back to normal.

There stood Reptile Girl -- Taylor, head slightly bowed with a blue-light gathering in her opened mouth. Assault gently pushed Madison forward, gesturing her to go on ahead.

And so Madison did, she jogged forward and called out, "Taylor! Hey, it's me, Madison!"

Taylor reacted, stilling and then stopping, the light in her mouth dimming and vanishing along with the flashing of her spikes. She raised her head, locking eyes with Madison for a moment, then looked left and right to keep abreast of her foes.

"It's alright! I'm here now!" Her jog turned into a cautious trot, because she didn't want to startle her, because she herself wasn't completely confident. But still, Madison moved forward. With equal caution, Taylor slowly approached her too.

Step by step, the two moved closer.

And then, when they were within arm's reach... Taylor pounced.

An arm swiftly and fluidly wrapped around Madison into a one-arm cradle. Then, before she could even blink, Taylor's head was upon her, gently nuzzling her face against the crook of Madison's neck. "Wha?! Hey?! Ta-Taylor?!"

The affection reminded her of those cat-videos she watched on the internet.

When that short moment was over, Taylor kept her cradled close to her chest and raised her head to the crowd. She growled at them, daring them to try again to take Madison away from her.

"No, stop! Taylor, it's okay, you don't have to fight them!"

Taylor snarled at them one last time then huffed and turned towards a direction to start walking.

The PRT Troopers were about ready to raise their guns but then had to reluctantly lower them and cleared a path too. With nobody blocking her way, Taylor dashed forward, but obviously not as fast she as could have. Otherwise, it would have been too dangerous for her companion.

Seeing them leave, the exhausted Velocity followed behind them from a non-intrusive distance.

The scenery soon changed from Downtown to the Suburbs.

And from there, they stopped in front of a house.

Having been there more than a few times, Madison eventually realized it to be Taylor's home.

Taylor walked up to the front-door and looked at it with a tilted head, puzzled. Her lizard-brain likely recognized that it was the entrance but she probably didn't remember how to open it with the doorknob. So she didn't bother with thinking anymore. She kicked the door open, busting it off the hinges. Madison winced then cringed when Taylor walked upstairs and did the same to her own room door.

Taylor reached her bed and let plopped Madison down onto it. Then, like a big dog or a dragon protecting its treasure, Taylor curled herself around the girl and closed her eyes.

"Uh, hey, Taylor...?"

The lizard-girl opened one golden-eye, staring.

"I... thanks for saving me."

The girl smiled and closed her eye.

Madison struggled a bit but couldn't get out of her friend's embrace.

"Guess I'm stuck here," she whispered, letting out an exhausted breath. Suddenly and finally, the day's unbelievable fatigue caught up with her. Slowly, Madison closed her own eyes and fell to sleep, under the quiet vigilance of heroic and cuddly dolls plus one scaly-friend.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 1.3: Upheaval

Director Emily Piggot of Brockton Bay's PRT & Protectorate waddled into the debriefing-room yet her presence immediately silenced all the occupants within it. With an obese body shape, she did not the fit the paragon figure expected of someone to be in control of the local organization which consisted of paramilitary-soldiers and superpowered-heroes. However, once she took her seat, her hard steel-grey eyes -- forged through trials and tribulations -- swept across the audience and demanded that her authority be respected, and they complied.

As the Director she held many responsibilities as the overseer of the organization, from things like resource-management to personnel-employment, all began and ended with her final verdict. However, with so much work to do every day, and her not-so-great health bogging her down, the woman had to divvy up the workload.

Director Emily Piggot would deal with the administrative tasks, leaving the PRT in the hands of a Commander In Chief, the Protectorate to a Leader, and the Wards to a Team Captain.

Arguably, her most important oversight was making sure that these separate but collective bureaus were always upholding the law in good-faith while rendering their dutiful services... and if they weren't then heads would roll like fish on a chopping-board.

Despite being only 7 PM, it felt like the Midnight Clock was tolling.

In attendance to this meeting was Henry Bastion (PRT Chief In Commander); Leslie Hendricks (Personal Secretary); Armsmaster, Velocity, Assault, Battery, Challenger, Miss Militia, and Dauntless (Protectorate Capes); Triumph and Vista (Wards); and attending digitally via a tablet to offer her insight was Dragon -- a Canadian Cape from The Guild.

Director Piggot allowed the tension to stew for a bit before finally placing her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together.

"I hope that all of you have read the after-action reports and thought long and hard about your contributions, because none of you are leaving this room until I get the answers I need about the clusterfuck of an event that occurred in Downtown three-hours ago. Am I understood?"

They responded with a chorus of "Yes, ma'am!"

"Good," she nodded and leaned back into her chair to get more comfy. "We all know what happened today, so don't rehash it to me. What I need to know is what was going on in your heads when you lot made the decisions that you did." She looked at the PRT Chief, "Chief Bastion, your deployment of the PRT and Protectorate were near-perfect," and that made the Chief's guts drop because near-perfect meant there was still something she disliked about it, "What exactly forced you to invoke the HELP-Act?"

Henry Bastion straightened his back, "As per protocol -- and my analysts agreed with my assessment, the damage to the civilians and city had reached an unacceptable level which allowed for the legal activation of HELP."

"Chief Bastion, I know when HELP can be utilized, I am asking you why."

"To reduce the damages to city and protect the civilian, ma'am!"

"An exemplary but bog-standard answer, Chief Bastion," Director Piggot glared, "Wards are minors and novice-heroes still in training; they are not child-soldiers. They should not ever be your first resort to dealing with unknown or dangerous Parahumans. Chief Bastion, do you know the reason why your predecessor was fired and black-listed?"

A heartbeat of quiet.

"Yes, ma'am. It was because he got two Wards killed in Hell's Kitchen."

The name made Armsmaster twitch from an inaudible but harsh breath, while Challenger wearily reached a hand out to her damaged pale-green left-eye.

Hell's Kitchen was an infamous clash between the Empire Eighty-Eight and Azn Bad Boys and got its name from the aftermath-scenery where Kaiser's metal-weapons and Lung's flames lingered hauntingly in the ruined remains of buildings and bodies. The conflict had been astonishingly bloody with no clear victor, because both sides had lost a majority of their then newly recruited Capes.

Not long after Hell's Kitchen had erupted in the Docks, the Previous PRT Commander In Chief hastily invoked HELP to send two nearby Wards to intervene in the chaos... and the young pair did not survive -- there was barely anything of them left. Naturally, the Protectorate had retaliated swiftly and harshly, stamping down on crimes and managing to capture and imprison a few of the veteran E88 and ABB Capes, but unfortunately they still weren't able to remove the core-members which held their gangs together.

"Yes," Director Piggot's voice was filled with contempt, "Your predecessor abused HELP whenever he could because he was a brain-dead idiot who couldn't think of other solutions beyond throwing more Parahumans to fight Parahumans."

If Director Piggot had had her way, the Previous PRT Commander In Chief would have been reassigned to somewhere else (like the ass-end of Alaska) long before the two Wards were tragically murdered. 'But, no, there are a few on the Board who apparently liked that damn sociopath,' Piggot thought bitterly to herself. After that incident, those stubborn Board-Members never did apologize, offering some useless condolences along with a influx of money and resources (which was used to restore the destroyed area and given as reparations to the deceased Wards' families).

The grim incident had significantly plummeted the organization's credibility to the point that a fourth gang (or if one wanted to be generous, a coalition of dissatisfied Vigilantes) had formed called the Brockton Guardian Brigade.

That was exactly why Director Piggot had to personally and more thoroughly screened the next PRT Commander In Chief and how Henry Bastion was picked -- the Board and their hardline stances be damned. According to his psyche reviews, Henry Bastion viewed the Protectorate and Wards as worthy allies, instead of just exotically-powered tools -- that meant he had a conscience.

"I trust that you'll learn not to repeat this mistake again and to not follow in your predecessor's footsteps, Chief Bastion."

It wasn't a question. The man saluted strongly, "Yes, ma'am! I will not repeat this mistake again, ma'am!"

"Good. See to it that you don't," she nodded. Speaking on the subject of Wards, her sharp gaze then landed on the only two Wards in the room, "Triumph and Vista, you two have a lot of explaining to do." Triumph squirmed while Vista put up a bold front. "The two of you were warned not to engage with enemy-parahumans. Moreover, when the two of you had encountered an unknown in the alley, both of you failed to inform Console of the situation."

"There was no time, I thought Reptile Girl was going to attack Runaway Girl Two," Triumph responded -- not whine -- as steadily as he could.

"A heat-of-the-moment decision which could have and almost did get you killed," Director Piggot stated bluntly, "Your duty as a Ward is to learn how to properly conduct and manage yourself when out in the field, so that you can later be trusted to make decisions on your own. Your actions tells me that these lessons have not been properly learnt." A pause. "As punishment, the two of you have your pay docked for the next month. Furthermore, you now have mandatory lessons to relearn the fundamentals, which the rest of the Wards will have you to thanks for their attendance as well."

The two Wards groaned and grumbled.

But Director Piggot wasn't done yet.

"Vista," she called out and the girl perked apprehensively to attention, "Are you proud to have resolved the situation through reasoning obtained from the unverified testimonies of a stressed-out girl?" The young Ward flushed with indignity but didn't respond, so the woman continued, "You had gathered a number of circumstantial evidence but none of them were actually proof of your claims. You were fortunate that things turned out as you had speculated, otherwise you would have the blood of a dead-girl on your hands -- or worst. This time, you were lucky with your prediction. So, next time, remember this, Vista: make sure you're absolutely correct, otherwise you'll be horribly wrong."

The girl nodded feebly.

Piggot's expression tightened almost imperceptibly as she spoke the next sentence, "However, I will acknowledge the fact that your quick-thinking and actions prevented the situation from escalating disastrously further."

Vista was astonished, this was probably the closest thing to praise that she would hear from Piggot for a long while.

Director Piggot huffed and gestured to Leslie Hendricks -- her Personal Secretary. The neatly-dressed woman promptly operated her laptop. The large-screen monitor behind Piggot beeped active with the PRT Logo (a shield with wings) was displayed on the screen.

"I will remind everyone here that the following subject matter is confidential and per your NDA you will not speak a word of it to anyone else outside of this room lest you suffer the consequences. Am I clear?"

There was a chorus of "Yes, ma'am."

She gestured again and the contents of the screen changed.

Displayed on the screen was a girl with reptilian attributes in various angled-shots -- images taken from the head-cams of the Troopers and Capes.

"I'm sure most of you are familiar with this Parahuman, who has been tentatively titled Reptile Girl," Director Piggot said with an inscrutable glance towards Velocity, "Because of the massive amount of trouble she's caused, I have an angry Mayor demanding for her to be Birdcaged, a wrathful mob calling out for blood, a barely restrained Board Of Directors breathing down my neck, and the gangs are assuredly now aware that a new heavy-hitter is in town. In other words, a gods be damned headache."

She narrowed her eyes, "If these group had their way then Reptile Girl would be gone faster that you could shout Cape. But until I vacate my post, I am the Director of Brockton Bay's PRT and Protectorate, which means I intend to follow through with our mission statement of obeying the law and pursuing justice."

She turned to look Triumph and Vista, "Thanks to your report, we have strong evidence that Reptile Girl was not hiding her powers and actually did trigger in the alley."

"Uh, what evidence?" asked Triumph.

Armsmaster answered in a clinical tone, "In your report, you stated that your head had suddenly blanked and you felt nauseous afterwards. Those are commonly noted symptoms of Trigger Resonance, a physiological-response which Parahumans experience when near the vicinity of a Trigger Event. It is an often documented phenomenon for Parahumans who perform Search & Rescue or the like."

Director Piggot continued, "Every action committed today by Reptile Girl can be filed under the influence of Trigger Madness and our lawyers will use that to build their case to appeal for clemency."

"Now, that's fine and dandy, since none of this is her fault. But I feel that you're putting in an awfully lot of effort for this new Cape," commented Assault with a raised hand, "You're planning to have her join the Wards, aren't you, Big Boss?"

"Obviously, we are not a charity," she scolded, not wasting her breath to reprimand him for his tomfoolery, "When the court finds her innocent and grant leniency, that still won't wipe away the fact that she caused an incredible amount of damage -- deaths included. In cases like this, the court will order her to be enrolled as a Probationary Ward and that probation will end when she earns her Powers Proficiency Certification," her sharp eyes swept across the audience, "So you lot better make her feel welcome and interested in joining later as an official Ward."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she paused, "Now, regardless of her incoming status as a Probationary Ward, it is standard procedure to run a threat-assessment of her for the records."

Director Piggot slowly spun her seat around to look at the large-screen monitor, which had begun playing multiple silent recordings of Reptile Girl in action. She allowed the videos to run for several minutes and then repeat itself before speaking again.

"Our analysts recommend rating her a Brute 7 because of her strength, durability, stamina, and electric-resistance; Mover 3 for her beyond-human agility and reflexes; and at least a Thinker 1 for her pinpoint tracking capabilities. Do any of you have any objections to this?"

"No Blaster rating?" Battery asked cautiously.

"All we have are your conjectures, so until it can be confirmed, none. However, assuming she can shoot as far as the analysts have theorized, then they would hypothetically rate her as a Blaster 8. Anything else?"

None.

The screen then shifted to a recording of Velocity's viewpoint as he pummeled Reptile Girl with numerous electrical-punches which caused her dorsal-plates to glow in response; when her tail tore through bricks like butter; and when she plowed through people and vehicles unimpeded like bugs hitting a windshield.

Displayed next was Assault's viewpoint as he bounded into battle. With his ability to manipulate kinetic energy, he was a powerful counter against a lot of Brutes. But not this one -- her dangerously sharp claws could tear him to shreds. Still, he didn't need to get hit to build kinetic energy, he could do so on his own just by moving. He delivered many direct kicks and punches while his opponent was distracted by his teammates, increasing the kinetic force each time -- up to the point where he could send pick-up trucks bouncing. But his powerful strikes didn't even faze her, barely even pushed her.

Battery's viewpoint came after, with sporadic engagements due to her powers requiring her spend time on charging-up. However, unable to use her electromagnetic powers against this foe, she was basically only stronger and faster than Assault in short bursts. Ultimately, her attacks did not fare any better than her partner did.

Next came Challenger's viewpoint. Regrettably, it did not last long. She had managed to get in several hard-strikes with her tinkertech battleaxe-rifle. But the weapon was eventually cut into pieces by a single clawed-swipe. Her battleaxe-rifle was designed to be extremely sturdy and durable to deal with long exchanges against the likes of Hookwolf or Lung, yet had been sliced apart so effortlessly. It was a chilling indication that their relatively weaker armor wouldn't hold-up against a single attack from their opponent. Without her battleaxe-rifle, Challenger lacked the might to land any decisive blows and had to retreat.

The last video was from a PRT Trooper who was standing off to the sides. After Vista had sunk their foe miles into the ground, their opponent began to flicker white and blue like a beacon. Tense moments later, the intersection snapped back to normal, providing a closer and better view of their enemy. She was hunched over like a beast, her dorsal-plates were flashing on and off in segments while her mouth glowed brighter. The build-up quickly dissipated when Runaway Girl Two approached Reptile Girl.

The videos replayed again, silently.

Director Piggot turned her chair around to face her subordinates, "Well then, I would like to hear the opinions of those who weren't there for the action," her gaze regarded Dauntless, Miss Militia, Armsmaster, and Dragon specifically, "What are you opinions about all this?"

Dauntless spoke first, "I think one of the reports stated that fighting her was like fighting against Lung except without all the fire. From what I've just seen, that is a rather apt description. If Assault and Battery combined couldn't put a dent on her, then I don't believe I could have done anything either."

Miss Militia was next, a slight frown on her lips, "I know the PRT Troopers did the best they could with the tools they had. They aimed and shot at the parts which still looked human but she remained perfectly unblemished, this suggests that her skin is just as tough as her scales. In my opinion, she would have easily shrugged off anything short of Brute-Grade Armor-Piercing Rounds from a high-caliber sniper-rifle or a cannon."

After that, Armsmaster spoke assuredly, "She fought like a beast, relying entirely on instinct, but one without any self-preservation -- she did not try to dodge any attacks whatsoever. While fast, her patterns were simple: she leaps in while rearing back her arm and then lashes-out with her claws at the closest attacker; likewise, her long-tail is a possible weapon. Indeed, it is appropriate to describe a fight against her as being similar to Lung. But there is one great difference: she lacks his pyrokinetic powers. This makes her significantly simpler to approach for Non-Brute Capes and further reduces the amount of collateral damage she can inflict. If we had to deal with her again, then I would recommend taking advantage her one-track mind to lure her to a secluded or trapped-prepared area of our choosing. Any of our battle-plans for dealing with Lung should work just as well on her," Armsmaster did not even have a ghost of a smile but he was certainly confident, "Rest assured, I am in the process of developing many more tools for dealing with Lung. He won't be an issue much longer."

When everybody else was done, Dragon's turn had finally come. Communicating through a high-tech tablet, the only special thing of note on the nondescript, white-coat woman was the cartoonish dragon-mask she wore.

"Most of what I wanted to say has already been said by the others. And I agree with Armsmaster's meticulous analysis because I reached a similar conclusion," then she put a hand to her cheek, "But there is one subject that wasn't raised and I would like a clarification about... Challenger," the called-for woman perked, "In your report, you stated that your powers couldn't mimic Reptile Girl's powers?"

Challenger shook her head, "Yeah, my powers reacted to her, but I couldn't pull anything from it. If I had to explain it, it was like... trying to scoop water with a fork."

"Interesting. Has your powers ever failed to mimic another before?"

She crossed her arms and thought, "...None that I can think of. Lung, Oni Lee, Jiangshi, Dokkaebi, Kaiser, Hookwolf, Krieg, Stormtiger, Cricket, and so on," she listed off with her fingers, "Fought plenty of villains here in the Bay and I've mimicked them all without issues."

"Have you ever mimicked Dauntless' Trump powers?"

She nodded, "In friendly spars. Though too short and too weak to do anything with them."

"I see," Dragon hummed thoughtfully, "There's not enough information to say for certain. But it's possible your powers have limitations or restrictions that have yet to be discovered or maybe Reptile Girl has resistances to certain powers; it could even be both. But, thank you, that clarifies a few things for me. So, for now, I have nothing else to add to this subject. However, there is still one last thing I would like to say to everyone here: All powers can be dangerous when used incorrectly, but if my words are worth anything, then please remember that Reptile Girl triggered as a result from trying to help a friend. I believe that she has the qualities needed to become a true hero."

Her fellow Capes acknowledged her words in a variety of simple ways.

"Thank you all for your insight, the analysts will have more chew through later," Director Piggot grunted, "Now, if nobody else has anything else to add, then this debriefing is over." She waited for a moment before declaring, "Dismissed."

She was the first to leave, with her secretary following after her.

There was still a lot of work left for the Director of Brockton Bay's PRT & Protectorate to pour over and scrutinize.

There was, of course, a need to soon follow-up on Reptile Girl's case. Recruitment-agents were still in talks with the girl's sole guardian. But Piggot would have to personally meet and discuss with the guardian another day to sift through this damnable mess and plan for the future of this uniquely headache-inducing fallout.

Besides that, Reptile Girl surprisingly wasn't the only individual that was being inducted into the Wards this month.

There were two more candidates. One a Tinker who had coincidentally applied earlier today before all this mess had occurred. And the other a Vigilante who was very likely connected to this whole mess and very likely needed to be persuaded with the force of the law or else.

...Three new Wards in a single month.

Piggot wasn't sure if she should take that as a boon or a bomb.

Either way, it was a headache to deal with.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 1.4: Upheaval

The distant echoes of the roiling earth, the shushing waters, and the fluttering sky abated into a quiet whisper of white noise.

Slowly, I opened my eyes as perception lit a new. First came light, then color, and finally recognition. My absent mind yawned awake as consciousness filtered in.

I became aware that I was in my room, laying on my sides atop of my bed, but everything looked and felt so different in ways that I couldn't explain. I felt an equal measure of familiarity and peculiarity.

"Ughh," I moaned, feeling a little peckish, and pushed myself up the bed as my claws ripped through my mattress.

...Wait, what?!

I let out a yelp as I jolted-up fully awake and alert.

I examined my darkly-colored and scaly arms which had grown longer. I apparently didn't have fingernails anymore because all of my fingers looked like razor-sharp claws. From wrist to elbow, my forearms had bulked-up in a plated-layer of armor sort of way. From the elbow up, there was a gradual creep of scales that blended back into human skin. Using the palm of my hands, I touched my arms, the texture of the scales were bumpy or rocky while my skin was still soft-ish.

"Taylor?"

My head snapped towards the disbelieving and weary voice.

Standing in my doorway (which just didn't have a door anymore!) was my Dad along with Madison and Emma.

"Taylor, is that you? Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, Dad," I answered but immediately went wide-eyed and covered my mouth.

"Taylor?!"

I slowly removed my hands and then spoke while carefully listening to the sounds, "Ah, no, I just... my voice is... different." I could recognize it as being my voice yet at the same time it wasn't -- a bit more mature, older with a slight husk.

"Oh," he nodded dumbly but relieved.

Then he briskly walked into the room and gave me a great big hug. I wanted to hug him back but the fresh memories of my claws tearing into my mattress stopped me, my arms were left awkwardly in the air.

When he finally let go, I could see just how tired yet alive Dad was. I had been making progress these past months, I was slowly drawing him out his mechanical-shell and getting him to actually talk to me -- we had even gone grocery-shopping together a few times too! But now Dad looked like he was just one step away from breaking down, yet that same fear that was coursing through his body was also the life-energy making him vividly human again.

I motioned to my body, "Dad, why am I... like this?"

He took a deep, sad breath, "There's a lot go over. But, hey, you woke up just in time for breakfast. And you must be starving by now, so we can talk about it after you've filled your belly. Come on, Kiddo, let's get some food in you."

He moved downstairs.

I went to follow.

When I got off my bed, I noticed that I had what was presumably lizard-feet with scales traveling up to my thighs like stockings. Then I noticed that I had grown taller. And I likewise noticed that I owned a really long tail -- as long as I was tall. When I walked passed the bedroom-mirror, I stopped mid-step and crouched a little to get a good look at myself.

There were many-a-things that I noticed all at once.

For example, I was (quite thankfully) a human-girl with lizard parts instead of the opposite. So I still looked like myself, just with more reptilian bits. Furthermore, I looked older, closer to eighteen than the fourteen years old that I actually was. My figure was more filled out and I wasn't boringly thin anymore, though my chest had disappointingly remained the same. Similarly, it wasn't like I was flabby or out of shape but I also wasn't a girl who did much exercising, yet now I had a lean physique for my still human body-parts. Additionally, while not a drastic change, but the color of my black-hair had become the same dark-coloration as my scales, which looked like charcoal in the light.

Also, it turned out that I was less lizard and more dinosaur -- similar to a stegosaurus! I had three rows of these white-edged, maple-leaf looking, dorsal-plates that traveled down from the middle of my neck to near the tip of my tail; the dorsal-plates on my back were overall bigger and thicker than those trailing up my neck or down my tail, with those in the center-row being proportionally larger in size.

And I was near naked too. I was wearing strips of torn clothing as if I had gone through a shredder -- more ragged cloth than clothes at this point. My modesty, however, was protected by my newfound scales covering-up my unmentionables in an almost strategic-manner. It kind of reminded me of that one Canadian Hero -- Narwhal, who's idea of a costume was going around scandalously bare with her virtue protected by glimmering crystalline-scales.

But more importantly was my face... despite being aged-up a few years in an instant or how I apparently didn't need glasses anymore because my eyesight was great or the new distinctly gold-colored pupils or the flecks of dark scales on the edges of my face... At a glance, I could still see and recognize myself. But in it, all of it, I also saw traces of Mom.

I almost cried, feeling the tears well-up.

"Hey, Taylor, are you feeling alright?" Emma asked, still at the doorway. Madison too.

I wiped the dampness with the back of my hand, "Yeah, I'm fine... I just remembered my Mom is all."

"I can see it," she smiled softly, "In a few more years, I just know that my dad is going to start bragging about how pretty I look, talking about how much I'll look like mom when she was younger. But then he'll realize what that means and start worrying about the boys," she rolled her eyes playfully, "Dads. It's a blessing and curse that we inherited our good looks from our moms, right, Tay?"

I sniffed with a lopsided smile, "Yeah."

"Alright. I think your Dad has waited long enough. Let's go down and get breakfast, Tay."

I nodded and told them to go ahead of me so that I could fix my clothes.

"Need help?" Madison asked.

"Yeah, probably. Thanks, Maddy."

My sharp claws easily cut away and removed the rags along with the once-boots. Looking at my reptile-feet, there was no way I was going to be able to wear shoes of any kind anymore, so there was no point in even trying. While I was doing that, Madison opened up my clothes-drawers and I told her to just scoop everything out and spread them over my bed to make it easier to pick them out.

My following attempts to wear clothes was pitiful, despite my attempts to be gentle, due to the sharp claws on my hand and feet. Likewise, my clothes just didn't fit me anymore, also due to my sudden growth in size.

No matter how I tried, I shamefully couldn't wear underwear.

Putting on pants was a partially successful endeavor. My reptile-feet had shred wide open the legs of the pants and Madison couldn't pull the pants all the way up due to my tail getting in the way. But I was at least now wearing pants -- even if they were a bit stretched-out and tight.

The first attempt to put on a shirt had been a failure when we quickly realized that my back's dorsal-plates prevented me from actually wearing shirts and the likes. But I seriously wasn't going to go around exposing my chest, so I had to wear one of my unzipped-sweaters in reverse. I snaked my closed fists through the sleeves which were torn and shredded open as Madison had to force them through my bulky forearms, then she had to tie together two scarfs and used them to fasten the sweater around my stomach so it wouldn't flap around.

I took one look at myself in the mirror: a mismatched, discolored abomination.

Clothes were definitely going to be a major problem in the future because I doubted most stores had clothing made for humanoid-dinosaur girls. But, for now, I wasn't naked anymore and that would have to do.

I walked downstairs with Madison trailing after and then entered the kitchen.

Tactfully, nobody made a comment about how stupid I looked.

Set on the dining-table was enough servings for four. Breakfast was sausages, peppered-eggs, diced potatoes, roasted carrots, beans, and croissants. All freshly reheated. It was really extravagant for this household, more than what Dad would normally cook in the morning.

Dad was setting down the drinks when we finally arrived; coffee for himself and apple-juice for two (Madison and I) and tea for one (Emma).

Everyone took their seats.

I did as well but then quickly realized that my tail and dorsal-plates didn't agree with the existence of the chair's backrest as it was casually smashed aside. The noise made everyone look at me and I couldn't utter a word.

Dad just sighed, "Don't worry about it, Taylor. It's my fault for forgetting about your new tail. I'll buy a stool to replace that one. Come on, let's eat before the food gets cold."

I looked at the utensils and then at my claw-fingers. This, this was going to a problem as well. And the others had noticed it too when I hadn't started eating yet. It was embarrassing, feeling like I was a baby or old woman, but I didn't want to be spoon-fed (or fork-fed in this case), so I ever so slowly and ever so gently picked up my fork. I managed to hold it between my digits with the handle denting only slightly.

'Alright, Taylor, you can do this.'

I forked a sausage by its end and brought it to my mouth. The first few bites were normal, then came the last. I bit down on the fork so I could slide the last piece of sausage off with my teeth. But when I pulled the fork out, I saw that the head was just gone. My chewing came to a sudden stop. The others noticed the missing fork-head but nobody again said a word. 'So I can bite through silverware and chew on it without even noticing.' I wasn't sure if I should just spit it out or if it was safe for me to swallow. But as the silence ticked by, a strange craving rumbled in my stomach, so I finally decided to swallow.

The worst that could happen was that I get a little sick, right?

When the food and bits of fork reached my stomach, I instantly felt a small and pleasant tingle. As if the metal was filling up a separate stomach that wanted exclusively metallic-objects.

"You okay there, Kiddo?"

"...Yeah, just didn't realize how strong my bite was. And I think I can eat metal too."

"Oh."

I used my tongue to feel around my mouth. And to my surprise I had two rows of teeth. The front-row was all carnivorously sharp and the canines were a bit more pronounced; while the row behind it was more omnivorous with a lean towards predation, so the incisors were more pointed and the molars were geared towards crushing rather than grinding.

I looked at the headless-fork, 'Might as well not waste it,' and ate it all. It was like eating dry cereal with this soft grainy crunch to it.

Dad looked at me wryly, "Looks like I'll need to be buying new forks too."

I flushed, "Sorry."

"No, it's alright. It's a good thing to have a healthy appetite."

"Well, Taylor's going through another growth-spurt, so big girl's gotta eat," Emma stated idyllically, to which Madison giggled.

I huffed and then went back to thinking how I would finish breakfast at this rate. I couldn't just keep eating my utensil alongside the food because our house would run out of forks by the time I was done! ...In the end, I quickly came up with the simplest solution I could think of.

I gently picked up the plate (unfortunately, still not gently enough because my sharp-tipped fingers dug into the plate) and tilted it so the food would just slide into my mouth. The food was overall delicious, though I couldn't appreciate the flavor or texture as much as I could have had it been bite by bite.

I eventually finished the plate and that much food would have normally been more than often to fill me up. But apparently being part-dinosaur meant having a bigger stomach because I was still feeling peckish as I licked my lips clean. I wasn't starving but I could definitely eat more, a lot more, a whole lot more. I think I could eat the entire fridge (the fridge included) and I still wouldn't be full.

'Our finances won't survive my hunger,' I bemoaned in my thoughts. Trying to drink my cup was just as bothersome, even my most gentlest of grip had still bit into the handle, and my wince hadn't gone unnoticed. '...Or if we have to keep replacing everything I use everyday...'

When breakfast was finished and dishes were washed, the group wordlessly and unanimously decided to stay in the kitchen for our talk. Moving to the living room would have been more comfortable for them but not for me. I doubted the cushy sofa or armchair would survive me trying to sit on them.

Dad refilled his cup of coffee and took a seat.

"Taylor, what's the last thing you remember?"

That was a good question. I couldn't recall it instantly, so I close my eyes and tried to remember.

First was a long stretch of something that couldn't be called memories. It was more like a series of impressions, of intense feelings, like splotches of differently colored paint that I could vaguely understand -- I was annoyed and angry, fighting and chasing after something that I needed to protect, but there was nothing about it that I could specifically recall. Next came a short gap, a singular impression filled with a burst of emotions -- I felt infinitely small, yet infinitely powerful.

After all that came the actual hazy and addled memories.

Adrenaline, panic, and recklessness.

This, I did recall.

I opened my eyes answered, "I remember trying to hold-off the gangsters who came after us. One of them charged at me with a football-tackle," my hand reached for the back of my head, "I think I cracked my head on the pavement and lost my glasses then too. Things become really hazy after that. Noises and then... a bang."

Dad's expression was tight but controlled, "So that's as far as you remember...?"

I nodded.

Then Madison spoke, "A lot of things happened after that. I can tell the rest since I was there."

Then she smiled brightly and regaled to me the fanciful tale of her short-adventure.

Apparently, I was the dragon in gleaming dark-scales fighting off the heroic knights because I wanted to take the cute princess all for myself. And I succeeded. Hearing all that, I was equally stunned, amazing, and horrified that I had fought against the Heroes. But, no, my shame didn't end there. Because I apparently also went to bed with Madison in tow and when Dad got home he had to help get her out of my possession. But, again, it didn't end just there yet.

"You were really overprotective like a dragon hoarding treasure. I wanted to go home, but as soon as my feet left your porch, you came storming down and whisked me back to your room," she explained with a cheeky smile, "Mister Hebert couldn't leave either," he nodded with a wry smile, "And then when Emma came, weeelll..."

I covered my flushed face with my hands.

Oh my god, don't look at me!

"...How long?" I eventually asked through muffled hands.

"We've been staying together as one big and happy family for about five days, and today's the fifth," responded Emma just as cheekily, sipping on her tea.

Five days! Five days, I was acting like that! And I don't remember any of it!

I needed to change the subject before I overloaded from sheer shame!

"What about you, Emma?" I asked very abruptly, peeking out between my fingers, "What happened to you after all that?"

I noticed her face tightening as her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly but she otherwise remained looking nonchalant.

Having known her for a long time, I could tell that Emma was about to hide something, to refrain from telling the whole story. 'Just a little white-lie,' she often called it when we were younger.

And, of course, she noticed that I noticed and sent me gaze that said she would explain later.

"Well, to make a long story shot, I kept running and called for the police. Told them where you were and to send for help as fast as possible. Though you and Maddy weren't there anymore by the time they got there," she took another sip of tea, "I just kept running and pepper-spraying a few of the gangsters who managed to get close, until the police finally arrived on the scene. After that, they brought me to the station, took some statements, and then my dad came to pick me up."

Then she looked amusingly at me, "My mom was worried sick when she noticed Velocity standing outside your frontyard with your front-door busted wide open, she thought a villain had ransacked your place. So she started making a fuss and asking questions that the hero just didn't know what to say. Eventually, your dad got dropped off by the PROT and explained the story to her. Then my mom had the smart-idea that letting you see me would snap you out of being a grouchy dragon, because when I got home she just sent me off to your place," she took another, longer, almost contemplatively sip, then she smirked, "The PROT obviously wouldn't have let me through, but I guess we made too much noise because you came right out and snatched me away. I'm really flattered that you just couldn't keep your claws off me, Tay."

I groaned.

Just end me here and now!

Things were quiet for a while, to let the rollercoaster of events sink in for me, because they already had five days to digest it all and knew how rough it was. I took a deep breath and absorbed each bit of new information, slowly understanding how everything flowed and unfolded as a consequence of cause and effect.

But even though I was coming to understand how things came about, there was an obvious question bubbling forth:

'What happens now?'

So I removed my hands from my face to look Dad in the eyes and give him my full attention.

It was his turn to explain the reality of things.

"Taylor, when the Protectorate called me, I wasn't sure what they needed to say to me or why they had to. They're not the police; they're superheroes who deal with supervillains. Getting that call, I didn't know what to expect. Did a villain hurt you, kidnap you, or..." I could envision it, just how close Dad was to falling into despair when he suddenly realized that he could lose me too. "It was thankfully not the worst. But it was damn close to it." Fear and anger simmered beneath his weary eyes, "You were shot, Taylor, right in the head -- a bullet between your eyes; if you didn't triggered then you would have died. I don't know what I would have done if you did," he shook his head to clear it, "When you triggered -- got your powers, you weren't yourself, you were..."

"A beast," I filled in. Madison's telling of the story had been nice and dreamy but I knew that the actual truth wouldn't have been, life often wasn't.

Dad nodded, "Yeah, a beast, like a wild animal. Taylor, you... you killed the gangsters and then went on a rampage. And a lot of people got hurt."

Hearing those words was a murky-surprise. I remembered none of it -- all of it hidden behind those indistinct impressions, so I could only distantly acknowledge it. Yet I could imagine it, just how easily these razor-sharp claws could turn people into ribbons of torn flesh. I felt queasy.

'How many did I hurt? And how many did I kill?'

"But the Protectorate knows that it wasn't your fault. You were confused and hurt after being shot in the head, so of course you couldn't control your powers. They call it Trigger Madness and there's a law for it which protects new Capes. The courts have already decided that you're innocent, Taylor, that you didn't mean any harm."

"But."

"But... just because you didn't mean any harm, doesn't change the fact that you did cause harm," Dad brushed a hand over his head, ruffling his previously combed hair, "The courts want to know that this won't happen again, so they've enrolled you as a Probationary Ward to get training."

"I sense another but coming."

He sighed, "The courts are one thing but the city is another. People are angry and out for blood, they want someone or something to blame."

"Me."

"You weren't exactly subtle while running amok or returning home," Emma interjected, "People took pictures and video-recordings and posted it online, then some students from Winslow recognized your face and everything just blew out into the open from there," she scowled, "A bunch of E88 goons are trying to fan the flames and get you lynched."

Dad continued on, frustrated, "The Protectorate said they were going to run counterpropaganda to sway the city, make them see that the Empire Eighty-Eight had started the whole problem in the first place. But I don't know how well that's going because I stopped watching the news a few days ago. The news-heads were all spewing wishy-washy garbage."

Judging by Madison's and Emma's expression, Dad must have heard something that he really disagreed with.

And it was bewildering and domineering to hear that the whole city was apparently against me. More so because they were being egged on and lead by Neo-Nazis.

Dad looked so defeated. I saw it every time he failed to help someone in the DWA. But this was a failure that he took much more personally, because it involved me -- his only daughter. He was being pushed to the corner. But I couldn't let him bear all of this.

These were my problems, so I would deal with them.

After all, I promised myself that I would support Dad.

"Dad," I called out and he raised his crestfallen head to look at me. I spoke strongly, as confidently as I could, "It doesn't matter if the whole city is against me. You've been fighting for the DWA against all of Brockton Bay for all these years now. The city wants to have a go at me? That's just another day that ends in y for us Heberts."

Dad snorted, a wry smile on his face, "...Who did you inherit this headstrong will from, I wonder?"

I smiled back, "It'll be alright, Dad. We just got to move forward, one step at a time."

"Right, yeah. Tomorrow's another day," I heard him whisper, "...That's what your mother used to say..." He got out his chair and then walked to my side, brushing away my hair, he planted a kiss on my forehead (uh, not in front of Maddy and Ems, Dad!). "If the city wants a fight then we'll give them a fight," he wasn't energetic but he seemed more alive, "And if these white-power thugs think that they scare us, run us out of our homes, then they're dead-wrong."

There was a beat of silence.

A moment to bask in the mood.

Then Emma spoke up, "Well, it's been a nice staying over here, but now that Taylor won't be jealously dragging me back to her room, it's about time for me to go home."

Madison agreed, "Yeah, I should be getting home too. The sleepovers have been real fun but my parents have been super-sad that they haven't seen my face in almost a week!"

"Right, let me walk you girls to the door," some tension dissipated from Dad, "And do feel free to drop by whenever you like."

"Thanks, Mister Hebert!"

I got up from my seat to see them out as well (I was told that I had broken the front-door but seeing that it was there, I guess it got replaced).

Emma left with a casual, picturesque wave of her hand as she sauntered across the street and back home. Madison waved from the elbow as she walked away and then called for a ride. I waved back to them both from the doorway, though I had to duck a bit for them to be able to see me.

When both girls were gone and Dad moved further out to the frontyard, I was left to pick apart a peculiar sight.

There were PRT Troopers stationed in a perimeter centered around my house. Which did explain why the Brockton Bay Mobs and the Empire Eighty-Eight hadn't raided my home yet, because the PRT was actively discouraging them from doing so. Some of the troopers twitched when they saw me but otherwise kept their silent vigil at their designated checkpoints.

A PRT Armored-Truck was parked on our curbside. There was a clank as the locking-mechanisms were undone and the two rear-doors were opened wide. Walking out and greeting my Dad was a Protectorate Cape in armor. It wasn't the usual fancily-futuristic and highly-protective tinkertech powersuit that most of the other heroes wore. This was archaic-armor with modern designs and crafting.

The hero's costume was themed after the Greeks or Spartans and was a composed of softly-colored gold armor and white garbs. Held in his right-hand was a spear, a pulsating white-lightning; attached to his left-wrist was a metallic-disc that pulsated with the same energy; and his boots too seemed to glow with power. The white-visor of his helmet made him seem like he was a being made of light, as if he was a heavenly warrior that had descended upon the mortal realms.

'That's Dauntless!' I internally squealed in delight.

Seeing him in pictures or on television was one thing. But seeing him in the flesh was a whole other. He had presence that couldn't be captured in film.

He strode over until he was in front of our porch-step.

"Hello," he greeted -- voice loud yet respectful, and he performed a small bow, "I am Dauntless from the Protectorate. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Hebert. How are you feeling this morning?"

"O-Oh, I'm good, just peachy."

"If I may ask, are you busy today?"

"Umm, I... don't think I have anything planned today."

"Then may I make a recommendation for you to visit the Protectorate Headquarters today? As you should know, the situation in Brockton Bay has been tense as of late. And it would best for us to discuss your circumstances in a more secured location."

I sent a glance to Dad and he nodded his okay.

Right, this was the plan, wasn't it? Being a Ward, working with the Protectorate? Just have to rip-off this bandage and quickly get it over with it. Yep.

"Sure?" I questionably answered.

"Then let us be off," Dauntless said as he walked back to the armored-truck and went inside.

I ducked under the doorway and walked out -- remembering to skip over the bottom-most step which was rotten and weak. I bathed in the warm sunlight of dawn and the tasted the crisply cool morning-air. Just like how I awoke today in my room, it felt different in ways that I couldn't explain. Perhaps it had something to do with me being part-dinosaur now?

I walked until I reached Dad.

"Nervous, Kiddo?"

"A bit."

"Just think of it like a trip to the doctor or dentist. They'll give you candy afterwards for being a brave girl."

He chuckled and I mirthfully rolled my eyes.

Today was going to be a very long day.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 1.5: Upheaval

The inside of this type of PRT Armored-Truck was a utilitarian design meant to pack in as many fully-geared troopers as possible. There were wide-seats on the left and right sides of the interior, along with grab-handles dangling from the ceiling for standing. Overall, this single armored-truck could transport eight-seated and eight-standing PRT Troopers per trip.

Dauntless was already seated to the innermost-left, while Dad took a seat at the innermost-right.

My long-tail posed a problem for sitting, so I took one of the grab-handles in the center, yet my lightest grip still bit into the handle.

"Sorry!" I blurted out with a wince.

"Something wrong, Miss Hebert?"

"My claws are, uh, real sharp."

"I see. I'll inform the others about your issues," Dauntless nodded, "But, if I may ask, I heard that you had carried away your friend without causing any harm?"

I glanced at Dad since I didn't remember the whole chase, and he answered, "Madison didn't have a scratch on her."

"Oh, then, I was... um, it was instincts, I guess?"

Well, if I could hold a person without cutting them, then that meant I just needed more practice, right?

"This is merely my hunch, but you may be too conscious about your claws and the tension might be causing you to exert a bit more force than you intend to. Relaxing should help you in reducing the number of accidents."

"O-Okay, I'll try to relax," though that was easier said than done. How exactly does one go about relaxing in a situation like this?

Dauntless knocked a few times on the wall, alerting the driver, "We're ready to go."

The engines growled awake as the doors closed automatically and then locked with a clank. The armored-truck rumbled as it drove off towards the Protectorate Headquarters. I had never been there before but I estimated that it would take around twenty-to-thirty minutes to get there.

In the meantime, there were still some things to talk about on this trip.

"Miss Hebert, how much has your father told you about your current situation?"

"Everything. I got powers then went on a rampage and hurt people really badly. Now the Empire Eighty-Eight is leading the charge and the city wants my head on a pike. On the other hand, The courts don't want any more trouble, so they've enrolled me as a Probationary Ward and now the Protectorate will have to deal with the rest of my baggage."

"Yes, that about sums it up. Fortunately, during the time you were incognizant, a majority of the issues and paperwork have already been settled between your father and the Protectorate. So today there isn't much for you need to do besides formally meeting with the Director. However, the Director may request for you to perform some basic power-testing while you're there, and perhaps even meet with the Wards afterwards."

"Okay," I responded and then looked at Dad to explain, "What issues were there?"

"Well..." he frowned, "For example, the Director wanted us to move to a more secured housing -- like in Wardstown, because our current home isn't an easy place to keep defended and the PRT doesn't have the manpower to maintain a permanent arrangement." He gripped his knees, "But like I said to you earlier, Taylor, we're not going to let these white-power thugs run us out of our home. Come hell or heaven, we're staying in that house." He breathed out, "I was told that the PRT and Protectorate will stick around for another week and by then the city would have hopefully simmered down. After that, it'll be all up to us to protect our home."

I nodded in agreement. That house was important to us, we were bound to it by a vast collection of memories -- both the good and the bad. It was impossible for us to simply abandon our precious home, no more possible than forgetting about the wonderful woman called Annette Herbert.

"Another issue was about school," Dad continued, "Since everybody knows who you are now, I thought going back would be really rough on you. The Director agreed to pulling you of school for now, keep you of the spotlight so to speak, and have you be taught by a private-tutor during your probation as a Ward."

"That sounds alright."

I wasn't attached to Winslow by any means -- I certainly wouldn't miss the damn gangster-goons. It was just some place to learn and the curriculum wasn't challenging enough to teach me much anyways. Sure, I would miss a couple of my teachers and some of my other classmates, along with hanging-out with Emma, Madison, and (ugh) Sophia. But overall it wasn't a huge loss, especially since my friends could come over to my place whenever they liked.

"The Youth Guard Consultant was really vocal about your future education," Dad continued, seemingly tired just remembering about it, "Talked my ears off about how you should go back to school eventually because socializing with your classmates is very important for developing kids your age. Recommended that I get you transferred to Arcadia High since that school is already accommodating to superpowered-students. And repeated quite often about how the Wards can get in for free with a special scholarship."

As far as I knew, Arcadia High was an actual clean and proper school compared to the shithole known as Winslow. I could get a real education there and have better prospects for joining a solid college. Exactly what Mom wanted for me. I couldn't see a downside to it.

"Going to Arcadia sounds nice."

"Better than what Winslow has become from what you've told me, it used to be a not so terrible place," he shook his head, "Anyways, I'll let them know you're interested in transferring."

"So anything else?"

Dad chewed on his teeth for a while before sighing wearily, "It's about your tenure as a Probationary Ward. You know what they do right?"

"The basics: the Wards go around patrolling the city and assisting with accidents or dealing with whatever small crimes they find -- like theft or muggings."

"Yes and most of the minor or majors crimes committed here in Brockton Bay can be linked to gangs; the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, and the Merchants, all lead by supervillains of their own. And one of these gangs already has you in their sights," Dad's voice weakened, "I... I almost lost you, Taylor, and it's a miracle that I didn't. But even if you have powers to protect yourself now, I just can't help stop about worrying if something else will happen to you," He shook his head, "So I told the Director that you weren't allow to go on any patrols, to put you on the bench."

It was a dull shock.

I understood that Dad was and would always be worried for me, because he was a dad and that was just what they did.

But thinking about it, about what I wanted to do now and in the future, I just couldn't let myself be held back like that.

"Dad, I've always adored heroes." And he knew that, because my room was filled with heroic-dolls, toys, and other collectibles that he and Mom bought for me long ago. "Always dreamed about having powers; imagining myself being as tough as Alexandria, as fast as Legend, as strong as Eidolon, or as innovative as Hero. I used to fantasize about what powers I would have and how I would use them to be a hero to fight bad guys." Happy memories from simpler times, before I understood how much more grittier reality was compared to what the upbeat media-entertainments would have you believe.

I looked at him resolutely straight in the eyes.

"Things really didn't happen as I dreamed it would. I nearly died, got powers, and then rampaged around. If anything, I'm closer to being a villain than a hero right now. But I'm not going to let that keep me down. I know I got incredibly lucky in an absolutely shitty situation. But most people don't. We hear everyday about someone in the city getting injured or killed by a violent gangster -- another tally for the statistic. The heroes try so hard everyday to keep the peace but it's just not enough. And maybe I won't be able to make a difference but I have to at least try. I can't just sit back and do nothing, twiddling my thumbs, and let what happened to me happen to others.

Dad, I want to go out there and save people -- to be a hero." The next was a sleight of tone that I had learned from Emma, a daughter's threat which would pierce deeply through a father's armor. "And if you try to stop me, even if it's to protect me, then I'll hate you for it."

Dad's expression twisted into frustration. He knew just how stubborn I could be -- headstrong as he called it this breakfast. But even though Dad was stubborn too, he was more afraid that I would resent him if he kept me in a gilded-birdcage, because all we had left were each other. If I were to ever come to hate him then he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

In the end, he let out a deep breath and conceded with wringing hands, "...I'll talk to the Director about it."

I smiled softly, apologetic, "Thanks, Dad."

And he managed to muster the strength to smile wryly back.

All the meanwhile, Dauntless had the tact to stay silent. I wasn't sure what the hero thought about our conversation but I was thankful that he wasn't intruding in our family matter.

The rest of our trip settled into a quiet mood.

Dad had nothing else to say to me, certainly not after that. And I wasn't really up to chatting either, with him or Dauntless.

So instead I just had time for myself to think about various things.

Like the fact that I was a Parahuman -- a Cape. Which should have been self-evident when I had first learned that I was part-dinosaur, but that wasn't the first thought I had in mind, since I was more concerned after waking-up that I had become a saurian. It just didn't really click for me until breakfast or until now when Dad was talking about the Wards.

Wards = Powers = Parahuman. Simple, right?

And I was going to be a Ward, probationary but a Ward nonetheless, so that meant I had powers of my own!

Those powers being dinosaurification. Asides from my transformed body and sharp claws, the impression I got from Madison's story was that I was also really strong, durable, and fast.

I think that basically qualified me as a Brute and Changer?

Well, likely not a Changer, because I couldn't actually change back and forth from normal human to scary saurian. I had tried to when I was putting on my clothes this morning but I didn't get the feeling that I could go back. At least, I didn't get the similar feeling as I did when I had eaten my fork and filled up my metallic-hungry stomach, anyways.

Capes always talked about how their powers was intuitive to use, how their powers were like flexing a limb or muscle that they've always had but just didn't know about until now. For me, that new limb was my physically long-tail, but otherwise I didn't get the intuitive sensation that I could change back into a human.

I was just me now.

Big, scaly, dino-girl Taylor.

This was my new standard, my new normal.

And, boy, did that come with its own slew of problems too (besides having troubles with wearing clothes and using utensils, I mean)!

For example, a very big example, being a permanently six-foot-something dino-girl meant that I simply had no secret-identity or privacy anymore. Everybody knew who I was and what I looked like. Sure, that wasn't anything new in Brockton Bay, because there was also New Wave -- a whole family of heroes who advocated for no secret-identities and public accountability.

But there was a deadly reason why other Capes didn't follow the group's lead to go maskless: a member of New Wave had been killed in her civilian-identity.

That was what masks and secret-identities offered, protection for yourself, friends, and family from your enemies. And now I didn't have that benefit. Just like New Wave my civilian-life and my cape-life would be one and the same -- forever intertwined. Even if I tried to keep those lives separate, the gangs wouldn't care if I was on the clock or off it, if they wanted to have at me then they would do it.

In fact, the Empire Eighty-Eight hadn't ever allowed New Wave to forget about Fleur's death and they never would.

It was an open-secret that if New Wave interfered with the Empire's activities too much, then the Neo-Nazis would send a reminder that their gang was only humoring them by playing nice. Usually it was small, simple things like egging their houses or sending threatening letters. But if they wanted to send a stronger message, the gang would cause larger public-disturbances near where the heroic-families lived or work. Likewise, the Azn Bad Boys and the Merchants (for as unsubtle as they were) adopted the same tactic to remove pressure off them.

It was a constant reminder that New Wave had exchanged their masks for nooses.

And now I had that exact same problem.

I talked big about wanting to be a hero. But getting to think about it now, I wasn't so sure if I wasn't just leading Dad to his death by a thousand cuts. If had to protect my house, Dad, and my friends then I would end-up just as badly hamstrung as New Wave was. The best solution I could think of so far was to hire guards but that would at best deter the non-powered gangsters -- not to mention that it would cost money that our family just didn't have. If the PROT was generous enough, then they could maybe keep a trooper or two posted around? They could at least do that for a Ward, right? Could I sell it as an investment?

As my thoughts whirled about to finding an appropriate solution, we finally reached the Protectorate Headquarters.

"We're here, Mister and Miss Hebert," Dauntless stated.

The back-doors clanked opened and I was out of the truck first.

The Protectorate Headquarters was built over what had once been oil-rig that sat out in the center of Brockton Bay's titular bay. A great, shining beacon of a spire surrounded by other structures and protected by a large dome-forcefield. It was a fortress that was difficult to access if you weren't invited due to its island-like isolation that would have any approaching invaders exposed in the open skies and waters. Likewise, there was only a singular land-route to the PHQ -- a forcefield-road which could be turned on or off.

The wafting sea-salted air and endless blue-horizon sent an unexpected thrill down my spine.

I suddenly had the desire to go on a very long swim.

"Taylor, where you are you going? This way!" Dad called out.

I blinked and remembered what we came here to do, so I walked back to follow him as he followed Dauntless.

The ground-floor lobby was sparsely decorated with comfort decor or furniture like potted-plants or waiting-chairs, most likely because the PHQ didn't often get guests that weren't suppose to be there without appointments.

There were fancy tinkertech scanners with a screen of blue analyzing-light between the machines set-up at the entrance.

Dauntless and Dad passed through them without any issues.

I didn't.

As soon as I passed through the scanners, the alarms shrieked aloud as the lights faded in red and out black. I froze solidly in place as panic infused the air, wondering what in the hell did I just do. Dauntless calmly told me to not move from my spot, said that an investigation-team would be arriving soon and I should listen to their instructions, before ushering my Dad away.

In less than a minute, the lobby was completely evacuated and I stood alone in the room as the lights turned back to normal and the alarms were silenced. After that, it didn't take long for the investigation-team to arrive through the main-doors.

And I was immediately struck dumb with disbelief and staring, because the whole group was geared-up in bulky hazmat-suits.

One of them cordially greeted me and instructed me to stand still, while another two went about measuring me with two different-looking Geiger-Counters. The fourth had a briefcase-laptop and was reading the data. But they seemingly didn't get the results they were expecting because the devices didn't make a sound. They instructed me to walk through the scanner a few times and then silently discussed amongst themselves through the radio. The friendly-speaker told me there was nothing to worry about.

After what felt like hours but was mostly like just half of one, the friendly-speaker apologized for the inconvenience and said I was cleared to go.

He detached from the investigation-team and then escorted me to an elevator.

It was a silent, long ride up.

The elevator dinged open and the friendly-speaker guided me down the corridor, passed a waiting-room which had a secretary and some troopers on guard, and then finally to my destination: the Director's Office.

My escort wished me luck as he waved goodbye.

The office-door automatically slid open when I got close enough.

Behind the desk, sitting in a large-chair, was a professionally dressed but obese woman. She had a blond bob-cut, sharp steely-eyes, and a grimace on her middle-aged face. Flanking her left and right was Dauntless and Armsmaster respectively. The name-plaque on her desk read Director Of The PRT East-North-East, Emily Piggot.

There were two chairs facing her desk and Dad was already seated in one of them. The other was clearly for me because it was a stool.

I timidly took a seat.

"I was planning for a simple meet-and-greet for today, Miss Hebert," the woman started, exasperated, "However, you are presenting to me an entirely new headache which we must discuss and resolve effective immediately."

I almost asked "Like what?" but that would have been stupidly rhetorical.

The Director's eyes narrowed, "According to our scans, you are essentially a human-shaped nuclear-reactor. And the only reason why I haven't called for a state of emergency and enacted containment protocols is because you aren't radioactive -- at all. Just the opposite, if my analysts are understanding the data correctly, because you're absorbing the ambient radiation and keeping it perfectly stored within yourself." Then she turned to look at Dad, "Mister Hebert, I've been told that you want to retract your previous statement and allow your daughter to now go on patrols as a Ward. Is that correct?"

Dad thought, rethought, and then nodded very slowly, "...Yes, my daughter wants to help keep the city safe."

The woman turned her hard gaze back to me, "Young lady, in the near future you will undergo a very strict and thorough power-testing at a specialized-facility. And if I hear that you leaked even a hint of radiation greater than permissible, then your patrol-privileges being immediately revoked will be the least of your worries. Am I understood?"

I nodded hurriedly. It was difficult to argue against that -- a rather sobering and scary realization that I was apparently a walking-nuke. It was fortunate that I wasn't passively radioactive because I would go mad with guilt if I had given Dad, Emma, and Madison cancer for just being around me.

"Good. Now are there any other issues you would like to bring up to me?"

"My daughter wants to transfer to Arcadia High."

The Director twitched, "Yes, I recall the Youth Guard was very insistent on that. There are still a few more details to hammer out but a transfer can be arranged after your daughter's probation." Dad nodded his understanding. "Anything else?"

I raised my hand, "Um, I was thinking about it on the way here. How I, uh, don't have a secret-identity. So even if I'm a part of the Wards, the gangs might start harassing my friends and family, like they already do with New Wave."

"Miss Hebert, since you and your father have refused to move to a secured-housing, I am not left with many options. Since you are a Ward and therefore my responsibility, I can post a minimal amount of guards to your neighborhood and a couple of bodyguards for your father. But that is all I can do for you. The PRT is not your private-security. I cannot assign a protection-detail for your friends without credible evidence that a villainous Parahuman will be involved, otherwise the threat of unpowered crimes is the jurisdiction of the BBPD. I'm afraid the most I can do for your friends is to notify Winslow High and suggest that the faculty keep their eyes open."

I opened my mouth to argue but then closed it with a frown and chewed on my teeth.

The woman might be round in shape. But her appearance was deceiving because she was actually sharp, hard-edges.

"...That's better than nothing. Thank you, um, Director Piggot."

"Piggot," she corrected me, the t was silent.

"Director Piggot," I repeated the correction to her.

"Good. Anything else?"

I shook my head.

"Then let us move on with completing the rest of your orientation into the Wards," the woman gestured with an arm, "This is Armsmaster, he is the Leader of the Protectorate and will be your supervisor when I am not around to give orders." Armsmaster nodded a greeting, then walked over and handed an electronic-tablet with pen to me (sturdy enough to not get scratched by my claws with a gentle grip). "The Public Relations Department has taken the liberty of designing a number of names and costumes for you. If you are fine with any of them then circle the ones you want; if you don't like any of them then cross them out with an X; and if you have any suggestions of your own then jot them down."

I had never used a tablet before but the touchscreen feature was easy enough to pick up and navigate.

I looked through the various concept-arts, which contained things like Girlsaurus (Wildish), Emprex (Queenly), Dragalier (Knightly), along with other names and designs of similar caliber.

I then realized that my unique physical-features presented a challenge to design around. As far as I could tell, I wouldn't be able to wear a powersuit like the rest of the Wards or Protectorate. Furthermore, it seemed that my saurian-body presented a lot of individuality on its own. So the designers opted for adding apparel that I could wear together in an outfit that would further accentuate my distinctiveness, rather than create a whole new costumed-identity for me.

There were some design-elements that I liked from Emprex and Dragalier, so I made sure to comment my endorsement of those.

On the other hand, I wasn't so sure about the choices in names.

I pursed my lips.

Unfortunately, I wasn't well-versed about reptiles and dinosaurs and other related terms. So I couldn't think of a snappy heroic-name comparable to the likes of say Challenger (Predasaurian?), Mouse Protector (Lizard Defender?), and so on. Furthermore, the word Dragon was already taken-up by one of the world's greatest Tinker (while the Chinese-equivalent Lung was taken by one of the world's toughest Brute). If I went the route of picking 'Dragon' in a different language, then the safest would have likely been Latin or Greek but I didn't know either of these from the top of my head. And I definitely wasn't going to pick the name of mythical-dragon for myself, that would be a huge faux-pas and require a gigantic ego to do so.

No matter how hard I racked my brain, I couldn't come up with anything decent of my own.

I sighed, because I couldn't just sit here and take forever to pick a name.

After circling my decision, I offered back the electronic-tablet to Armsmaster.

He took it and announced my choice in name, "Dragalier."

The Director nodded, "Well then, Miss Dragalier, welcome to the Wards. I hope your temporary tenure here will be beneficial for all parties. And do remember to keep everything you learn about the PRT, the Protectorate, and the Wards a secret, unless I've given you my say so. Armsmaster will now escort you to your medical-examination next."

Dad was alert and worried, "Is Ta-uh-Dragalier sick?"

"That is something for the medical-examiners to determine, Mister Hebert. As you can plainly see, her physical aspects are not entirely human anymore, which means that her insides may not be normal either. The medical-examination will inform us if there's anything we need to keep a look-out for when concerning your daughter's health in the future. However, our Parahuman Medical Facilities are restricted to authorized-personnel only to preserve the confidentiality of our parahuman-employees, so you won't be allowed to accompany your daughter beyond here."

"Oh... I... okay," Dad nodded, tired.

"Now then, Miss Dragalier, you have a busy schedule ahead of you today, and you will be dorming with the Wards after it."

"Huh? Wait... I won't be going home tonight?"

"No. Due to your circumstances, you are not to go near civilians and to be under PRT surveillance at all times until you are declared stable. Thus you will be staying at the Ward Base for ease of supervision."

"But I wo-"

"Miss Dragalier, this is standard procedure for Parahumans who have proven themselves to be dangerous to others. However, I can clearly see that you are a rational young woman in possession of her wits so I will relay this observation to my higher-ups. If they deem you fit, then your restrictions will be loosened for good-behavior. But the sooner you earn your Powers Proficiency Certification, then the sooner we can be done with all these red-tape."

I groaned petulantly, "Fine."

"Understood, ma'am," she corrected me.

I sighed, still petulant, "Understood, ma'am."

"Good. If you two have anything left to say to each other then do so now. Because you both won't be able to meet face-to-face for an indeterminate time -- dependent on Miss Dragalier's progress. Furthermore, due to your current status, any access or communication to each other through phone or internet will require approval, arrangement, and monitoring by the PRT."

Dad looked at me apprehensive but controlled.

"Hey, Kiddo, how you feeling?"

I looked down to the floor, "Dad... I... I knew things would be different with me being a Ward. But not like this. Not being able to see you for who knows how long... that's..."

It felt so uncomfortable knowing that I would be leaving Dad alone again. But Dad didn't seem too surprise about it, fatigued and weary, but not surprised. I guess he knew about it from earlier in his first meeting with the Director. I felt a bit hurt that he didn't mention it earlier in the truck-ride and allowed me to be blindsided by it like a slap to the face. But I guess I deserved a bit pain for verbally stabbing him in the heart then too.

"Yeah, it'll be rough on the both of us. But just think of it like going to summer-camp again -- like a vacation or an adventure," his words sounded more like they were trying to convince himself rather than me.

"Right, learning all about my powers should be pretty fun."

We stood up and slowly hugged each other tightly, feeling and enjoying each other's warmth.

"Take care of yourself, Taylor. I'll be holding the fort down while you're out."

"You too, Dad," I grinned weakly, "I'll tell you all about it when I get back."

And then we separated.

"Armsmaster," the Director spoke, "you may take your new Ward now."

"Yes, ma'am," the hero responded, before moving past me and stating, "Follow me, Dragalier."

I waved to Dad as I left and he waved back.

I followed after Armsmaster back to the elevator which I had come in from and then we went down a number of floors.

As I waited, I had time to inspect Armsmaster up close.

Unlike the other heroes who wore powersuits for moderate protection, Armsmaster wore a powerarmor which fully covered him from head to toe in metal to the point that he looked more like a robot than a man in a costume. Despite that, his armor made no whine nor clunk; from recordings I had seen, the man moved and fought with the fluid grace of a well-oiled and calculating machine. Midnight-blue with silver highlights, Armsmaster stood in darker contrast compared to his similar spear-wielding companion Dauntless, it was like night and day.

I felt a sense of a bit of giddiness knowing that one of admired heroes was standing next to me. A sense of pride that I would be working under this man of great repute. And then perhaps someday alongside him.

But it was also a strange feeling to know that he wasn't as big as I had always imagined him to be. Because I had grown so much physically taller, I exceeded his height now. It wasn't like he was any smaller but he wasn't larger than life anymore.

When the elevator-doors opened, I was assailed by the strong scent of sterile disinfection that was the norm for hospitals and the likes.

Armsmaster lead me down the corridor, past some guards, and then into the medical-room.

A typically-dressed, white-coat medical-examiner greeted us excitedly as soon as we entered and then guided us to the actual examination-room. It was a room filled with a variety of machines and tools -- some I recognized and most I didn't -- and staffed by even more diligent and eager examiners.

Further away from everything else, there was a single out-of-place person who was sitting down bored on a bench, and flanked by two guards. She was dressed in a white-robe that had a red-cross on the chest, with a neck-scarf which covered the lower-half of her freckled-face, and she had curly brown-hair underneath her hood. She looked more like a priest than a medical-professional.

She looked rather familiar...

'Wait a second, isn't that Panacea from New Wave?'

If I recalled correctly, she went active around the time I started attending Winslow, and instantly made a name for herself because she was a healer -- an already very rare and highly desired commodity of a power by itself, one who could also make adjustments to the human body. She became the Brockton Bay's darling superstar in less than a month due to her services giving a booster-shot to the city's rotting economy. People from all around were coming over to get her to heal them -- especially the rich and famous who stopped by for a few tweaks here and there.

She was essentially a miracle-healer.

Despite New Wave's stance on staying an independent hero-group and dealing with their own problems, Panacea's existence was too valuable for the US Government and the PROT to not intervene in. She had armed-bodyguards protecting whenever she went out to prevent the local gangs and other factions from kidnapping her.

I stared curiously at Panacea before the medical-examiner pulled away my attention and back to the tour of tests concerning my body.

The next three hours or so was an agonizingly slow torture for the doctors as they futilely tried to get any sort of decent results from me. For example, I was apparently too Brute for their Brute-Grade Equipment, because they couldn't obtain a skin, scale, blood, or hair sample from me -- they had to settle for saliva and mucus. They also wanted a urine and fecal sample, and I really didn't feel like going right that instance, so they bundled the containers and told me to send the samples later. Likewise, my internal radioactivity was so strong that they apparently couldn't get proper x-rays of me. Their ultrasound-diagnostic was modestly more effective, though it could only examine my still human torso -- which revealed that, yes, I still had human organs and not much else.

Overall, it was just one failure after another.

That said, it wasn't total complete failure.

The examiners were able to take my physical-measurements for future reference -- like for when the PR Department would go about creating my future costume. Likewise, they scanned my retina to register me in the system. They also noticed that I had a set of gills on my scaly-neck (which explained why I wanted to jump into the bay earlier, I was most likely amphibious). And, lastly, a look into my mouth had them quickly contemplating about what kind of toothbrush and mouthwash I would need to keep my two sets of teeth sparkling white-clean.

Besides those few things, the medical-examiners eventually threw their collective hands into the air and gave up at their lack of success.

So they naturally had to resort to their back-up plan.

One of the examiners brought the white-robed Cape over.

"Dragalier, this is Panacea, a licensed Parahuman Doctor," the examiner sounded a touch defeated, "Since we can't examine you with conventional methods, we will be relying on Panacea's powers to obtain information about your physiology."

"Nice to meet you," I greeted politely.

"Same," she stated aloofly, "I am legally required to ask: Do I have permission to examine and heal you?"

"Yes."

"Right then, I only need to hold your hand for a few minutes," she said as she held out an open palm.

Gently, I placed a clenched-fist atop her hand.

Her hand wrapped around my own and then she closed her brown-eyes in concentration (which was developing bags underneath). I watched curiously as her expression shifted into a furrowed consternation, until more than a dozen worrying minutes had passed, and then she at last snapped-opened her miffed eyes to glare at me with a perplexed pondering.

"You, uh, alright there?"

"How are you even alive?" was the first thing out of her mouth.

"I... what?"

She didn't let go of my hand. In fact, she gripped it tighter. "My powers is having a difficult time analyzing you and there are still parts about you that are just somehow indecipherable. But from what I do understand is that your physiology is just completely freaking absurd! Your heart is both an organ and something not, it's a damn nuclear-reactor and constantly pumping nuclear-energy through you! Your insides are so hot and radioactive that you should be have spontaneously combusted and turned into a bubbling blob of mush! Yet you're somehow standing here just fine because your body has... has evolved that way!"

"That is not unsurprising, Panacea," Armsmaster commented, "Parahumans generally possess resistances or immunity to their own or similar types of abilities -- such as pyrokinetics."

"Yeah but if it's your powers that are protecting you then your body still wouldn't be any different from a normal human. There's been loads of research about that stuff," the healer scoffed, "But Dragalier's powers isn't passively protecting her, her physiology is so insanely robust and resilient that it's literally thriving off from her being nuclear!" She took a deep breath, "To put it simply, it's the difference between a cape being able to fly because of powers and a bird being able to fly because it physically evolved that way. Do you get it? And, yes, I do mean evolved," she glared strongly, "I'll admit that I haven't examined a Changer before. But as far as what my powers are telling me, Dragalier is somehow a completely natural possibility down to her very cells."

"And that's bullshit, like scientists trying to reverse-engineer tinkertech bullshit," she stressed, "It doesn't take much radiation to kill living-cells and even less to damage or change them for large complex-creatures like human-beings. And the kind of lifeforms with high radioresistance are simple things like bacteria. But even then, that's merely resistance, they don't actually live-off of radioactivity, but she is."

Her hand gripped even tighter, "Like, holy shit, my powers are telling me that she's some kind of... apex lifeform! She absorbs radiation from her surroundings and can create nuclear-energy with just water and sunlight! She can practically eat anything and efficiently convert all that matter into more power because her stomach is essentially a furnace meant to supplement her completely self-sustaining nuclear-heart! She doesn't produce waste which means she doesn't need to defecate! Her skin and scales are so hard that diamond is soft in comparison, yet she's actually flexible enough to move around! And if she somehow gets hurt then she regenerates almost instantly thanks to her incredibly fast stem-cells which her whole body is practically composed of! She's unlikely to ever get sick because her insides are so radioactive and hot and then there's her immune-system too! And, god, her cells don't even suffer damages from dividing, they're all so perfectly healthy and new that she might actually be biologically-immortal!"

It almost seemed like Panacea would endless and excitedly gush about her revelations but she eventually had to stop and take a panting breath. Then, when she looked up to Armsmaster and opened her mouth to continue, she paused and saw how everyone was giving her a peculiar look. She quickly snapped her mouth shut as her cheeks flared a red tint.

"...Well now, it seems you've learned quite a lot about Dragalier's physiology, Panacea," the examiner spoke carefully, "Why don't we go over there and fill-out the official-report on it?"

Panacea did not trust her mouth and silently nodded.

But when she made to move, she realized that she was still holding onto my hand, and then with creased brows she very reluctantly released my hand to be on her way.

"Well, that was, uh, something," I said to break this awkward air.

The unflappable Armsmaster simply turned his head to look at me, "We should go meet the Wards now."

"Lead the way, sir."

He did. All the way back down and outside to a waiting PRT Armored-Truck.

"Are the Wards not here?"

"No, they're at the Wards Base inside of PRT HQ."

"Oh," I looked around, "Wouldn't it be faster to go on your motorcycle?"

"Yes. But your situation is still unfavorable, so we must be discreet when transporting you across the city," he stated, almost sounding disappointed, "Furthermore, my motorcycle doesn't have a sidecar. And as you are a minor, I cannot allow you to ride backseat."

So, to my disappointment, I had to ride in the back of the big black-truck again.

On the ride over, Armsmaster outlined what I should expect in the coming future.

Stuff like meeting the Wards, private tutoring, powers testing, learning the proper procedures and conducts as expected from a Ward, a public-apology press-conference before my debut, and then finally I would be allowed to do typical Ward patrols. Furthermore, he would try to fast-track getting me custom-gloves for my claws but until then he mentioned that I should try to avoid touching things that I didn't need to. And he also reminded me that I should keep everything I learned a secret.

It was all rather daunting to think about.

And to think, from my perspective, that everything has been so normal a mere day ago...

But soon enough we arrived.

PRT Headquarters was located near the center of Brockton Bay which allowed for speedy deployment in all directions. It was positioned in the border between the Suburbs and Downtown and was relatively close-by to Arcadia High as well -- so the area came to be naturally called Wardstown. PRT HQ was essentially a very upscale police-station complex and occupied a large amount of space, so that it could have everything it needed to be an independent task-force. It was comprised of a public parking-lot, a main-building with an attached gift-shop, connected to other structures like the barracks and garages, gyms, a hospital, a prison, helipads on the roofs, and so forth.

After parking in the garage, Armsmaster lead me past a security checkpoint to a lone elevator (I was getting so annoyed by all these security and elevators). Inside the elevator, he pressed a series of numbers and letters, then the doors closed and took us down before opening up to another corridor and another mechanically sealed-door at the end of it.

At the control-panel, he inserted a security-card and spoke his name.

A moment later, the door beeped and hissed unlocked, and he strode in with me walking after.

We entered into a very large common-room, which consisted of a lounging-area (with various shared furniture, decorations, and other stuffs) and an attached full-fledged kitchen plus dining-area (there were four fridges and a long-table that could seat a dozen people). Furthermore, one section of the common-room was dedicated to a clean command-console control-station, and to the right-side of the common-room after coming in through entrance was a whole set of rooms lined-up next to each other (a private-room for each Ward going by the stylized door-plaques).

The heroically-dressed occupants of the base were already waiting for us inside, standing to attention.

There was Triumph standing front and center (gold-and-white outfit with a Lion-Head Helmet), with Aegis to his right (red-and-silver outfit with a Shield-Face Helmet) and Clockblocker to his left (white outfit with a Clock-Face Helmet), and standing next to them were Gallant (metallic-grey outfit with a Knight Helmet), Vista (green-and-white outfit with a V-Antennaed Helmet), and lastly Jumpkick (yellow-and-red outfit with a Rabbit Side-Eared Helmet).

There were two other Wards that I didn't recognize all, so they must have been really new like I was.

In fact, the two weren't wearing powersuits at all but what appeared to be homemade costumes instead.

One was a boy with brown hair. He was wearing a baseball-cap that was merged together with a headphone and goggles, along with a red tracksuit which had gold-painted armor-pieces that were cobbled together into something that could be called serviceable.

The other person was dressed in baggy clothes which hid their body's outline. They were wearing a simple outfit that consisted of a dark black hoodie, pants, boots, and gloves, while their face was hidden by a white hockey-mask.

I blinked at the latter, because they felt so familiar; I was fairly certain that I had seen them somewhere before, but where?

It clicked a moment later, 'Ah, from the boutique!'

"Wards," Armsmaster moved aside to present me, "This is Dragalier. She is currently under probation until she acquires her Powers Proficiency Certificate, which means she has yet to undergo powers-testing, so she will not be going on patrols with you yet either." He pointed to each Ward who greeted me in return in their own little way, "Dragalier, these are the Wards. That's Triumph the Wards' Team Captain, Aegis, Clockblocker, Gallant, Jumpkick, and Vista," he paused for a beat, "The other two are new additions to the Ward like you, he's Valiant Star and she's Umbra Huntress."

He pointed to the one plain-door, "That will be your personal-room during your stay here, you can lock and unlock it via the retina-scan. If there's anything else that you need -- such as furniture or other basic amenities -- then you can use that control-station to contact Console." The man nodded curtly, "Dragalier, the rest of the day is yours. I have work to do, so I must be going now." He turned to the Team Captain, "I'll leave her in your care, Triumph."

"Yes, sir."

Then the blue-armored hero walked out of the base.

The group of Wards immediately relaxed from their stiff-straight postures.

Triumph puffed up his chest and held out a hand, "Nice to meet you and welcome to the Wards, Dragalier."

"Sorry, my claws are sharp," I clenched my hand into and presented it, "And, yeah, same here," we lightly bumped fists, "I, uh, heard that we fought when I triggered. Sorry about that."

"...No harm was done, so don't worry about it."

Then I turned to look at Vista, "I also heard that it was your plan which calmed me down. Thanks a lot for that, and for taking care of my friend."

"No problem, just doing what heroes are supposed to do. I'm just glad that it all worked out."

I smiled, "Yeah."

"Alright then, since you're now part of the team, you should know our real names and faces like we already do with yours," Triumph declared. There was a slight hiss as his helmet's seal was undone, then he removed his headgear to reveal a strongly handsome face with dark-brown hair and eyes, "I'm Rory."

Then one by one, the others did the same.

Aegis was either Latino or Hispanic but either way a good-looking one with long black hair and caramel eyes, "Carlos."

Clockblocker was above-average with red hair and blue eyes, "Heya, I'm Dennis!" he grinned goofily.

Gallant was just as knightly and refined underneath with pale-blond hair and gentle blue eyes, "Dean Stansfield at your service."

Jumpkick was a normal Asian-American with black hair tied into a bun and sharp black eyes, "Stella," she stated curtly.

Vista, the youngest of the group, was as cute as a button with wavy dark-blond hair and green eyes, "Missy Biron," her tone was not too proud at the name despite her attempt to smile.

Valiant Star fumbled with removing his headgear when he suddenly realized that it was his turn, "Oh, yeah, I'm Chris!" He had fussy brown hair and dark-green eyes.

Last was Umbra Huntress who seemed to glare at me with crossed eyes, "Hebert," she called me by last name with a mask-muffled voice.

"No way..." I muttered as surprise crept up my expression when I recognize that familiar tone of pinched tolerance. She pulled down her hoodie and removed her hockey-mask to reveal familiar black hair tied into a simple updo and thorny brown-eyes, and I shouted, "You're a Ward?!"

Of all things, Sophia Hess was a Cape?!

"You two know each other?" Vista asked.

"Ughhh, yeah, we both go to Winslow and share some classes together. But I never expected her to be a part of the Wards though, not with her personality."

"Fuck you too, Hebert," she said without any real heat while rolling her eyes.

"Language, please," Gallant replied.

"She's a Probationary Ward like you," Triumph revealed.

Oh. It made a lot more sense that Sophia had made a mistake somewhere and ended up getting drafted instead. I wasn't exactly sure what for but I was beginning to connect the dots. For example, Emma was playing secretkeeper for Sophia because she knew that her savior was a Cape!

"Yeah, whatever, if this unmasking shit is done now then I'm going back to my room."

I watched her back go for awhile before I remembered something, "Wait!"

"What the fuck you want, Hebert?" she questioned as she turned around to face me.

I made my way over to her, step by step, practically stomp by stomp, "A really small part of me wants to thank you for your help back at the boutique," I allowed a bit of the Hebert Temper to seep out, "But a bigger part of my mind recalls that it was your fault why I, no, we had to go through that problem in the first place! Because you couldn't keep your hateboner in your pants and kept picking a fight with the E88 at school!"

"Fuck off, Hebert," she stood her ground and scowled, "Those fucking punks deserve every little shit they get. And I cleaned up that fucking mess, so don't go preaching at me."

"Hess, my face and name is all over the damn internet! The gangs know exactly who my friends and family are and they'll target any weaknesses I have, just like they do with New Wave!" I growled back, bestial, "That means they'll go after Ems and Maddy; my friends. And, if you have anything resembling a heart, then they're your friends too, Hess."

Her expression almost shifted into a frown but remained a scowl, "I'll deal with any dumb fuckers who tries, so you can stop your bitching."

I narrowed my eyes, I would have been directly in her face if I wasn't standing tall and towering over her. My voice dropped to a dangerous low, "Let me make this perfectly clear, Hess. This isn't a request. You started this whole damn mess, so I expect you to own up to it and take responsibility. If anything happens to the Ems or Maddy, then you're going to regret it."

"Don't give me fucking orders, Hebert! Do you think you're some hot-shit now that you have powers? A predator?" she boiled, must hate having to look up to me to maintain eye-contact, "You think your newborn overgrown lizard-ass can hunt me down? Your fucking lizard-brain must be even smaller than I thought!"

Heat and power coursed through my veins, instincts simmering and waiting for release, a hungry beast lurked beneath.

I chuckled, darkly, "Why don't we find out if I'm just a lizard then?"

There was no way either of us would back down.

Since the day I met her, I always knew that Sophia Hess had a screw loose -- the way she moved and talked, the ideas that she spouted. She saw the world in a spectrum divided between predator or prey. Against her, if you backed down and then you were prey, yet if you stood up for yourself then you were just a rowdier prey. There was an established natural-order in her head and she hated when something disrupted it. There was frankly no reasoning with her. So fine, I won't anymore. She wanted a hierarchy? If I can't be a civil human-being then I'll be the damn apex-predator.

"That's enough, you two!" Triumph shouted loudly.

But neither of us stopped glaring at each other.

"Dragalier, Huntress, stop!" He approached us. "You're both on probation and you're supposed to be teammates. If you two cause trouble, then you'll be stripped of your Ward status and sent to juvie!"

That was only if we caused trouble here.

"You and me, Hess, are going to settle this in a friendly spar."

"Fucking bring it."

"Dragalier, you haven't undergone powers-testing yet, you're not allowed to do anything with your powers yet!"

I growled, flashing a look at Triumph and then back to Sophia, "After I finish my powers-testing, we're going to finally decide who's on top and who's on bottom."

"Fucking count on it, Hebert. I could use a new pair of leather boots and gloves."

I simply smiled toothily in response.

There was a saying for this, wasn't there?

The moment when the hunter becomes the hunted.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Interlude: Janitor

The Fedora Woman walked down a corridor full of items and objects. Each one was a memorabilia which represented her failed plans and paths. She had accumulated many from her still ongoing three-decades of struggling, her quest to defeat the unfathomable Enemy. However, despite her powers providing her with flawless guidance every step of the way, it was still not truly omniscient because there were things that could elude its sight.

Of the handful of individuals who could avoid, nullify, or were rendered simply undecipherable to her farseeing powers, there were only a few who could be actively counted as interferences against her crusade for human-survival.

The three Endbringers.

Behemoth, Leviathan, and the Simurgh.

Their actions and the consequences thereof could not be predicted with her powers.

A single city ruined by an Endbringer would result in dozens of Parahumans casualties along with dozens more born in the aftermath. From there, her many Paths would turn ablaze, with dozens discarded or rerouted because they were no longer possible or significantly different. More often than not, the Endbringers' choices of targets felt like they were done especially to spite her.

She glanced at a gadget-like prototype belt created by a scientist who believed he could harness the powers of Shards. This was Project Masked Rider Connect, one of many failures when Kyushu had been sunk by Leviathan.

She glanced to the other side at a broken down work-drone that had been a created by tinker who could create utopian bio-spheres. Another failure when the Simurgh destroyed his happiness and twisted his humanity.

There were so many other examples.

The majority would remain here, dejected and decrepit reminders. But some times, ever so rarely, one would have their Paths reopened, presenting again another asset -- another opportunity.

But, alas, so on it went in this mausoleum of failures.

Eventually the Fedora Woman reached her office and entered it without ado.

On her desk was a neat stack of documents containing this month's information about the newest Parahumans compiled by her organization's various intelligence-networks.

She sat down, took a sheet and skimmed through their abilities, then she began the tedious process of asking her powers a series of questions which would determine the Parahuman's value.

This one was inconsequential.

So she moved onto the next one.

And then the next, and the next, and the next...

She had gone through a bit more than half of the stack before a profile had finally given her pause.

This one was an Unpathable.

And that was possibly problematic. There a few useful assets residing and at least one experiment occurring in Brockton Bay that her organization had a vested interest in keeping watch of. However, a vested interest wasn't the same as invaluable. The organization could heavily involve themselves and secure what they needed or they could just simply let things play out on their own just as they had originally intended.

But, regardless of which option the organization picked, there was a need to keep tabs on this Unpathable at all times, lest they be caught unaware by its unreadable actions in the future.

There was nothing more that the Fedora Woman hated than the unpredictable.

The Snake Bedecked Man was a patient and meticulous individual, a conniving mastermind, the shadow-lord of a kingdom that didn't know it yet. He was a man who had dedicated and invested years of time, money, and effort into the city of Brockton Bay. He had the powers to foretell dual futures and then chose the one which benefited him the most. He was supposed to reap unimaginable riches as the great snake which slithered and coiled around his diamond-in-the-rough territory.

Instead, he had been forced to trade in his radiant-crown for a broom and plunger.

He sat with phone in hand, troubled, worried, and frustrated.

Ah, indeed, how the mighty had fallen...

The Snake Bedecked Man's plight had begun a mere one month ago, a mere week into the February of 2010.

The day when Nidhogg had been born.

And this dreadful title was not one that he would just give away so simply or freely. There were few things that could match the horrors of the likes of Nilbog which he had experienced nearly a decade ago. Yet this newborn creature was beyond frighteningly enough to qualify.

He shivered in remembrance.

It had started as an entertaining story. With Nidhogg rampaging around in the city looking for her precious jewel, while the heroes made futile attempts to stop her. A parahuman as strong as that was one to keep an eye on, and so he developed a professional interest in her, like he did with so many possible threats or assets to his shadowy rule. Eventually, Nidhogg's rampage ended and she was taken into the shackles of the heroes.

However, she could still be subverted to his uses, because it was always and only a matter of finding and then applying the correct incentives.

So he researched into her life and history, her friends and family; everything that could be grasped.

And he learned that Nidhogg had unexpectedly been a normal girl. Her current home-life was less than fortunate with a dead mother and a workaholic father. And she had good grades for a pathetic school, with a more expansive social-circle than expected of someone who didn't expend effort in making attempts to socializing. However, there was ultimately none of the hideous trauma that was the norm for first-generation parahumans -- none that could elucidate how she was granted the cataclysmic power of Nidhogg.

Oh, certainly, she had been beaten and then shot. But such incidents were so common that they were bland of suffering. A majority of those victims simply died, a minority of them would survive the cruelty, and even rarer few would then become parahumans. If that was not the case, then there would be a whole lot more Brutes in the world.

The Snake Bedecked Man could only conclude then that the girl had been incredibly lucky and won the power-lottery.

Regardless, she had powers, and she was in fact quite powerful.

But she had a noticeable weak-point that he could exploit.

However, it was still one he would have to test first. After all, she had a Thinker rating, presumably if only because she could track down what were important to her.

And so he waited, until nearly a week later when Nidhogg and her precious jewels would finally emerge from her most obvious lair.

He had his men follow those glimmering-stones discreetly. And when they were at last alone and unprotected, his men swiped them away.

He learned very quickly that she could sense from a great distance away.

By whatever powers she possessed, Nidhogg had become aware of the theft. And like the fist of an angry god, a reckoning had descended. It didn't matter who or what had gotten in her way, whether it was uninvolved civilians, armed troopers, or empowered parahumans, she unreasonably tore through them all to frantically retrieve her precious jewel. Her path left utter destruction across the city. But, more importantly, she had destroyed one of his hide-outs and killed scores of his men.

Thus the Snake Bedecked Man had promptly thrown away that unfavorable future.

How far could she detect a kidnapping? His next test would have to wait until she left the city for power-testing, and so he filed it away for later.

But he was not done yet, there was still another very simple test...

If Nidhogg reacted this badly to having something stolen from her, then how much more worse would she react when that something is lost forever?

It had merely been a professional curiosity. One that he could satisfy as usual without suffering the consequences due to his powers being beyond reproach. After all, if an act was committed only in one's head, then did it really happen at all?

The Snake Bedecked Man trembled. There were some things that man was simply not suppose to know. But he knew it now, for he had gazed into the abyss born from his folly, and unlived a nightmare that couldn't be forgotten.

He split the future into two...

...One in which the precious jewel was left alone and untouched.

...And in the other, he had it shattered permanently.

He should not have done that.

Because what happened next lend a great credence to the existence of a Cruel God or perhaps of an Absent God.

Safely hunkered down in his bunker, far below the city's surface, the Snake Bedecked Man was relayed visual and audio information to his screen through his various Observers that were monitoring the situation.

And so he watched.

He watched as Nidhogg rushed towards the location and beheld the broken pieces of her precious jewel. He watched as she retched a sorrowful wail into the heavens. He watched as her flesh and scales shriveled to a skeletal gaunt of hideous and necrotic, of the dying yet undead. He watched as she hunched over and her sawtooth-spines shined eerily in the crimson and violet lights of the underworld. He watched as the whole of Downtown and beyond was swallowed in ashen smog and then instantly lit ablaze, swelling into a great inferno of hell. He watched as her grostesque maw wielded an energy-beam of immeasurable length, which she used to scythe through buildings and landscapes alike as if they had been constructed from putty.

Almost in a single instant, all of his Observers had blinked out -- gone, dead.

His screen was a static of disconnection and black.

For a brief moment, he was allowed to wallow in his sheer disbelief.

Then his bunker's alarms blared aloud about a breach.

But he didn't even have to ask from where.

The ceiling to his secured room was torn open with rubbles crumbling down, a plume of miasma spewed and wafted sinisterly from the hole.

And from there she dropped in, Nidhogg in all her demonic ingloriousness, an unholy abomination.

The creature spotted him with knowing eyes of full malice, a hateful glare that promised an uneasy and excruciating death.

Her long tail swayed overhead like a snake ready to strike, rattling with sickening fleshy noises.

Plop, plop, plop.

He stared at the things which had peeled off from the tip of the tail.

One, two, three.

Writhing, malformed hellspawns howled alive.

Four, five, six.

No.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

No. No. No. No No No No NoNoNoNononononononono

The Snake Bedecked Man urgently cast away that gods forsaken future.

And then in the other only future that was now, he jolted straight in his seat. He sat silently for a long time; seconds, minutes, hours. Unaware if he was even still breathing, still alive. However, the beating of his heart which resounded all throughout his body, pounding loudly in his eardrums, informed him that he wasn't dead yet.

Ah, thus was the displeasure of living while knowing and continuing to suffer a crisis of dread and terror.

He breathed, feeling an icy chill run cold through his veins.

His instincts screamed at him to run away as far away as possible, to run to the farthest corners of the earth and never look back. But his logic and reasoning had not flee from him yet, for he had once been a soldier and knew that fear was the enemy, that fear bred mistakes. The situation was still in control, in his control.

He breathed again, the chill thawing.

And so he contemplated his options.

On one hand, he could abandon everything and start anew elsewhere but then that would set him back by a decade at the minimum.

On the other hand, he had already poured countless time, money, and effort into Brockton Bay. He was here today with everything he had because his powers allowed for him to move and act perfectly. Indeed, the situation was not yet unsalvageable, because he could still create an optimal future.

If he could not control her nor remove her, then he would just have to work around her.

The Snake Bedecked Man's numbed mind gradually began to churn out plans.

Priority Plan One: Ensure that Nidhogg remains a Lizard and does not transform into a Devil.

Would the PRT or Protectorate protect the precious jewels? No, they wouldn't. The Director Of The PRT ENE was willing to bend the rules at times but never break them, too much of stickler, she absolutely wouldn't assign guards. The PRT and Protectorate had no idea about the disaster that was lurking right underneath their nose. So then, it fell upon him to provide a secret security-detail. Ugh, that meant using his own men and losing some manpower for other projects.

But playing defensively did not suit his modus operandi either.

The flea-brain goons of the Empire Eighty-Eight were stirring-up trouble. No doubt, there were likely more than a few of them already scheming some sort of foolish revenge or retaliation. These utter idiots did not understand that they shouldn't be provoking a sleeping monster. Once again, it fell upon him to make sure that these imbeciles would disappear, permanently. Ugh, he would have to contact his E88 Spy to find their names, then he would have to move very carefully to eliminate morons so that none of it could be traced back to him -- perhaps even make it look like the ABB were involved?

There was much work to be done to keep a devil asleep. Work that only he could accomplish because anybody else could get it wrong.

Finally, the Snake Bedecked Man let out a breath of warmer relief.

He had a plan now and so everything would soon flow back into order.

...But that incident had been nearly one month ago.

Today was now in the midst of of early March 2010.

And a new problem was knocking on the Snake Bedecked Man's metaphorical-door.

He had been soundly asleep tonight. But was awakened from his slumber because of an urgent warning-call from his one of his agents.

When he heard the news, he almost wanted to shout from distress.

"What do you mean that's she's prowling around where the secret-base is?!"

But he didn't. Because he deleted that tirade future of swears and curses.

The Snake Bedecked Man was always in control. And nobody could or would ever know otherwise.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 2.0: Territorial

After my meeting with the Wards, I got a few days to settle in and socialize with my fellow teammates.

Naturally, I didn't get along with Umbra Huntress (aka Sophia Hess), so we avoided each other for the most part. Valiant Star spent most of his time tinkering, he was a bit geeky but passionate and not actually shy but more fidgety. Jumpkick was practically silent and didn't seem to care much about anything, she was just physically there most of the time. Gallant was a real kind and understanding individual but seemed almost too lenient with everyone. Triumph was uptight, and hovered over Huntress and I like a grumpy cat, watching to make sure neither of us would break our probations in some way. Clockblocker was a sassy jokester and livened up the mood whenever he was around. Vista was very mature for her age and in fact didn't like being treated like a kid. And Aegis was solidly normal (and I don't mean that in a bad way).

This was my basic impressions after only being able to spend a short time with them, during the downtime when they decompressed after their patrols (sans Umbra Huntress and Valiant Star who weren't allowed to go out yet until they had powersuits and attended more seminars).

Despite having their own personal dorm-rooms, none of the Wards really stayed overnight in the base because they had their own homes to return to -- I was the only one who actually had to live here due to my circumstances. So I typically only saw the Wards around noon when they would come in to get suited and then back again at mid-afternoon after they finished their patrols. Likewise, due to a mixed rotation of active-duties, the Wards weren't scheduled to come to work everyday nor for all of them to, which meant that I saw an always different group of three to four Wards every day.

Due to the regulations created by the Youth Guards, the Wards were more like a part-time job and were given a lot of free time to 'ensure the development of a healthy mindset regarding work-life balance' as Clockblocker had so kindly informed me with air-quotes.

Still, I was getting along with pretty much everyone (except Umbra Huntress, of course).

Besides that, the Wards Base itself was really nice.

The common-room's lounging-area was divided into smaller pocket-areas of similar make (containing chairs, couches, and newly added stools, along with small cabinets and shelves that were all centered around a coffee-table). For example, in the middle of the common-room was the hero-zone where the team would gather to discuss their patrols or other official-business. Then around that area were the smaller game-zone, book-zone, movie-zone, and so on.

They had a lot of entertainment and media that we couldn't afford at my place. Unfortunately, I still couldn't touch anything yet because of my claws, but I was really looking forward to perusing these things at a later date. Being able to sit down and read a good book or ten in the future sounded like a real nice time.

Meanwhile, the kitchen and dining-room were also equally pleasant.

Though, apparently the kitchen itself was mostly unused because the Wards didn't cook their own food and they weren't allowed to bring in stuff from the outside. They usually just reheated the microwaveable-meals (which were healthily and nutritionally balanced according to the Youth Guards) that the PROT Chefs would stock up the fridges with. That wasn't to say that they couldn't cook, as one of the fridges was in fact dedicated to fresh and raw ingredients, it was just that most of the Wards didn't have the energy, time, or enthusiasm to cook their own stuff.

Luckily for me, the handles to the fridges had already been reinforced, so I didn't have to worry about damaging them with a gentle grip. And I did really appreciate the fact that the PROT had created and sent a whole set of reinforced utensils and dishes for me to use. Granted, I had yet to use them, since I was only eating the premade meals (package and all) because they were a whole lot easier to clean up.

Continuing on, I had own my personal Wards Room, which was a bit bigger than the one at my house -- by about a quarter as much.

Being underground, it was enclosed and had no windows, so it didn't feel quite cozy and just a bit claustrophobic.

As Armsmaster had stated, it had the basic furniture and amenities, along with a Wards 101 Instruction Manual sitting on the desk (something to read and pick apart later). The room had a bed, a desk and chair with a computer, a digital-clock on top of a cabinet-drawer, a full-body mirror, two closets (one for normal everyday-clothes and the other currently empty but reserved for my future costume), and other things like that. I would have to add a personal touch to it later, make it more similar to my own room at home with heroic posters, dolls, and such, but for now it was livable -- or rather a place to live in.

Additionally, each room had their own privately attached-bathroom. The PROT Engineers or Carpenters came in the next day and reinforced everything so I could utilize it. But I didn't, not yet. A hot shower was another thing to really look forward to but that would have to come after I get clothes that were significantly more easier to put on. As it was, removing my current wardrobe was simple but putting it back on in one piece was impossible.

And thus three days passed by slowly and boringly.

I was probably very close to going stir-crazy.

But then on the fourth day, Armsmaster had finally stopped by again. He officially introduced my private-tutor -- Miss Diana Turner, a PROT Teacher who was naturally privy to the Wards' secret-identities, so it was completely alright for her teach me in the common-room. The schedule was to receive lessons every weekday in sync with Arcadia's school-hours, obviously in preparation for my transferal.

However, even better, was when the blue-armored hero delivered my custom-gloves to me! Also contained inside of the box was a set of new clothes to wear (basically aprons and really poofy-pants, which were easy to put on, though were unfortunately only in a bland white color -- but still better than what I had started with), along with a set of vertically two-headed toothbrushes and specially-created toothpastes and mouthwashes (the typical cool-mint flavor).

My new gloves were a simple leather-cowhide with metal-lining on the inside and metal-plates on the wrist. Armsmaster clarified that he was not the 'Glover Maker' and these current iterations were only rough prototypes -- I was given five pairs, and a pair would likely last a around week in my casual everyday use. The Glove Maker was planning to create a much better version by the next month and I told Armsmaster to send them my thanks.

The next couple of days had passed more readily with tutoring and homework to keep me occupied. The burden of damaging things with my claws was also lifted, so I could finally enjoy my available comforts -- like a long hot shower, browsing online (though I wasn't allowed access to the greater internet, so I was stuck with skimming the PROT's official-database on Capes or just skimming through PHO), but most importantly was reading books.

And then the day I had long been excitedly waiting for was soon to arrive... Powers Testing!

But not quite yet.

I was given a day's forewarning so that I would be ready to go tomorrow early-morning. Thought I apparently didn't need to pack anything, since I would have all the things I needed at the testing-facility.

The PROT was astute enough to arrange a nighttime phone-call with my Dad beforehand. Though Console did remind me that I shouldn't mention sensitive-information and that this call was being monitored.

"Hey, Dad," I started, "How's work and everything?"

"Same old, Taylor," he said a bit tired and sleepy after a long day's work, "Having armed-bodyguards following me around and out in the neighborhood will take some getting used to. People aren't quite sure whether to feel safe or scared with them around; when people see the PRT there's usually trouble afoot, it's that kinda feeling. But I'm sure you didn't want to hear me talk about that sort of stuff all night. How about you, Kiddo? How's being a Ward treating you?"

"It's been alright, still can't really do anything yet, not until I get my Powers Proficiency Certificate -- but I will soon. The other Wards are all nice and we get along, especially Vista, Clockblocker, and Aegis."

"Nice enough that I'll have to worry about you bringing them home with you?"

"Dad," I intoned scandalous, "They're just teammates, not even friends yet." He simply chuckled and so I continued on, "The Wards Base also has a lot of books here and right now I'm reading through The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka."

"Hmm," Dad seemed to be racking his brain, "The one with the bug-man?"

"Yeah, the book is about a man who changes into a bug and how he and his family deals with the drastic and sudden changes because of that in their lives."

"...Sounds like us. Are you reading it because of that?"

"A bit. The book really puts things into perspective about how much worst things could have been. For example, Gregor had turned completely into a bug in body and eventually in mind. As for me, well, I'm really fortunate to be stuck more as a girl with dinosaur-parts instead of going full dino." But I didn't say the rest of my gloomy thoughts because I didn't want Dad to worry. After all, I had mentally become a beast once already. Who was to say that the next time I would even come back from it at all? "Anyways, I could wax soliloquy about the book's theme, but I'm pretty sure that would put you to sleep -- more than you are already."

"Yeah, bed does sound nice. But I always have time for you, Kiddo."

And so I went on, about the lounge, the kitchen, my tutor (who I wasn't sure if I was allowed to reveal her name), and various other things this past week. On Dad's turn, he told me about the DWA, about how trying to get the ferry up and running was a decidedly more difficult task with the Mayor being a harder ass than usual (probably because of me, if I read between the lines correctly); about home, which was the same yet different because the whole place needed to be refurbished for a dinosaur-girl to live comfortably in; about Emma and Madison dropping by once to ask him about how I was doing (thankfully, they were alright and nothing was amiss).

We just talked about whatever came to mind until Dad was really too sleepy to continue.

"Well, I think I'm going to hit the hay now," he held a yawn for nearly a dozen seconds, "Love you, Taylor."

"Love you too, Dad. Good night."

"Night."

And then it was off to bed, head plopping down onto the soft pillow.

Hours later, I finally managed to fall asleep despite how impatient and excited I was.

And so it came, the morning of the promised day was here!

With Armsmaster and Miss Turner serving as my chaperons, I was covertly transported to a PRT Helicopter then to a PRT Jet (which had been internally revamped so that I could sit securely) and from there we were off into the skies, heading to Powers Test Facility No.2 which was located in the southern-half of Nevada and was around a four-to-five hours flight.

According to Miss Turner's educational knowledge, Powers Testing Facility No.2 was once called the Nevada Test Site and had been used for nuclear-testing. But facility had become defunct back in the early 1990s, when Scion made his wordless disapproval of nuclear-arms after shooting down a nuclear test-missile and destroying the test-facility it had launched from. Consequently, after that incident, the Nevada Test Site (amongst several others) was shutdown and then eventually purchased by the PROT to be repurposed into a powers-testing facility.

Nowadays, Powers Testing Facility No.2 didn't get much use beyond testing the rarely produced big or exotic tinkertech weapons, because it wasn't often that a parahuman had an interesting or dangerous enough potential to require a specialized-facility to test their powers.

As an added bit of trivia, a couple of the Brockton Bay Wards had been tested out there too: Vista who earned herself a Shaker 9 from warping the distance between the facility and the nearest city with zero-effort; and Clockblocker who earned himself a Striker 7 because his time-frozen objects were indestructible as far as the most destructive tests could be applied.

Armsmaster informed me that my initial-assessments rated me as: Brute 7 rating with all the strength, durability, and stamina that implied; with a subclass of Mover 3 because I was faster than human norm but didn't otherwise possess a special means of mobility; and a Thinker 1 because I had an unverified way to track targets. More importantly, he firmly reminded me that I was nuclear-powered and could very possibly harness that energy for a theoretical Blaster 8 rating, which was why they were bringing me to some place empty and far away from the city.

I immediately realized the bit of irony: A literally nuclear-powered cape is going to test her powers in a defunct nuclear testing-site.

"Maybe Scion will drop by thinking I'm a nuke?" I thought aloud, recalling the recent history-lesson.

Armsmaster twitched in his seat, "...That is a possibility greater than zero. But highly unlikely since Scion is constantly preoccupied with other matters all over the world."

Miss Turner smiled, amused, "Well, it would have certainly made for an interesting encounter."

After that, Armsmaster went on to explain that we would be staying at Powers Testing Facility No.2 for a while -- likely a week at least, because Director Piggot was quite serious when she had stated that I would be undergoing a very strict and thorough powers-testing. Since I was also a Ward, that meant Miss Turner would continue to tutor me during the day to keep me in sync with the Arcadia school-hours, while my powers-testing would be in sync with the Wards Patrol hours. In short, this could be considered practice for me to get into flow of the real thing.

With nothing important left to discuss, we spent the rest of the hours watching an in-flight movie.

When we eventually landed, we switched to a PRT Helicopter which then took us directly to Powers Testing Facility No.2.

It was well into the afternoon by the time we finally arrived.

The scientists and researchers greeted us, gave us a quick tour of the facility, then showed us to our lodgings. We had the rest of the day to simply refresh ourselves after the long flight.

The next day, the testing began in proper.

One would think that spending nearly four-hours-per-day for powers-testing would mean quickly wrapping everything up within a few days but that honestly wasn't enough time at all.

For example, they wanted to check how strong I was, so they had me lifting up a bunch of objects until I reached a reasonable benchmark for a test... except I had then progressed all the way up to a fully-loaded Caterpillar 797B (an ultra-heavy haul-truck designed for mining and construction) weighing nearly one-million and four-hundred-thousand pounds. It was the heaviest thing the PROT could bring and had only been brought as a 'try your best to push your limits' data-point. They didn't actually expect me to move it, because it was seriously over the weight-limit of what the average Ward would ever have to deal with in a city.

To say the least, I didn't have trouble lifting that even with a single hand.

The white-coats sputtered but marched on.

They tested my greatly unexpected might and endurance with the Caterpillar 797B by having me doing tasks repeatedly such as lifting up, pushing around, pulling away, running with (in hand and then attached to my waist), and so on, which just took up all of the designated testing-hours for a single day. One of the scientists had even wanted me to try throwing it but was quickly dissuaded from the idea by his peers because the quick math said I would have sent it flying out of bounds -- where it would land was anybody's guess.

Overall, I didn't even break a sweat (could I even sweat anymore?).

And that had me wondering how strong I really was.

At the very least, I was certain that I was far stronger than Brockton Bay's resident flying-brick Glory Girl and the huge bladed-wolf blender that was Hookwolf. But did I further dare to believe that I was strong enough to stand in the Brute Big Leagues alongside the likes of Lung or Alexandria who could go toe-to-toe with the Endbringers?

I clenched my fist, feeling the boundless power underneath, but shook my head.

'Steady, Taylor. That's just the thrill from finally using your powers. Brutes tend to get too hyped on their own strength and durability.'

The following days were much the same with me exceeding their expectations.

From how sharp my claws could cleanly cut against hard and/or tough objects (very sharp), to other strength-tests like grip strength and punch strength (very strong), to speed-tests like instant acceleration and top speed (very fast), to mobility-tests like jumping or climbing (acrobatic), and so on and on it went.

My durability-tests was next and it was almost skipped.

The scientists and researchers were only allowed to test for what a Ward was expected to deal with in their normal routine -- that meant gangsters and thus things like pistols, knives, or metal clubs -- which the average powersuit were already designed to resist. So this phase of the testing was usually completely skipped. Of course, my situation was a bit different, since I was a Brute who couldn't wear the typical powersuit. But there was also already a ton of evidence that I couldn't be harmed by Brute-Grade Medical Tools, let alone conventional small-arms.

However, I argued that since I wasn't cognizant during my Trigger Event, I hadn't necessarily internalized the difference between understanding and knowing. The scientists and researchers reluctantly acquiesced to my request. But, looking back on it, eagerly telling them to basically "Shoot me!" was likely a bit unnerving to agree to. Though, in my defense, I really did want to know how tough I was, and what safer place to test it than under the supervisions of a professionals with a healer on standby?

...And, boy, getting shot at was a real interesting firsthand experience.

The last time I had a gun pointed at me, I had frozen in shock and fear.

This time, the sight of the deadly weapon didn't even elicit a reaction from me.

The rational part of my mind took notice of the firearm, a gunmetal pistol in the hands of a trained PRT Trooper. It was the great equalizer; a tool in which an unskilled child could kill an adult with the press of finger, a tool which allowed for a clawless man to hunt fearsome beasts, the tool which had injured and killed many Capes before powersuits had become standardized. I should have feared it as a lethal weapon that fired hot lead at speeds which humans couldn't hope to see with the naked eye nor dodge with their lumbering bodies.

Yet I felt nothing at all. Instincts stemming from my powers took a glance at the firearm and dismissed it. The pistol was a mere trinket, not something even worth considering. My nerves were steady and calm.

The PRT Trooper fired and emptied his magazine, seventeen shots in total.

I blinked. And looked to my naked and unblemished torso (I had taken off my apron for the test). I didn't feel even a spike or prick of pain, it was a soft sensation -- like a light tap -- informing me that I had even been touched.

I blinked again, at first feeling a dull surprise at my durability, followed by a twinge of excitement because 'Holy shit, I was shot repeatedly but that didn't even hurt one bit!'.

Afterwards, they tested my resistance to electricity and how much I could absorb (a lot to the demise of a few generators, though I had to be connected directly), and then moved to some other basic tests like firefighting environments (the fire and heat was pleasant).

All in all, I was very durable and had no problems with either the hot or cold.

Then we moved onto the next tests: Thinker.

The scientists and researchers were divided on whether my tracking capabilities were originating from my physical-attributes or from a power-aspect.

They did try blindfolding and earplugging me to see if I could keep track of people shuffling about in a room. But the results from that and other similar tests were inconclusive.

In the end, they decided to just test the known aspects of my power, and told me to concentrate on trying to find Madison.

I closed my eyes and focused. And, to my surprise, I immediately sensed a connection with Madison as if it was always there in my subconscious. She had this unique feel to her, like sweet sunshine if I had to describe it simply. Not only that, I could tell roughly how far away and in what direction she was from me, along with an impression of her general wellbeing (normal and safe, if I was interpreting this correctly).

"Yes, I can sense her," I told them.

"Okay, that's great. Try to clear your mind, see if you can sense anything else."

And from there, I was beginning to become aware of a lot more -- a great number of things.

Two were obviously Dad (worn yet warm sea-rusted ship) and Emma (glamorous, glittering fragrance); one which I recognized strongly as Sophia (hollow muck of anger); another which I was certain was Panacea (pulsating vitality); and various others that resembled the Wards, acquaintances from Winslow, what I think were the Protectorate Capes, and a Double-Headed Snake? I could sense Armsmaster (colony of interlocking gears) and Miss Turner (wafting citrus) nearby me. There were other identifiable but not recognizable sensations, such as the Roiling Earth, the Hungrily Squirming Tentacles, the Shushing Waters, the Parading Goblins, the Fluttering Sky, the Iron Legion, and so on. However, most of what I could sense were so bland and muted that I barely sensed them. Though, curiously, there were quite of number of differing but still vague sensations which were simply tied together by a sense of Enemy in the location of Brockton Bay.

"Hmm, curious indeed," one of the scientists or researchers commented after I explained my findings, pointing in their general direction.

"Dragalier, I need to you to repeat a number of those that you named," Armsmaster requested, his voice steady yet colored with disturbance.

And so I did.

The blue-armored hero shifted imperceptibly in place, unsettled. Whatever answer he had learned, he wasn't willing to explain any further. He merely nodded because he apparently had a lot to think about.

I could only tilt my head in curiosity.

Moving on, after testing my known quantities, the scientists and researchers wanted to know if I had any other abilities.

For example, they knew I had gills on my neck and wondered if I was amphibious. So I told them that when I had first arrived at the Protectorate Headquarters, I had been struck by this intense desire to go swimming. Unfortunately, while there were certainly a number of hydrokinetic-capes, there weren't as many aquatic-capes. So the facility wasn't really prepared to test my amphibious capabilities. At most, they were able to make notes that I was likely well adapted to living underwater -- having stayed underwater for a whole day without food -- with an addendum this was only confirmed with freshwater (though they were very certain of my viability in saltwater too).

Likewise, I told them about the time I had a hungering for metal.

And, boy, was that the next biggest surprise -- for them and me!

Some of the scientists and researchers thought that perhaps my body wanted to eat metal for biological reasons. But after re-consulting with Panacea's report, they quickly changed their mind, because my stomach converted matter into energy. I furthered clarified that eating metal felt more like I was filling up a separate stomach. So they quickly reasoned then that this was another aspect of my powers and I was actually stocking-up that metal to use it for something else.

So the question was what for?

Fortunately, the facility already had a massive pile of scrap metal that was typically reserved for when Tinkers and their tech was being tested (I knew that Armsmaster was also taking from the pile too to alleviate his tinker-urges in his free-time).

After consuming more than four-hundred pounds of scrap metal in short, which was still only a small portion from the pile, my metallic-hungry stomach felt content. Not satisfied, but content. And then I suddenly had this instinctual impression that I could flip a switch.

"I'm not full but I think I can do something now," I told the scientists and researchers.

"Feel free do whatever your powers tell you to, Dragalier," one of them said.

So I flipped on the switch.

Instantly flesh and steel intertwined and I no longer knew were one began and the other ended. All over, cold liquid-metal oozed out from my skin and scales before hardening into a mechanical silver-armor, while a headset with a slick-back horn in the center and attached to winged ear-cups formed on my head. Outwardly, my head appeared unchanged but I could feel the new circuitry and wires running and humming underneath throughout my entire body in the facsimile of a living being. My vision flashed with a heads-up display as dozens of programs and systems activated.

I brought a hand up and examined it.

I marveled at how it moved so fluidly despite being so mechanical.

"...You okay there, Dragalier?"

"Yes," there was a robotic-echo to my voice, "This unit is currently operating at maximum efficiency."

"Say what?"

I put down my hand to look at the scientists and researchers, scanning-reticles locked onto all of them.

"I repeat: this unit is currently operating at maximum efficiency. There are no damages or errors to report."

"Dragalier, can you change back?" queried Armsmaster slowly.

I nodded and flipped off the switch.

Within a moment, I returned back to normal -- back to flesh and blood, as the metal-armor liquefied and was sucked back into my body. From my perspective, the change was seamless, I still felt like myself.

I stared at them and they stared at me.

"...So, robot-dinosaur girl, who would have thought, huh?"

The befuddled scientists and researchers were quick to start more testing.

It took practically another week to answer the whole slew of new questions which had cropped-up because of my second-form's differing abilities. For example, my Metalsaurus Form actually had its own equipment and weapons! Such as the 'Back Unit' which functioned like a jetpack and came attached with over the shoulders 'Type-99 Double Maser Cannons', there were also the wrist-mounted 'Type-0 Railguns' which could deploy a 'Maser Blade'. And, oh, there was also the 'Type-3 Absolute Zero Cannon' hidden behind the chest-plates, which fired a beam of exactly what the name said.

And those were just the weapons the Metalsaurus Form had come pre-installed with.

It also had an 'Equipment Integration System', which allowed me to eat tinkertech and then make it my own, but only if I ate it while in my Metalsaurus Form. Something which Armsmaster was displeased to know, even if he only had to sacrifice a few hastily crafted knives and pistols for the test.

However, with how deadly each one weapon was, they were all immediately restricted from use. About the only thing I could use was the jetpack to fly around, which was pretty neat on its own.

Anyways, after the scientists and researchers were appeased with their examination of Metalsaurus, it was then finally time to open the other can of worms... my nuclear-powers.

The first test had been the simply and checked how well I could absorb radioactivity.

But the PROT couldn't just bring out highly radioactive materials -- test or not, they were very uncertain if my current level of internal radioactivity would be destabilized if I absorbed too much additional radiation. So they simply placed some completely everyday objects near me and measured the before-and-after radioactivity after being in my presence for a set duration of time. The results they obtained stated that I could passively absorb a majority of radiation that was within a fifteen feet radius around me in about one minute. Radiation beyond that zone was slower and my maximum-range for passive absorption was around twenty-five feet.

Naturally, after that they wanted to test if I could actively absorb radiation. And I readily proved that I could, though I couldn't actually control the rate of absorption -- it was all or nothing. Radiation within fifteen feet was absorbed near instantaneously, within twenty-five was in seconds, within fifty was minutes, and beyond that until seventy-five feet took minutes more.

The scientists and researchers were very excited about the practical applications of this ability, such as dealing with nuclear-waste or cleaning up the irradiated hot-zones that were created with every visit from the Behemoth. Though that still depended on how much I could safely take in, but testing to see how much additional radiation I could absorb before reaching my breaking-point was such a poorly thought-out idea that Armsmaster had quickly put a stop to it.

After that round of applause, the next thing to come was testing my ability to channel and utilize the nuclear-power that was brimming and coursing throughout my body.

Outside in the bombed landscape, there numerous archery-targets scattered around all over the place and the furthest one I could see was maybe a mile away and no more after that. These were all obviously targets for my hypothetical Blaster 8 rating.

"Try the best you can to hit all of them from here," a staffer confirmed as much.

The closest target was around twenty-feet away.

And it came to me as naturally, as instinctually, as all the other abilities did. The desire to attack from afar, to use energy to shoot, caused my nuclear-reactor heart to beat vigorously in response.

A quick burst of power gathered up into my throat. I felt there, a swirling lump of power which demanded for release.

And so I opened my mouth and breathed out.

Out came a bright-blue beam of atomic-energy.

The first target was struck within the blink of an eye and was obliterated within the next. And the beam continued on until it hit the ground and caused an unexpected explosion.

I did the same to the next two that were forty feet away.

I gazed upon the dozens more and twitched at the bothersome thought of shooting them one by one...

Power traveled through my dorsal-plates as I gathered more energy into my throat which seemed to ignite the very air within my mouth.

Once again, I breathed out, this time in a continuous stream and moving from target to target. But it wasn't enough, so I charged again and let loose. And again and again and again. In under ten minutes, all the targets that were within three-hundred feet of me was destroyed, mere burning wrecks while the ground was carved up as if molten serpents had slithered all over the place.

I looked at the remaining targets which were much further out.

I needed more power.

Nuclear-energy gathered into my throat and I spun on my heels into a full circular-rotation, the power increased by fivefold at a minimum as the color shifted from blue to orange. And thus I breathed out, unleashing destruction in the form of a burning beam. The targets within one-thousand and five-hundred feet were gone without a trace, the distant wasteland landscape was now a fiery hell which looked like an endless army of chittering angry ants that would hungrily devour anything in their path. It would take a raging storm, a great flood, to calm down this large burning expanse -- or tinkertech in most likelihood.

Beyond that veil of red flames and black smoke, there were only a handful of targets left and each was spaced further apart than the last.

I grounded my feet, readying myself, with energy gathering into my dorsal-plates...

"Stop! Dragalier, that's enough! Stop!"

I blinked, feeling only a little bit warm as if I just had finished a series of warm-up exercises. I turned around to look at the building which the scientists and researchers were safely observing me from.

The loud-speaker buzzed active again, this time with Armsmaster's flat but serious voice, "Dragalier, your Blaster powers are hereby effective immediately restricted under a PRT Black-Level Security. Do not ever use your Blaster powers without the express permission of Director Piggot, Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, or the President Of The United States," a pause, "And stay where you are, you're currently radioactive enough to cause radiation poisoning."

"If you can, absorb the radiation you just released!" one of the staffers pleadingly shouted.

And thus my nearly two-weeks of powers-testing had finally come to a end.

Later that same day, after a nice dinner, Armsmaster visited my room to give a quick rundown on my current status.

The numbers were tentative and still subject to debate and change.

Brute 8 (Strength, Durability, and Stamina; Electricity and Radiation Absorption), Subclass Mover 4 (Agile Mobility and Aquatic Mobility).

Thinker 4 (Undefined and Imprecise Long Range Tracking).

Changer 6 (Metallurgy Diet, Mechanical Conversion), Subclass Tinker 4 (Tech Integration) and Subclass Mover 4 (Flight).

Blaster/Shaker 10 (NUCLEAR).

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 2.1: Territorial

After nearly two weeks testing at the Powers Testing Facility No.2, it was high time to actually put those newfound abilities and skills into practice.

Naturally, Armsmaster took it upon himself to be my combat-instructor.

We were in a very large but empty room, around forty feet in both length and width and around thirty feet in height.

"Triumph informed me that you had scheduled for a spar with Umbra Huntress upon your return," the blue-armored hero stood combat-ready, halberd pointed at me, "But you are not ready yet. You are too strong and fast, too dangerous, Dragalier. If you don't learn how to hold back, especially against an unpowered or non-brute human, then you will end up accidentally killing someone."

"Oh, so this is training to learn how to control my strength?" I asked.

I was standing about fifteen feet away from him and trying to psyche myself up -- after all, I was about to train with the Armsmaster! But for some reason, I really couldn't, I just couldn't muster-up the tension. Just like how my instincts had dismissed the pistol in the durability-test, it didn't deem Armsmaster as a threat or a challenge.

It was an odd discrepancy to reconcile between my conscious thoughts and my subconscious.

"Yes," it didn't seem like the man would make the first move, "Being strong is one thing. But having experience to use that strength is another. As your superior responsible for you, it is my duty to teach you."

I nodded in response because he was right. I was incredibly strong now but I had only ever been in a fight once before in a my entire life -- a children's squabble in my youth. That experience really couldn't be applied to dealing with gangsters or Capes.

I took a deep breath and then I moved.

I crossed that distance of fifteen feet within the blink of an eye. My saurian-body moved perfectly, predatory-instincts interpreting correctly the thoughts and signals coming from my human-mind. I clenched my claws -- even gloved, it was too dangerous to use as they were -- into a fist and used as much strength as I thought I needed to deliver a hard blow against the tinker's powerarmor.

The hero responded gracefully and fluidly, his weapon stabbed my feet as he stepped back to avoid my unskilled punch.

However, from my perspective, he wasn't lightning fast. That wasn't to say he was by any means slow, because I had seen videos of his fights before -- before I had triggered -- and he moved with such martial prowess that a normal baseline human looked flabby in comparison. But, right now, his movements were something which I could clearly see and even respond to easily, as if he was only half as fast as normally was.

I had time to choose my response.

Should I increase the speed of my punch and hit him? No, an increase in speed correlated with an increase in force. If I'm not careful, I could break something. What if I tried disarming him instead?

My closed fist spread open and grabbed onto his outstretched halberd.

Armsmaster didn't hesitate to let go out of his weapon and retreated.

I looked at his halberd, the halberd which belonged to Armsmaster, and I was amazed that I was actually getting to hold it so up close! It was around six feet and four inches long -- taller than me by two inches. It weighed around seventeen pounds or so (and I wasn't sure if that was light or heavy for this kind of weapon) with most of the weight naturally at the top due to the spear-tip and axe-blade. Like its owner, it was primarily colored a midnight-blue with silver highlights, sleekly designed and obviously tinkertech.

Holding it within my hands, I could break it in half, crush the shaft and render him weaponless. But this was just a training exercise, there wasn't a need to go that far. Furthermore, I read that Tinkers usually spent a deal of time and effort into building and refining their tech. So breaking the halberd, the hero's trusty and iconic weapon, seemed really excessive.

"I can probably snap this in half, can't I?"

"...With your confirmed grip-strength, yes."

"Let's pretend that I did and continue on like that."

"Agreed," he nodded, sounding relieved yet a bit irked anyways.

I tossed aside his halberd to the other end of the room and it landed with a clang.

Armsmaster, in a stance where he could swiftly dodge in any direction and right away, watched me warily.

I quickly leapt into his personal-space again, arm reared back for another punch.

The hero tried to avoid it but wasn't fast enough.

I struck his upper-arm and he grunted, stumbling for a couple of steps.

"...Too strong," he stated, "You'll break bones with that much strength."

"Right, weaker then," I responded, loosening up.

And so it went, like a game of cat and mouse. He would attempt to dodge but I would still catch him. As the man accumulated many more hits, I was eventually able to soften my punches to the point where I would only be leaving bruises on an unpowered thug.

It was an amazingly strange feeling to know that I of all people was playing the cat to Armsmaster's mouse.

I had always dreamt of being a powerful Cape, and now I was, but that apparently came at the loss of grandeur wonders for my personal heroes. He wasn't weak, no, he was a veteran Cape with years of experience. But I was handling him without expending much effort because I was just too strong -- outclassing him in all things physical.

Those pitying thoughts lasted only until our next spar, where Armsmaster began to prove why he was considered one of the most effective heroes in Brockton Bay.

Armsmaster -- with his halberd in hand once more -- reacted almost twice as fast, already moving before I even moved. He was responding much better to my offensive, keeping his strikes short with little opening (in fact, his halberd had shortened by a feet or so, becoming more compact and easier to handle with one hand). But, even with that spurt of speed, he still wasn't fast enough that I couldn't just exceed him with snap of sudden movement.

However, as the battle dragged on, the hero was getting better and better, he was learning precisely how I moved and responded in kind. For a moment, I wondered if he had some Thinker in him because it seemed like he was predicting my movements with ever greater accuracy. But, no, it was probably some tinkertech-bullshit -- like a combat-predictor or something. Additionally, Armsmaster was actually getting faster, beyond peak-human but not superhuman, which was likely a result of him pushing the metaphorical pedal of his powerarmor.

The fight was starting to turn into something resembling a real battle between Capes. But it wouldn't ever get there because I was holding back by a significant margin. It still felt like we were playing around -- that I was merely playing around.

'How fast could I win, how hard would I dominate, if I just went all out?'

Armsmaster was getting more counter-hits in, becoming more comfortable with the pacing and flow of our exchanges.

"Dragalier, you're a very durable Brute but you shouldn't just take the hits. Dodge them. The most common reason for a Brute's defeat is overconfidence in their defenses," he chided, his feet were fleet, his halberd tagging me twice from the back, "Against Clockblocker you'd be frozen in place, against Jiangshi you'd been drained of energy."

It was a good advice, but...

"That's true if I was fighting them," I said while spinning on my heels and using my tail to lash out. He hadn't been expecting that and barely managed to block with his halberd's shaft before he was blown away and off his feet. He grunted when he landed on his feet, still standing. "If I was fighting against a complete unknown then I definitely would be more careful in my approach. But, as a Ward, I should only be going after random gangsters with guns and knives, so shouldn't I use my Brute durability to my advantage?"

"...A logical decision," he sounded calm but also almost miffed as he got up, "But eventually someone will take advantage of that overconfidence in the future, such as arming a thug with an exotic tool or weapon that you won't expect."

"Right, with tinkertech bullshit."

He nodded, "Furthermore, endangering your body -- Brute or otherwise, will have the Youth Guards and the citizens believe that we of the Protectorate are stripping the Wards of their self-preservation instincts and turning them into child-soldiers."

"Ugh," I groaned.

Politics.

We circled around each other to keep the combative mood.

"You have issues with this," he stated bluntly, halberd-turned-battleaxe resting readily on his shoulder.

"If I can be blunt, Armsmaster, uh, sir. While I haven't experienced what it's truly like being a Ward yet, I've always thought that the PRT and Protectorate coddles the group too much. I think they could do so much more if you just let them... And, if it wasn't for my situation, I think I would have chosen to be a Vigilante instead of a Ward -- more freedom to do things, especially if I wanted to make a difference."

"Independents typically don't last long in Brockton Bay to make said difference."

"So, what?" I narrowed my eyes, "Am I suppose to sit around helplessly and let the gangs nip at my heels for four more years?"

I ran in, arms spread wide open like the tusks of a mammoth, to catch the blue-armored hero in a tackle. He changed his grip and immediately extended his halberd to a length even longer than normal and vaulted over me. I planted my feet to put a hard-stop to my momentum as I twisted around and my body fell parallel-low to the ground and I instinctually shifted into a posture that was ready to pounce.

As soon his feet touched the ground, his body twisting and halberd spinning to get strike my side, I leapt in with less restraint. There was nothing he could do, even when his halberd struck true, as I rammed straight into him and sent the both of us into a tumble. We rolled and came to stop, I was on top of him with my claws angled to grip (or perhaps even tear out) his neck.

He needed a moment reorient himself.

"That would have severely injured a normal human," his voice was laced with a frustration, the most emotive I had ever heard from the hero.

I huffed as I removed myself from him, not dignifying that statement with a proper response.

The man stood back up. But despite how he tried to stand in his usual stoic-tall, I could tell that he was subtly relying on his halberd to keep himself up.

"Dragalier, a hot temper leads to rash decisions, such as what you did just now. If you continue to act like this then I cannot recommend your deployment for Wards Patrol to the Director." I growled and he stilled for a moment, as if realizing he had spoken the wrong thing. But he didn't apologize and continued as if nothing was wrong. "I understand that you're frustrated with the current situation. Explain to me then what you think the PRT and Protectorate should do."

I lowered my eyes and chewed on my teeth.

Of course, this was something which I had spent much of my free time thinking about.

For my freedom and peace of mind, it simply and ultimately came down to removing all the gangs in Brockton Bay.

But that was easier said than done, annoyingly so.

If the gangs were so easy to get rid out then the Protectorate would have wiped them out already. But they unfortunately weren't. For example, the Empire Eighty-Eight (which was my biggest issue at the moment) was the city's largest gang because it had nearly two dozens Villainous Capes! That was nearly three-times more Capes than the Protectorate, and only just as much if you added New Wave and the Wards to the heroic-side too. It was ridiculous just how much manpower the E88 was in possession of and the group knew how to use it effectively too. With the amount of Capes they had, the E88 could safely divide their forces and force the Protectorate to split up to deal with them -- and one against three was not ever good odds for the heroes.

Furthermore, taking the E88 apart piece-meal was not really ideal. Definitely not in my situation where I wanted to keep my Dad and friends safe. The gang needed to be defeated in one fell swoop to prevent the rest of them from going underground and coming back later for revenge.

But, even if we pretended that I alone could take on the whole Empire by myself (and I was getting the distinct feeling that I really could do it, even without access to my atomic-beam, though I would probably have to use my Metalsaurus Form too), there was one other issue to address:

Where would I even find all of them gathered together?

Sure, there were a number of establishments that were rumored to be or were in fact openly supportive of the Neo-Nazis in Brockton Bay. But it was very doubtful that Kaiser was gathering his top-executives to places like Booker's Dandy Cafe or the Big Bang Strip Club to discuss their evil plans.

If the PROT couldn't find them with their vast resources, then how could I?

...Wait, track. My Thinker powers!

I closed my eyes, making it easier to concentrate, to visualize and sense. I tapped into my ability and quickly homed in over the two dozens of vague yet differing Enemy sensations that were located all around in Brockton Bay.

'Are these what I think they are...?'

"Dragalier?"

I blinked open my eyes and looked back to Armsmaster, uncertain for how long I had been standing there silently. I licked my lips because this was it, this was the answer to my problems!

"I... I think I can track down the Empire Eighty-Eight Capes. With my Thinker powers, we can go out and catch them, they won't be able to go into hiding to escape."

A heartbeat pause.

"...A useful ability if true. But the Empire's Parahumans are for the Protectorate to deal with, we will handle the situation."

I bristled, "Am I suppose to just stand back and act like a compass for you guys then?"

"Yes," he stated promptly, "You are a Ward and thus not allowed to engage in combat against villainous parahumans."

"That's what I meant by coddling! Not including the Wards, the E88 practically outnumbers the Protectorate by three-to-one, and you're still nowhere any closer to dismantling the gang than a decade ago! How much longer am I suppose to wait until the Protectorate actually has the numbers and powers to win against the E88? In, what, the next five years when all the Wards graduate?" I shook my head and growled, "That's too damn long. If being a Ward is going to such a problem, then I could just quit being one, become an Independent and do it myself!"

Half of it was a bluff because going Independent meant losing all my benefits -- like Dad's bodyguard protection. But I wasn't really lying either, because I would absolutely go after the Empire alone if I had to (or maybe try to team-up with the Brockton Guardian Brigade who I knew had a bone to pick with all the other gangs in the city). 'Better to ask for forgiveness than permission' as the saying went.

The man stiffened imperceptibly, as if noticing a moment too late that he had stepped on a landmine, but his voice was steady and merely sounded a touch annoyed, "...We will continue this discussion later with the Director."

"...Yeah, fine, later," I rolled my eyes, I didn't think the future conversation with the Director would go any better -- just more bureaucratic garbage, and then put some distance between us, "Is training over now?"

The hero responded silently by readying himself into a stance.

My tail slapped the ground in anticipation.

Good, I needed to vent some more. And I won't apologize later for being rough either.

A few days later, though things were still a bit strained between us, Armsmaster was finally satisfied enough with my performance (in which I could remain at a consistent low-level of strength and didn't resort to my nuclear-powers for what reasons). So we bid farewell to the PROT Staff at Powers Testing Facility No.2 and then in the morning flew back to Brockton Bay.

We arrived by the afternoon and I parted with my chaperons at the PRT HQ, getting the rest of Friday to myself.

The application for my Powers Proficiency Certificate had been filed as soon as all of my tests were completed, so by the time we arrived back in the city, the review-process had already been completed and I now had a newly minted certificate hanging neatly on the wall within my personal Ward Room.

On the desk was various other things: a sticky-note listing a couple of my restrictions finally being loosened, a security-card for going in and out of the Wards Base, and a standard-issued PROT Cellphone for on the move communications (some numbers were already installed).

Reading the note, I could now use the phone and internet whenever I wanted without PROT surveillance -- with a reminder that I should keep hush about PROT-related secrets. I could also go back home but only during the weekends and I was expected to stay indoors or around the neighborhood. I wasn't allowed to go outside on my own yet, at least not until my Wards Debut so that the city would get used to having a dino-girl walking around. Otherwise, I was still expected to stay at the Wards Base during the weekdays, for tutoring with Miss Turner during the Arcadia School Hours and for Wards 101 during the Wards' Patrol Hours.

'I'll call Dad later when he gets home from work and tell him all about this stuff later. And I can tell him about my powers-testing too, right? Is that suppose to be a secret?'

Dad already knew that I was nuclear but telling him that I could shoot an atomic-breath very likely wouldn't be good for his heart. Really, telling anybody that I was nuclear-powered was a very bad idea and likely to cause pandemonium, as Armsmaster had so succinctly warned after my Blaster tests.

Besides Dad, I would have also liked to call Emma and Madison to catch up with them. But, truthfully, I didn't know their home or cell numbers because I never bothered to learn it. Ems was always just across the street and Maddy was someone who I could always meet at school -- the former was still held true but the latter wouldn't once I transferred from Winslow to Arcadia.

Further compounding the issue was the fact that I didn't have a cellphone (and this for-business-use PROT Cellphone didn't count). Neither Dad nor I owned one. Not after the... incident, the car crash which killed Mom because she was apparently trying to use her cellphone. Dad hadn't ever said it outright but, after throwing away his old mobile like it was possessed by the devil and never using it again, there was an unofficial ban of cellphones at the Hebert Household.

It was just so easy to linger, to sink.

I took a deep breath in and then out, until I was back to something close to calm and collected.

There was other newly delivered things in my Ward Room, like the new set of daily-life gloves which were more form-fitting and worn-resistance than the previous batch.

Furthermore, my hero-costume had been delivered at last.

I was given two sets, one that I could stress-test immediately and the other to hold on as a spare for now. There was an artist's rendition of how the complete costume should look along with instructions on how to put on the various pieces.

To make me look more approachable, the color of my ensemble was overall blue, white, and gold to provide a pleasant and heroic contrast against my darkly-colored hair and limbs.

For my torso, I had a blue turtleneck-apron, where the apron reached all the way down to my upper-thighs, and the turtleneck fitted snuggly around my neck and over the small bumps of almost dorsal-plates. There was a really long and thickly durable belt which I could just loop around me, locking it into place with a latch-buckle which was in the shape of a dragon's head, and then I could tighten the belt afterwards. Covering over the turtleneck-apron was a fur-lined white cuirass with a small neck-protector and I secured this front-half-only armor-piece firmly in place by tightening the over-the-shoulder straps.

For my waist, I had a black-shorts with two blue stripes on both sides and really wide pants-leg. The waistband snapped tight onto my hips, for as high as they could go anyways due to my tail jutting out of my backside, though there was another version with suspenders if I needed it. The leg-openings had belt-straps, which changed the shorts from fluttery to baggy when tightened around my thighs.

For my feet, I had these simple fur-trimmed gold anklets that I could snap on.

For my hands, I had blue-gloves that were thicker but still form-fitting to further blunt my claws. There were gold-lines trailing on the backside from the tip of my claws to the fur-trimmed cuff, along with metal-plating on the back and knuckles.

To top it all off, I had a gold crown-headband with a three-layered headdress-veil. The blue-veils had a lace-pattern and were lighter at the top-layer and darker at the bottom-layer. Lastly, there were wireless-earbuds that hooked over the outside of my ears -- my communicators.

Looking over myself in the mirror... I looked really nice, amazing dare I believe it! But it was more like a Northern-Warrior than a Princess-Knight, which was very different from the intricate design-concepts I had initially seen which possessed more frills, jewels, and armored-plating. But I suppose those aesthetics weren't entirely viable due to how physically intense I was. Though I did very much appreciate the current simplicity of my costume.

That said, I wasn't so certain about having my face exposed. Sure, people already knew who I was, so there wasn't much point to hiding it. But I didn't think I was as pretty or photogenic as say Glory Girl or Narwhal.

'Will I need to wear make-up? Change my hairstyle?'

But I wasn't good at those kind of things, those were more Emma's territory. Maybe I should ask for tips the next time we talked?

Ugh, the Wards were real lucky that they didn't have to show their faces on camera.

After inspecting myself some more, I then repeatedly took off and put on my whole costume again. Now that I knew how to wear it, I wanted to check how long it actually took to do so. And, to my surprise, even at a relaxed pace it didn't take longer than five-minutes to either put it all on or take it all off.

'Hmm, since this has fur, will I have to get my costume cleaned more often than the Wards' powersuits?'

I double-checked the instructions and found the section which stated that costumes would receive cleaning and repairs every week. So I guess not any more than normal? There was also a set of do-it-yourself items at the bottom of the closet, like armor-polish and a lavender-vanilla scented perfume spray...

Satisfied, I put away my costume back into the hero-closet and then got dressed in normal clothing. I noticed that I now had a selection of turtlenecks and sharp-collars alongside my normal round-collared aprons, though the fabric and colors were clearly different than the one used for my costume. Likewise, I now had a wider variety of shorts and pants which included a lot of non-standard belts and zippers for customization. And the most notable new additions to my wardrobe was the neatly folded presence of plain undergarments, which meant I didn't have to go commando anymore.

With that all done, I entered the common-room and picked up a new book to read: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

However, I was interrupted in the middle of reading by a surprise appearance from a casually-dressed Carlos who took a seat from across me.

"Hey, Taylor, welcome back," he greeted with light smile.

"Hey, Carlos," I lowered my book, giving him my attention, "What are you doing here?"

If I recalled correctly, the schedules posted on the bulletin-boards had Clockblocker, Gallant, Vista, and Jumpkick listed for duty today.

"Well, you see, all of the Wards decided to watch the big event together, for your spar against Huntress. So it'd be simpler if we just stayed overnight at the base. In fact, most of us were hoping to have a round with you afterwards. You know, to get some new practice in, since we've already sparred against each other plenty of times by now. Is that fine with you?"

"Oh, I see. I... yeah, I think I'm fine with that. I want to measure myself against the Wards too."

"Anyways, just to be sure, the spar is tomorrow, right?"

I looked up, thinking, "Well, she and I agreed to have it on the weekend of when I come back. So, if nothing important comes up for either of us, then it should be tomorrow on Saturday or maybe Sunday."

"Feeling confident about your chances? Actually, has anybody told you what Huntress' powers are yet?"

"Vista and Gallant told me, they said it was only fair since Huntress would already know about my abilities. She can turn into a shadow which makes her intangible, right?"

"Right, that's the basic of it, she's a Breaker," he nodded, "It's a rather troublesome power for Brutes like us to deal with. She can't hurt us but we can't hurt her either."

"Speaking from experience?"

His smile was subdued, "Yeah, we've sparred," his expression shifted slightly, "You likely don't know yet. But Triumph is going to graduate from being a Ward in a few months from now. And I was chosen to be the new Team Captain. But before I take the reins, I want you and Huntress to resolve your issues. If that just so happens to involve knocking her down a few pegs then I certainly wouldn't complain about it."

I blinked, "I didn't take you for the type to hold grudges."

"It's not really a grudge. It's just that all of the Wards have gone on a few patrols with her by now, so we know firsthand that Huntress isn't a nice a person. Combine that with your rant from a while back, and we have a fairly good enough idea about why she's a Probationary Ward. It won't do the team any good if she continues to be so prickly and we all agree that she could stand to learn a little bit of humility."

"Do you really think she'll mellow out after getting her butt kicked? If anything, I think that would only rile her up even more."

Carlos sighed, "Yeah, that's a possibility too."

I hummed, "Have none of the other Wards beaten her in a spar yet?"

He shook his head, "Most of us haven't lost to her, but we haven't won against her either. She's a real bad match-up for all of us," he went on to explain, "Vista can play keep away but that's it; Valiant Star has a few pre-approved but low-powered tinker-blasters, but he isn't much of a fighter and he flounders when she gets in close; Triumph, Jumpkick, and I can't even touch her because of her shadow-state; Clockblocker can't get anywhere near her; and Gallant's emotion-blasters are less effective for some reason. So that's why we're leaving it all up to you, her rival."

"Rival," I parroted, tasting the word. I didn't get along with Sophia Hess, she was a mean bitch, but I didn't think of her as an enemy nor as a friend either. But I suppose rival fitted well enough for our current relationship. But getting back on track, that was an impressive record, I was surprised that none of the Wards had been able to win against her. Were her Breaker powers really that good or was she really that skilled? I honestly asked, "If she's that untouchable then what makes you think I'll do any better?"

Carlos' expression turned a bit more serious, "I doubt either of you would want to accept anything less than decisive victory. That means, unlike the timed spars she had with us, your spar with her will go on for as long as it needs to. Between a Brute and a Breaker, I'm sure you'll easily outlast her, and the more exhausted she becomes then the more likely she'll make mistakes, giving you more opportunities to get a good hit in and bring her down," he clasped his hands together and leaned forward, "Taylor, let's not fool ourselves into believing that this spar will remain friendly. There's obviously bad blood between the two of you, so we're expecting things to get violent -- Huntress more so. That's why I want to tell you to try and keep a level head out there, one of you has to."

"...I'll try but I'm not making any promises. If she gets violent then I'll respond in kind."

He smiled wryly, "I suppose that is the most I can ask for, just try not to kill each other, alright?"

"I do want to be a hero, not a murderer," I answered with a smirk.

"Good luck in tomorrow's spar, Taylor."

"Thanks, Carlos."

"See you at dinner then," he said as he left his seat, going to his room.

I nodded with a sound and went back to reading my book.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 2.2: Territorial

Sophia and I stood about twenty-feet apart from each other.

The sparring room was a short elevator-ride up from the Wards Base and was around thirty-feet in length and width and around twenty in height. It was a spacious room, though still smaller than the one I had practiced in against Armsmaster at Powers Testing Facility No.2, and the other Wards were watching us through cameras from an attached side-room.

I was dressed in my newly minted costume.

Meanwhile Sophia too was donning a different outfit from when I had last seen her.

Instead of a basic attire which was centered around a black-hoodie and white hockey-mask, she now had a purple powersuit with a silver helmet and a darker shade of purple hooded-cloak wrapped around her. However, her purple-colors were not too dark but not too bright either, as if the designers had realized that she looked too villainous and so had to add a trace of more colors, such as the green-laurel on her hood, a gold-colored crescent moon pin on her cloak, and a gold-trim for her gloves and boots. She had a triple-star buckle on her silvery crisscross belts with her quiver resting atop the back of her hips, along with what looked like collapsible batons holstered on her left and right side. In her hands was a silver moon-motif crossbow with a golden bolt already loaded.

I was pretty sure that, besides the basic hunter-theme, it wasn't Sophia's idea to add the other little bits of color and symbols -- those small elements certainly didn't fit my mental-image of her.

"You two ready?" Triumph's voice came out from a speaker, and we gestured our assent, "You can start at the count of three: One. Two. Three!"

Sophia was already moving by the beginning of the word, her crossbow hoisted up into aiming position.

But I was faster.

I had to be faster.

For all my thinking until now, I still didn't really have a plan. Unless Sophia had a distinct weakness which I could take advantage of (and I unfortunately didn't really know of any), then there really wasn't much I could do in my current state. My nuclear-powers were expressly off the table, not unless I wanted to win by giving her radiation poisoning or cancer for being in the same room as me; and my Metalsaurus Form was something I wanted to keep as a trump-card for myself.

That meant the only abilities I had to leverage right now were my strength and speed.

Simply put, all I could do was knock down Sophia before she could turn into a shadow. Again and again and again until she would finally surrender. I had to use overwhelming strength to convince her of own her place in that deluded and self-created pecking-order which existed in her head.

Her finger pressed the trigger and a blunted-bolt was released.

It simply failed to hit because I had moved away.

Then I was there, at her side, placing my right hand on her left shoulder, I pushed forward and down in concert. Her balance was instantly destroyed as she began falling shoulder-first. But before I could slam her entirely onto the floor, she let out a surprised noise and turned into a shadow to escape from my grasp, it was like sand in the winds as she slipped through my claws.

I had a moment to look at her wispy appearance.

She retained a humanoid shape that was greatly distorted by her large cape, making it impossible to tell where her body began and where the cape ended. She was a smidge dark in color yet nearly transparent, while the bright silvers, golds, and greens were unnaturally off, as if she had replaced them with many eldritch eyes and teeth.

She had managed to jerk out of my hold for a single step before suddenly rematerializing. She dropped to a knee in pain, while keeping a tight grip on the crossbow, she frantically clutched her left shoulder with her left hand.

"FUCK! AH, FUCK!"

She was twisting in pain and cursing a storm.

I stared in surprise, wondering what had just happened, before quickly remembering the rather unexpected and strange phone-call that I had received from Armsmaster this morning.

He had listed a series of rules for me like aim for the limbs or keep her at arm's length. Rules that I didn't take to heart, because wasn't I already handicapping myself by not using some of powers and even reducing my strength? I was already giving her more than a fighting chance. But perhaps I should have listened, as the words he had said at the end echoed in my head: "Her powers may react negatively when coming into contact with yours."

Seeing Sophia howling in pain stopped me in my tracks, it left me uncertain on how to proceed. Of course, this was a spar -- a duel -- and she was bound to get hurt, it was inevitable. But I had expected the pain to be from something that I would intentionally inflict on her and only as much as necessary. I hadn't expected for my opponent to be accidentally injured because of some weird powers interaction between us.

But while I hesitated, Sophia didn't.

As soon her tormented twisting had degraded to a mere twitching, my opponent angrily grabbed a bolt from her quiver to load her crossbow. The movements of her left arm were jittery, shaky, likely only moving through sheer tenacity and adrenaline.

"HEBERT!" Sophie screamed and pressed the trigger.

The projectile launched, shrouded in darkness.

My distracted mind snapped back to attention.

'If it's shadowed then it'll just fly past me, unless...' I stepped to the side, avoiding it completely, as the bolt suddenly unshadowed back into reality where I was once standing and flew by. 'That bitch, she's trying to unshadow her bolts inside of me!'

"Hess," I growled.

My trepidation of causing too much harm to her quickly evaporated.

I wasn't going to just stand here and let her keep shooting at me.

I charged in as she jumped backwards while loading another projectile. She shot from the hip but I could see the trajectory, the instant when her finger pressed the trigger, and I simply avoided it by not being in its flight path.

The bolt flew under and past my raised arm.

Then I was upon her with a fist jabbing straight forward to her chest. Between taking the punch or turning into a shadow, she choose to take the punch. She made a yelp of pain when my fist made contact, a moderate thump from a hardier punch stemming from my flash of anger.

Sophia was hurt but she didn't let that slow her down, she switched off her crossbow to her left hand, then used her newly freed right hand to unsheathe one of her batons. She snapped her wrist to extend the nightstick to its maximum length and swung at my head. But I avoided it completely, cautious of whether she would shadow it at any moment -- and she did make a few shadowy attempts with her wild swings.

After dodging her fifth swing, I quickly reached for her offending limb and grabbed it tightly, I twisted and pulled it towards me at the same time.

"ARGH!" she shouted as sudden pain spiked up her arm and concentration was lost.

I took that opening to slap her cheeks -- back and forth -- several times in rapid successions.

I allowed her to stumble backwards.

She was still gripping to her baton and crossbow in tight anger. Shaking her head and regaining awareness, she hissed out her words like something foul, "Hebert, you're dead!"

I cleanly avoided the shadowed baton she threw at me. It was obviously meant to be a distraction because she was backpedaling and preparing for another shot. But I didn't see the need to interrupt her preparations. Instead, I quickly moved back so I could catch the now normalized baton.

I dodged the next shadowed bolt that came my way then made a few practice swings with the whopping tool. It was a bit more than three feet long, light weight, and made of hard plastic -- ordinary and not tinkertech. Well, if I wanted to avoid accidentally touching her directly, then using her own weapon against her sounded good.

I evaded a shadowed bolt (just how many more bolts did she still have?) and approached her quickly yet carefully. She cursed at me as I neared and flicked opened her only other remaining baton. I swung heavily from overhead and she attempted to block, our nightsticks clanged together. I wasn't holding back to measure our strengths, so I easily overpowered her.

I pushed forward and Sophia took a step then two then three back.

She lashed out with a shout, her shadowed baton phasing through mines. But it was slow, not enough to catch me off-guard, I had expected her to do this. I leaned away from the under and sideway swing and then used my now freed baton to perform a counterattack in return.

I struck her in the crook of her neck, downing her almost instantly.

"GUAH!" she crumpled, landing hard on her bottom.

I dropped my baton since the opportunity presented itself and quickly wretch away her own baton and crossbow from her hands before she could shadow them. I didn't give her a moment to brace her resistance as I took away her weapons and tossed them far away where she couldn't get them without running all the way to the other end of the room.

Her small but failed attempt to hold onto her tools caused her to fall forward onto her fours.

I resisted the impulse to stomp her head and planted a foot onto her back and pushed down.

Sophia smacked onto the floor with a gasp, not unlike a pinned animal. From our earlier powers interaction, I was fairly certain that she wouldn't try to enter her Breaker State to escape -- she must have been aware that doing so would only result in tremendous pain for her.

"Well, Hess?" It didn't really need to be said about what I was asking her.

"Fuck. You."

Underneath her cloak which hid most of her body, I could tell that she was trying to sneak a hand into her quiver, trying to cover her movement under the guise of struggling.

Grinding my feet, I let her squirm for real under the pressure.

"What's it going to take until you admit your defeat? Will I actually have to beat you until you're half dead? Into a coma even?"

An idle part of my mind recognized how unheroic -- villainous -- that sounded. But the active parts of my mind didn't really care. I had to break Sophia's obstinacy and unruliness, until she couldn't and wouldn't ever dare to challenge me again.

"Hah! As if a little bitch like you has the guts to go that far, you don't have what it takes."

She grabbed a bolt, sliding it out of the quiver, and waited patiently for an opportunity to use it.

"What makes you think I won't?"

She chuckled, "You know, you fucking surprised me when we first met, Hebert. Made me think you had a spine, that you might actually have what it takes to survive in this shit-ass city... But I watched you, Hebert, saw you did fuck all but drift around in Winslow, not a single fucking desire to improve yourself, just taking shit as it came. You might not a prey but you're not a predator either. That's why I know you're all bark and no bite, Hebert."

I wanted to retort but instead I stilled to think about her words.

During my time at Winslow what did I even do? I just went to classes, did schoolwork, tutoring, I was in and out of the various cliques; afterschool, all I did was go to the library to do homework, surf PHO, or kill time reading books, I wasn't part of any clubs; I avoided staying home alone, coming back only when Dad was around.

She was right. I was just a drifter -- a wanderer -- who reacted to things as they came. I just did things because I had to, not because I wanted to. I was just going through the motions because I didn't have a plan about what I wanted for myself in the future. Besides helping Dad get better, did I have any motivation to do something with my life?

...No, not really, not a thing.

I fucking hated that Sophia Hess of all people was right.

"What's wrong, Hebert? Choking on that lizard's tongue of yours?"

I scowled, "No, just thinking about how easy it was to kick your ass," pressing my foot harder on her back to make her groan.

Then I stepped off and turned around, making it look like I was walking away -- done with her and our match.

Sophia carefully stood back up and then she must have shadowed because I didn't hear her as so much that I sensed her in some manner. She was nearly behind me and I quickly spun around, surprising her. She immediately undid the shadowing of her body -- though her bolt remained empowered, held upside-down in a reverse-grip.

I moved to the side as she tried to plunge the bolt into me.

Now to her side, I wrapped my arms around her body, lifted her up, then twisted to slam her into the ground -- poorly imitating a wrestling move I had once seen. She landed shoulder-first, on her already injured left shoulder.

"AURAGH!" she screamed and howled out curses, struggling with the pain while on the ground.

"The spar's over, Hess," I called out, "You've lost."

"Fuck you, you overgrown lizard," she gasped or perhaps rasped, "I'm not done yet."

It was pitiable and pathetic seeing her struggle like this. If asked, many would say that perseverance, the will to keep on going no matter, was a highly admirable and desirable trait for a hero. And I definitely agreed with that. But Sophia Hess wasn't a hero -- not yet and perhaps never. She was just a domineering individual, a bully, with powers who bit off more than she could chew.

"For the love of...! Fine then!" I spread open my arms, "Come on, give me your best freaking shot, Hess!"

It was a bit of a gamble to give her a free hit. But, based on the results of what happened earlier in our spar, hitting me with a shadowed object likely wouldn't work. So I was ninety-nine percent certain that I was safe. And that's what I needed, a show of invincibility, that she was unable to hurt me, that it was useless to even try.

Sophia shakily stood up, "Fuck you, don't you dare pity me!"

"Then shut up and let me win already," I retorted.

"Go eat shit!"

Sufficiently angered now, she tried to run me through with a newly empowered bolt.

As soon the dark bolt touched me, I felt an odd sensation like a zit being popped on my belly. The shadowed bolt simultaneously did two things: snapping back into reality and not so much exploded but disintegrated in her hand.

"What the fuck?!" she yelped.

I lowered my arms, "Satisfied now?" I enunciated strongly, "You. Can't. Hurt Me."

"No, this isn't over yet!"

She grabbed another bolt and empowered it. Then she tried again, again, again, again, and again, until she finally ran out of bolts to use. She was panting and seemed like she was going to run desperately for the previously fired bolts and batons that were still scattered across the sparring room.

However, I was irritated, my patience had long worn thin.

I hammered her with a headbutt. She grunted on swaying legs but I quickly grabbed her cloak with both hands, bringing her close towards me as we smacked foreheads. Due to the difference in our height, she was looking up while I was looking down. I couldn't see what expression she had underneath that smoothly pale and faceless helmet. But the reflection showed that my own was an animalistic snarl.

Enough was enough.

I let loose a roar.

It was explosive and dominating, filled with my anger and annoyance.

In a small part of my mind, I realized that this was the first time I was consciously hearing myself roar. I vaguely recalled that Madison had mentioned it once back when she had told the story of my Trigger Event but she hadn't really described it then. The roar was a harsh, raw noise that couldn't possibly come from a human throat... it was the sound of a primeval beast.

And when that beast finished its imperious cacophony, only then did human-language return.

My voice was low, "You were right about me, before I triggered I wasn't really a predator. But I am now. And that means I'm not going to take crap from you anymore. And if you think I'm lying or wrong, then keep on poking me... and then you'll learn how wrong you were when I'll devour you whole, Hess."

I dismissively let go of her and she simply crumbled half-way to the floor.

She was trying to hold back her trembling -- and failing.

It was an odd feeling to witness Sophia Hess so weak like this. It didn't suit her, the fiercely proud girl who didn't care if she stepped on any toes, the girl who always seemed to have as stick up her ass and a bone to pick with nearly every one around her.

An odd feeling. But I ignored it.

My tail slapped the ground, making a loud thump, "From here on out, you're going to stop being a raging bitch and clean your act up," I lowered myself to one knee, placing my head near her helmet-covered ear, "You're going to continue to keep Ems and Maddy safe, with your freaking life if you have to," I narrowed my eyes, "And after I take care of the E88, maybe then I'll find it in myself to forgive you -- just maybe."

She turned her head to look at me and spoke carefully, warily, "...Y-You think you can take on the entire Empire by yourself?"

Sophia's earlier insight about me was right, I hated that I agreed with it, I was too reactive and not proactive enough.

This was my problem that I needed to solve.

"Just watch me," I answered confidently.

However, I still had courtesy in me. Since Armsmaster already scheduled a meeting with the Director for Monday, I could at least attend that discussion and see if the PROT would do anything about it. But if they didn't want to help, then screw it, no more waiting around. I'd go out and do something by myself.

Sophia looked away, silently staring at the floor, before she slowly picked herself up and walked away. She only took a few steps before stopping with her back facing me.

"This isn't over yet, Hebert," this time she spoke steadily, "So don't you go dying to some nazi fucks before our rematch."

I snorted at the cheek of her statement and eventually she vanished behind the closing automatic-doors.

A few moments later, Triumph's voice came out of the speakers, "You still good to go, Dragalier? The others want to have a spar with you now."

I tapped my communicator, "Yeah, I'm good."

I apologized to the other Wards in my head because I hadn't even warmed-up yet.

"Hail to the Queen Of The Concrete Jungle!" Clockblocker waved as he entered the sparring room, "Congratulations to Her Majesty for her victory!"

"Thanks, Clock," I chuckled.

His powersuit was white-colored, form-fitting and lightly armored as was standard. Harkening to his name, he had an assortment of clocks on his body, such as the center-piece on his chest, on the back of hands, and on his knees-caps, and the clocks were all stopped at different times. The most prominent clock was the one that served as his helmet's face, it was displayed digitally with the numbers standing parallel to the center and the hands ticking by silently.

"So, ready to play some freeze-tag?"

"Freeze-tag?"

"Yep. If I freeze you, I win. If I don't in -- oh -- ten minutes, then I lose."

I hummed aloud, thinking. The conditions for this spar made sense if I considered Clockblocker's powers. He was a Striker who could freeze people and objects for up to ten minutes with a single touch of his hand. True, the things that were frozen by his powers were basically indestructible and he didn't have any offensive capabilities to actually hurt me, but being out of commission for as long ten minutes was essentially a loss in most circumstances.

"Sure," I nodded.

"Great!" then he pressed the side of his helmet, "We're good to go, man."

"On the count of three then," Triumph started.

Clockblocker went into a boxer's stance, forearms up and legs bouncing. According to an interview, he learned boxing because "People like to punch the clock but now it's the clock's turn to punch out!" His takedowns of gangsters were fairly stylish, being literal freeze-frame shots.

I lowered and leaned forward in a predatory manner.

"One, two, three: match start!"

Restricted to only my physical abilities, Clockblocker would be a fairly annoying type of opponent for me, because I didn't want to be touched by him, yet I also had to get near him within close-quarters to attack.

In the end, that simply meant that my strategy to deal with Clockblocker was just the same as with Umbra Huntress: hitting him hard and fast.

I leapt to his sides and found Clockblocker's reaction speed to be just as good as Huntress' as he turned to face me. But I continued to slide to his back before he even finished his turn and then struck out with a punch. He grunted and whirled around with a backhand but I ducked the swing by crouching down and followed-up by grabbing his leg and pulling it out from under him.

"Woah!" he yelped as he fell backwards.

He twisted midair, carried by the force of his leg trying to deliver a kick, but he missed because I had stepped away.

'Hmm?' There was something odd about that action just now but I couldn't quite put my claw on why it was.

He landed on his palms and immediately pushed himself up, springing back into a boxer's stance.

Clockblocker rushed towards me, sending out a series of fast jabs -- high, mid, low, and everything between. I avoided his fists, taking large steps back to be out of range from any follow-up punches. It didn't take long before my long tail touched the wall and I realized that I would be cornered at this rate.

I crouched low and then swiftly ran past him on all fours. I avoided barreling directly into him because that would only grant him easy access to touch my jutting dorsal-plates. But I still moved close enough to him that he would feel the need to dodge me out of carefulness.

Eyes on me, he didn't notice as I used my tail to sweep him off his legs.

This time he landed on his backside with an "Oof!" He stood up slowly, a hand then two raised in a placating manner, "Clever girl," he said before swiftly putting his dukes up again.

We performed a few more exchanges, each one a loss for Clockblocker, and he finally surrendered before the timer had run out.

"Alright, I give!" he called out while picking himself off the ground, gesturing like he was a referee calling for a time-out, then patted himself clean, "I've had enough of kissing the floor now."

"You sure? I think there's another three minutes left," I asked cheekily.

"Is there really?" he asked while tapping his chin. Suddenly, his clock-face skipped forward by three-minutes and his helmet started to ring loudly, "Well, would you look at that? Time's up, spar's over!" A moment later, the ringing stopped and he put out a hand, "Well, anyways, it was nice sparring with you, Queen Dino. Looking forward to patrolling with a big scary dinosaur in the future."

"Yeah, sa--" I took his hand with a smile, "--me, huh?"

Suddenly, the person who was standing in front of me with his arms folded was Aegis.

Clockblocker was nowhere to be seen.

Aegis unfolded his arms, "You shook his hand," he stated simply as if that explained everything. And it did.

"Shit, he got me," I huffed playfully.

Aegis and I stood at our starting position.

His powersuit was primarily a rust-red color with silvery trims and his helmet's face was represented by a silver kite-shield. Besides some mildly thicker armor at the shoulders and chest, it was a rather plain costume. In terms of powers, he had enhanced strength, durability, stamina, and flight, therefore he was a Brute and Mover -- the typical Flying Brick or Alexandria Package as this type was often called.

I was a bit envious of his powers. Any young girl who looked up to Alexandria would want similar powers, after all. And, sure, I basically was an Alexandria Package in my Metalsaurus Form, but there was a significant difference between flying by jetpack and the free-form flying that a majority of Fly Movers had.

Triumph counted to three.

And on our marks, we launched towards each other and met in the center. His hands caught and clasped over my fists, locked together for dominance. As expected, Aegis was stronger than the average person, stronger than peak human, he was above human. We slowly increased our physical strength, probing and gauging each other, until we reached a might that would have been unacceptable to use on an unpowered gangster -- not unless we wanted to severely maim or kill them.

Up, up, up, our strength went up.

And then Aegis' arms were slowly being pushed back as I steadily pushed forward -- my strength simply exceeded his.

Soon even his back was beginning to curve because he couldn't overpower me while I continued to push him down. When I had almost forced his shoulders to touch the ground, he tucked in his legs to his chest then snapped them out in a fierce kick. I felt the blow upon my abdomen, but that was it, a sensation and nothing more. I reared back my head and delivered a headbutt but he wasn't fazed by the hit at all, he continued to push back without any interruptions whatsoever. A second headbutt didn't disorient him either.

As expected of a Brute, Aegis was sturdy -- hardy.

He likely could take a lot of punishment before it became even remotely debilitating. But then that was the problem for me, just how much could he take before he would begin to wane?

We were stuck in a deadlock, unable to simply out Brute the other.

...Well, that wasn't entirely true. I was definitely much more stronger than Aegis. But he was still a Brute, which meant that I would have to use an excessive amount of force just to keep him from getting back up. But this was a spar, an actually friendly one, so there wasn't any need to escalate that far.

'And here I thought dealing with a Brute would be simpler...'

I lifted him up and off the ground. Aegis saw this as an opportunity to disengage, he released his grip on my fists and then flew away to the other end of the room. Unfortunately, the room was only twenty feet high, so it was a bit cramp for flyers like him.

"First to perform a submission move on the other for three seconds wins?" I asked.

Aegis crossed his arms in thought. He understood why I was making this specific win-condition and nodded, "Agreed."

And that was the signal to start anew.

I crouched low and launched myself into the air, rocketing towards him. He circled around as I slammed into and clung onto the wall. He made the motion to charge straight at me but suddenly ceased. I wondered for a moment why he had stopped but then realized that my spiky dorsal-plates were most likely the dissuading factor -- that would significantly reduce his options for submission-holds.

I kicked off the wall with both legs for a spear-tackle but he side-stepped (side-flew?) me and grabbed my tail. Using my own momentum against me, Aegis spun in a circle and flung me back to the ground. I slammed into the floor on my sides and he was already rushing towards me, maneuvering for a headlock.

He tried to complete his grip but I easily prevented it by placing my thick forearm against my neck. Then I used my free hand to pry him off me. But I didn't let go, I wrenched his arm behind back, pinning him into the ground, and then applied my weight on him. It was merely a crude imitation of how a cop would try to forcibly cuff a down on the ground suspect, I wasn't sure if this was an actual submission move or not, but it worked well enough.

He struggled using all of his might but I wasn't so easy to push off.

"One, two, three!" I counted.

I paused for a moment, letting him deflate, before removing myself from Aegis.

He stood up, unscathed and not at all tired, and we firmly shook hands, "Thanks for the spar, Dragalier. It was an informative experience."

He didn't seem too bothered by his lost.

"Likewise," I replied as we let go.

Aegis casually crossed his arms, "I couldn't overpower you at all," he chuckled, "I suppose this is what the gangsters must feel like when they go up against me. Anyways, congratulations on your victories, especially against Huntress... Do you think she'll still be a problem in the future?"

"Just a feeling but for now I don't think she will be. Later though..." I shrugged.

He sighed, "Well, that's better than nothing, we can keep working on her attitude later."

"Good luck with that," I said pityingly, for him and myself. Future us had our work cut out for them.

My next sparring-partner was Jumpkick.

Her powersuit was white and served as an undersuit to her costume, which was a yellow-colored set composed of a black-visor helmet with rabbit-like ears on the side, a short-sleeved jacket, gloves, a black belt, and pronounced armored-legs. She had vertical red-stripes running down and up on the side of her legs and jacket, but trailed vertically in the center for her helmet and ears. Overall, her costume resembled a heroic motorcyclist-racer.

There wasn't any preamble with Jumpkick.

In a way, she was similar to Umbra Huntress, with nothing on her mind besides a focused clarity for the upcoming fight. When she entered the room, she was battle ready -- ready to leap into action at a moment's notice. Her legs weren't idle and she was running in place.

According to her official online-profile, Jumpkick was a Striker, Mover, and Brute. Her powers emphasized her legs, allowing her to make superpowered jumps and also imbue her kicks with elemental-properties.

"Three!" Triumph finished the countdown.

Jumpkick immediately jumped back towards the wall -- before I could even reach her with my own forward leap -- tucking herself into a roll and performing a spin to orient her feet so she could kick off the wall. She shot towards me, performing another spin which had her coming out in an incredibly fast flying kick -- one that I could have dodged but didn't because I wanted to experience for myself just how strong her kick was.

She hit my shoulder with a force of strength that could easily match Aegis', then she kicked with her other foot, sending herself rocketing away from me and back to the wall. She repeated her previous actions from before to even more quickly fly back with another sharp kick. I blocked with my forearm, the impact more powerful, and then she was gone again -- shooting up into the ceiling then back down for a double foot stomp.

It was clear that she was gaining more force and speed with every jump.

And a whole lot more acrobatic when she had the space for it.

I reached out to grab her feet and end her momentum. But her legs were suddenly coated in a green swirl of wind, which was repelling my hand the closer I reached out, but it wasn't strong enough to actually brush me aside.

I took hold of her ankle and swiftly swung her into the floor.

She cried out in pain.

'Oh shit!' surprise flashed on my face, I didn't actually know how tough of a Brute she was, 'Was that too much?'

She stood up, clutching her right arm.

"Are you al--"

Jumpkick leapt at me with a spinning kick aimed at my head, her legs covered in the red blaze of fire.

This time I blocked with my forearm and when her kick landed on my left I actually felt a hot sting of pain. She tried to immediately follow-up with another kick from her other leg to strike the right side of my head but I avoided it by leaning back my head, though she struck my forearm again which spiked the pain I felt. I resisted the urge to lash out and bite at the offending limb, but still I reacted a bit more fiercely than I should have.

With her legs briefly hooked around my defending forearm, I swung down and slammed her into the ground.

Jumpkick hit back first and let out a wheeze of pain.

I blinked twice.

"Oh, no! I'm sorry! Are you alright?!" That was a stupid thing to ask. Of course she wasn't!

I helped her sit up.

She coughed, breathless, "I-I'm fine," shooing me away for space before standing up slowly on her own. "You're tough. Let's do this again next time," she said and then just walked away.

I was left there standing alone.

From afar, Jumpkick seemed aloof and cool, a silent and stoic hero similar to Armsmaster. But, actually being able to interact with her, she was more blunt and disinterested in socializing.

I still wasn't sure how to feel about her yet.

Seconds later, Triumph's voice came out from the speakers, "Alright, that's all the Wards who wanted to spar with you, Dragalier. Good work."

'Oh, it's over? I wonder why Triumph, Vista, Valiant Star, and Gallant are skipping out... Actually, didn't I technically have a fight with Triumph and Vista already?'

Clockblocker apparently took the mic, "Now that most of us have gotten our asses kicked by Queen Dino, let's celebrate with some cake. Come on, guys! I got the chefs to whip up an ice-cream cake for us and I've got a big slice with my name on it!"

I heard Triumph grumble on the open-mic as he took it back, "Well, you heard him. We'll be waiting for you at the elevator."

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and then left to meet with the rest of the Wards.

The ice-cream cake was Neapolitan and really delicious.

Clockblocker had ordered two cakes just in case and I basically had the second one all to myself, right of conquest as it were.

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 2.3: Territorial

Emily Piggot was a simple woman with simple desires for a person of her position as Director Of The PRT East-North-East.

Her very honest and reasonable desires could be summed up as thus: For all the villainous parahumans in the city to be rounded up and behind bars, and for her troopers and heroic parahumans to not cause her any splitting headaches. Unfortunately, neither of these were happening any time soon, as life was typically full of disappointments, and so she remained in a constant state of displeasure.

Today, she knew, was going to another one of those days where she would be greatly tempted to grab a damn drink. Ah, if only if she could do so, but her liver and kidneys would protest such an action by going into shock and either send her into a coma or kill her. Just another reason for the woman to remain as grumpy as she always did, couldn't even enjoy a small and simple vice every now and again.

Director Piggot was behind her desk, waiting patiently for Armsmaster to arrive for the very meeting which he had called for concerning the powers-testing of a certain reptilian Ward...

Speaking of that particular Ward, Dragalier's very existence had been a constant source of headache due to her unique peculiarities of situation which differed greatly from most other cases which the Director would normally deal with.

The first headache was the person who had indirectly caused Dragalier to trigger -- though, in Emily Piggot's opinion, calling it 'indirectly' was simply sweeping the fault of responsibility under the rug (fires didn't start without a spark, after all).

By all probability, it was a fellow schoolmate of Dragalier's from Winslow High, a one Sophia Hess who also moonlighted as Shadow Stalker -- an aggressive Vigilante with as much anger issues as a bull seeing red -- was the source of the troubles.

Now, normally, the PRT and Protectorate wasn't able to just draft any Independents into the Wards or Protectorate, but after procuring a great deal of evidence concerning Sophia Hess' psychology and her involvement in the incident which caused a Dragalier to trigger, the PRT and Protectorate had enough casus belli to induct the girl as a Probationary Ward.

The vigilante was assuredly a danger to herself and others if left alone.

However, under the mandates of reformative justice, Sophia Hess was given a second-chance, which included strict monitoring, mandatory counseling, and intermingling with stable individuals to straighten her out. And if that didn't work, if the parahuman girl stepped out of line one too many times, then the Director had the jurisdiction to immediately ship the girl off to one of the Parahuman Juvenile Detention Centers and let them deal with the unrepentant troublemaker.

'A shame that I couldn't just toss the unruly girl into a PRT boot-camp, that would have quickly instilled discipline into her.'

The second headache was the huge drop in reputation for the PRT and Protectorate again.

It was reminiscent of that disgraceful day nearly five years ago, when Lung made his infamous debut into Brockton Bay by defeating the whole of the city's Protectorate, thereby making clear of his claim of sovereignty over the city's docks. Then he further solidified his status as untouchable when no amount of reinforcements could defeat or capture him, which gave the criminal even more power to claim the heavily Asian-populated sectors of the city as well.

So, when half of the Protectorate had essentially failed to stop the incident in the early stages, it was really only a matter of time before the citizens started making comparison between the immovable dragon-man and the unstoppable reptile-girl. Nor did it take long for the residents to start complaining about the PRT and Protectorate being a waste of the taxpayers' money.

'Lizards,' the Director grouched, 'What's next? Leviathan?'

No, better to end that thought and not tempt the Spiteful God known as Murphy's Law.

The third headache was the city's bipolar attention-span and her own department's failures to enrapture it.

It didn't matter how logical of an appeal the counterpropaganda the PRT had utilized, mob-mentality rarely cared for such things and simply rode high on tense emotions -- a visceral reaction to hurt that which had hurt them.

The fact that the Empire had managed to keep the mobs riled-up for more than two weeks with their media network, revealed a critical weakness about how the PRT's own methodology was severely outdated and out-of-touch with the public. Furthermore, damningly so, the city's mobs did eventually redirect their animosity back towards the Empire, but that was only after one of the gangsters had run over an old couple and their dog during a car chase.

It was extremely galling that the Public Relations Department attempts at counterpropaganda had no effects whatsoever on the ultimate outcome.

Unfortunately, this was not Emily Piggot's area of expertise, so she could only gather the opinions of other experts, while also grilling the heads of the involved teams about what went wrong and how they planned to fix it. She could only wonder if the current re-training of the teams wasn't going to be a monumental waste of time, money, and effort.

'A person is smart. But people are dumb and panicky animals.'

The fourth headache was Dragalier's or rather Taylor Hebert's complete lack of a secret-identity.

The Ward was about a six foot and two inches reptile-girl, which actually wasn't completely out of the norm. She was similar to other permanently-changed parahumans known as Case 53s, who needed to be given special care and aid to make their daily life more comfortable, along with integrating them back into society -- though it was often the reverse: trying to get society to accept them back.

However, proving herself to be the exception again, the girl had made enemies with the footmen of one of the largest gangs in the city. Fortunately though, the whole of Empire Eighty-Eight seemed too busy with waging more territorial disputes with the Azn Bad Boys to bother with harassing a Ward and her friends and family.

Fortunate if it wasn't so suspicious.

Kaiser was a cunning criminal who would grab a hold of any weaknesses -- like he had done with New Wave. The analysts had given a very high chance of him doing the same to Taylor Hebert to further destroy the PRT's and Protectorate's credibility. But what they didn't predict was for the Leader Of The Empire to engage in increasing skirmishes with the Azn Bad Boys which could even result in a second Hell's Kitchen. It just didn't fit Kaiser's typical modus operandi and the two major gangs had always been in a stalemate because neither had the muscle to overpower the other without significant loses. And yet, here they were, fighting with each other and losing their superpowered members.

'It would be quite nice if the two gangs just destroyed each other without endangering civilians and causing property damage.' But the Director knew better than pray for pipe dreams. A portion of the city was more likely to go in flames and burn down if the disputes continued to escalate.

The fifth, incredibly massive headache was Dragalier's nuclear-powered biology.

The word 'Nuclear' was enough to have most people twitch in alarm or running for the hills. The Ward's powers-testing had confirmed she could unleash that radioactive nuclear-energy as a beam from her mouth to accurately shoot down a number of targets which were nearly one-third of a mile away. The Blaster testing had been immediately ended then, before the girl was allowed to shoot down the rest of the targets which were placed as far out as one mile -- too much destruction, the scientists and researchers had feared.

It was back then a number of days ago, as soon as Director Piggot had seen the reports and watched the recordings, the woman had instantly sought out a private discussion with Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown.

Thankfully, due to Armsmaster's discretions, the information was highly classified under PRT Black-Level Security, which gave time for Director Piggot to also issue a gag-order to the scientists and researchers. However, that security level was still accessible by the Board who was above her, and Emily Piggot knew that more than a few members would be frothing at the mouth to send the girl to the Birdcage, while the normally sane or neutral few would likely still lose their wits upon hearing 'Nuclear-Powered Blaster Parahuman'.

No, none of them could know about this, otherwise they would very likely end up needlessly provoking a congenial Parahuman.

And, to Director Piggot's surprise, the Chief Director had readily offered her full support while promptly censoring the Board -- hiding and redacting the full extent of Dragalier's powers behind PRT Midnight-Level Security. The public records of Dragalier's powers would soon be heavily edited, if they weren't already.

However, no matter how well they tried to hide it, they were still dealing with a nuclear-powered parahuman.

Simply ordering the girl to never use her Blaster abilities and allowing her to roam freely in the city was an absurdly astounding amount of good faith. But the PRT and Protectorate by large were organizations which hoped for the best but expected the worst -- they had to account for things going wrong.

For example...

"What would you do if she quits the Wards, Director Piggot?" the Chief Director had inquired.

It was a subject matter that Emily Piggot had thought long and hard about and her opinion had been only reinforced with the most recent discoveries.

"After she's finished with her probation, then by all means, Taylor Hebert is free to leave the Wards to become Independent or otherwise," was how she had answered.

"By the powers vested into the PRT and Protectorate by the governing bodies of the United States, we do have the legal jurisdiction to place parahumans with potentially extremely dangerous powers under our supervision. A parahuman with the capability of turning an entire city into a radioactive wasteland more than easily qualifies," the Chief Director had stated.

"With all due respects, Chief Director, I believe it to be the height of stupidity if we were to cause the very thing that we were trying to prevent by aggravating a Parahuman who is willing to cooperate with us," she had responded with a hard expression.

The two women stared at each other, their piercing eyes looking for weakness, until the Chief Director finally nodded, "Very well. As I said before, you have my full support, so do what you deem fit, Director Piggot."

And that was how their private discussion from a few days had ended.

Director Piggot stepped away from her recollection and returned back to the present moment. Armsmaster would be here soon bringing with him another fresh headache. In fact, she just received a message on her intercom from her secretary that the blue-armored hero would be arriving shortly at her office.

Soon enough, the man walked in and stood front and center, he didn't bother to take a seat.

"Armsmaster," she acknowledged and gave him permission to speak at the same time.

"Director Piggot, we need to discuss Dragalier's tracking powers."

"Yes, I've seen your report, you suspect that she can track down the Endbringers and other S-Class Threats."

Had this been anyone else, they would have most likely been utterly astounded, but not Emily Piggot. When Parahumans like Scion or Eidolon existed, then the actual limitations of powers were ill-defined. Someone finally appearing with the ability to track the previously untraceable only elicited a 'Took damn long enough' reaction from her.

"It is merely supposition," he clarified, "Relative to her position, she could only give us a direction but not the exact distance of where the targets currently were nor could she explain why these targets were sensed with certain descriptors to her powers."

"But the accuracy of her information correlates well enough to be concerning, otherwise you wouldn't be here," the Director narrowed her eyes, "This is clearly important enough for you to bring it up despite being mere supposition."

He nodded, "Yes. Dragon and I have interpreted and cross-referenced the information with our own databases and found Dragalier's tracking to be generally concrete. Her Thinker powers has named all current and potential S-Class Threats on our global watch-list. If her powers are as solid as we believe then she has even named a number of other unknown S-Class Threats as well."

"Valuable information, indeed," commented Piggot, "Which is why you pushed to lower her Thinker rating, and why I approved of it afterwards."

Dragalier's Thinker powers had been intentionally rated at a mere Four, downgraded by nitpicking the ambiguous and imprecise details, to have prying eyes more likely drawn towards her high Blaster rating instead. Thinker were extremely valuable assets, and if individuals or governments knew exactly what she could do, then they would want to take possession of her for themselves.

At the very least, if the usually covert and underground S-Class Threats knew that someone could track them down then that would paint a gigantic target on the girl's back. And Director Piggot certainly didn't need more villains or otherwise to come to this city to provoke a nuclear-powered parahuman -- no thank you.

Only a select few knew the exact details and the true extent about Dragalier's Thinker powers -- about as many who knew she was actually nuclear.

"Dragon and I believe that with Dragalier's assistance, the PRT and Protectorate may be able to at last locate the Slaughterhouse Nine."

The Slaughterhouse Nine was an infamous group of violent, dangerous, and murderous Parahumans who roamed the United States and would surface from time to time to satisfy their sick cravings. Despite having a colorful membership that blended in about as well as clowns in a barren wasteland, the group had consistently remained under the radar and eluded attempts to find them. The only reasonable conclusion that could be drawn was that Jack Slash -- the current leader and one of the original founding members -- had some combination of Thinker and Stranger powers which prevented conventional methods and superpowered abilities from finding the group for more than two decades.

However, though finding them was one problem, actually defeating them was another.

While the individual members were typically not S-Class Threats on their own, that didn't necessarily mean they would be easy to kill. None more so than the notorious Siberian who was renowned for having killed Hero and also injuring Alexandria in the past -- turning the once glorious Quadrumvirate into a Triumvirate.

It would take extremely careful planning along with the gathering of the most powerful Parahumans in the Protectorate to be able to put the final nail into the Slaughterhouse Nine's coffins. And the only person with enough information and authority needed to make that decision was the Chief Director herself.

"I will inform the Chief Director about this later."

The armored-hero nodded his awareness and acceptance before moving onto the next subject, "We are also approaching the deadline for the next possible Endbringer Attack. By utilizing Dragalier's powers, we may be able to watch their movements as they happen and prepare accordingly."

The Endbringers had an almost predictable routine, about once every twelve weeks, one of the three would come out of their secretive domain to attack a city. Unfortunately, that was merely an average and therefore more of a guideline than a hard rule, the Endbringers could attack earlier or later if they so wanted to. The uncertainty of when the next attack would truly occur meant that all of humanity would always wait anxiously with bated breath for when the hammer would drop.

It just so happened that the next Endbringer Attack was most likely to occur in the middle of March 2010, which meant within the next week or so.

"Is Dragalier aware that she can track the Endbringers?"

"I did not inform her."

"Then, if we bring up this aspect of her powers to her, I will be the one to inform her about it. Even if she is not directly participating in the battle, a parahuman's participation in an Endbringer Attack is strictly voluntary. The decision to lend assistance is entirely up to Dragalier."

Armsmaster stood still, silent as if he was considering how to argue otherwise, but reluctantly agreed, "I understand."

And he did indeed understand. For as strange and mysterious as the Endbringers were, they were not simple creatures and possessed a level of intelligence that could only be called malevolent. More than a few potentially promising Anti-Endbringer assets had been expeditiously eliminated by the Endbringers before they could brought to arms or bare results.

If the PRT and Protectorate used Dragalier's Thinker powers to track the Endbringers right now, then the next attack after this one could come to Brockton Bay. And the city nor its heroes were prepared to handle such an attack.

'Not yet,' the hero thought, his mind flashing to a certain secret-weapon which was still in the development phase, for when it was to be completed then the tides would quickly turn. But until then, he would have to deal with being on the defensive.

"Good," the Director replied, "Is there anything else?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good, then I'll see you and Dragalier in my office on Monday to further discuss our Empire Eighty-Eight problem. Dismissed."

SOUND THE ALARMS

Chapter 2.4: Territorial

After the celebration party, between continuing to hang out with the Wards tomorrow or going home to see Dad, I decided to go back home because I could always meet with the Wards later. Besides, it was practically a whole month since I had last seen Dad in person and I missed him and our house a whole lot.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to see Dad in the morning because he was already gone for work by the time I was dropped off. I was late because I decided to have a pleasant chat with the other Wards and a really big breakfast at the Base (didn't want to empty my house's fridge after all).

Being back home was an oddly good feeling. The old memories of happier times and their subsequent absence in the future would usually keep the place from feeling too peaceful.

'I guess this is what being homesick feels like.'

"I'm home," I whispered as I explored my house that was very familiar yet also changed.

Most things around the house had remained the same, nostalgic. But not all of it was the same as I had last seen. Even though I now owned protective-gloves, the PROT had replaced a number of fixtures with new reinforced objects (like the doorknobs and fridge), or completely renovated some rooms (like the bathroom), to make it easier to go about even if I forewent gloves. Likewise, a few chairs had been replaced with stools, so that I could sit without my tail getting in the way.

As for my own room, there were about two big changes. One was the bed, in which I had previously ruined the mattress when I accidentally sunk my claws into it, had been replaced with a new bed that was far sturdier and comfier to lay on. The second was the brand new computer resting atop my desk, it wasn't high-tech but still better leagues better than the old hunk of junk that I originally owned. Other than those two, there were also boxes sitting in the corner with my new everyday clothes (same as what I had at the Wards Base).

After exploring my house, I simply basked in the serenity.

Once I was sufficiently refreshed, I thought about how to spend the rest of my day.

Right now at home there wasn't much to do besides surfing the internet -- the Wards Base had spoiled me with the expansive selection of books and movies that I could read and watch. But, besides my house, there was only one other place I allowed to go at the moment...

'Today's Sunday,' I checked the clock and it was a little past 8 AM, 'If she doesn't have anything planned then Ems should still be home right now.' I double-checked with my Thinker powers and she was indeed nearby.

I left the house to visit my best friend from across the street.

I waved to some of the PRT Troopers who were watching my movements but they didn't gesture back.

Ringing the doorbell, Emma's Mom opened the door.

The woman needed a moment to compose herself, "Taylor, is that you?" she blinked her dampened eyes, then quickly stepped out and gave me a great big hug that couldn't wrap all the way around, "Oh, the awful things you had to go through...!"

"Hey, Missis Barnes," I spoke softly, "Nice to see you again and I'm alright, really."

She shook her head, letting go of the hug, and took a step back. She wiped her eyes and looked straight at mines, I bent my legs to put myself more on her level so she wasn't straining her neck.

"You're a strong girl to endure so much, Taylor. But it just isn't right that you and the girls were attacked. I told you after you came back from Summer Camp, right? That Emma and her father were attacked by hoodlums? It hasn't even been a whole year since then!" She shook her head again, disappointed, "Brockton Bay wasn't perfect but it didn't used to be this awful."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, if I even should, because maybe Brockton Bay wasn't a total shithole two or three decades ago. But right now the city was plenty awful, likely even worst than I could imagine.

'But not for long once I start clearing out the gangs...' But best not to voice that idea to Missis Barnes, she'd have a conniption.

The woman continued, "And shame on the PRT and Protectorate for locking away a perfectly good girl like you for so long, they're supposed to be the good guys!"

"Well, they did give me lots of books to read, so it wasn't all bad."

"Books aren't worth trading your freedom away. Really, I haven't seen you in a whole month!" Emma's Mom replied with a wry smile, "Is everything really alright, Taylor? If the PRT and Protectorate isn't treating you fairly, then you know you can rely on Alan to slam the book on them."

That reminded me that Mister Barnes was a lawyer. Though I wasn't sure which kind, was it divorce or criminal? It was a mildly comforting thought that he would fight on my behalf, that he might have after I had triggered and rampaged, but I don't think Cape cases were his field of expertise, so it was unlikely.

"Yeah, I'm really alright," I nodded, "They're letting me do more stuff now, like being able to come home on the weekends. Then in another month or so, I'll be able to start going back to school and stuff." She seemed dubious despite my assurances, so I moved on, "Is Emma home?"

She sighed and let me in, "Yes, upstairs in her room."

I waved a small goodbye to the woman, along with a small greet and bye to Mister Barnes when I saw him reading the newspaper while relaxing on his armchair.

Then I was upstairs and knocking on Emma's door.

"Hey, Ems, it's Taylor."

It didn't take more than a casual moment for Emma to open the door wide. It didn't look like she was dressed to go out, and she looked me up and down with a critical gaze, "Are those clothes really the best that the PROT could make for you?"

I shrugged, "I guess, better than being naked anyways."

My best friend scoffed, "Amateurs," under her breath, and then moved side to let me in. She took a seat on her bed, "Have a seat, Tay," she pointed to a newly added stool, "Or..." she smirked, patting the bed.

"One time!" I objected as I took the seat.

She made a haughty gesture and expression as if I was losing out.

I swear, Ems was going to tease me about that forever!

"So, they finally let the big bad lizard out of the dungeon. Wards Base, right? How was it, nice?"

"Well..." I racked my brain, dividing the subject into things that I could and couldn't reveal, "Do you remember that Meet The Wards Tour we did together when we were younger and then we got to meet them at a lounge-room? The Wards Base is at least five times bigger than that with lots of books, games, and movies. Its even got its own kitchen too, though nobody really cooks, so there's just a lot of pre-made microwave meals to eat."

"Huh, place sounds funs, but the food sounds bleh."

"It's not that bad. It's just gets really boring really fast with how everything is supposed to be nutritionally balanced. I mean there's variety but there isn't variety. Though I've apparently also grown an appetite for fish."

"Fish?" she quirked a brow.

"Yeah, I'm aquatic," I said, tugging down my turtleneck and pointing to the gills on my neck, "I can basically live underwater for a long time."

"Hmm," she hummed as he eyes scanned my scales, dorsal-plates, and then to my long tail, "So you're like an alligator then. Neat."

'If an alligator could shoot out nuclear beams,' I thought in my head but replied, "Yeah, like an alligator."

The conversation continued on like that, about the new things that were going on with me and what was new going on with her.

From what I could understand, Winslow was tensely different. The rent-a-cops were more aggressive, eager to beat down on ramble rousing gang-affiliated students, likely a result of Director Piggot putting in word with Principal Blackwell at my suggestion. Due to Emma's influence as Queen Bee (and whatever influences that Madison and I apparently had) had caused the cliques and staff to further shun the E88. Then there was the growing tension between the E88 and ABB goons where more than a number of them had already disappeared, never to be seen again, likely dead in some gang-related altercation.

It wasn't ready to blow up at any moment but it seemed like all the ingredients were there for Winslow to explode.

"Why the guilty face, Tay? Not like the situation is your fault."

"I know it's not, it's Sophia's." Emma twitched ever so slightly and I felt a bit hurt that she didn't voice her agreement with me. "But I... well, I'll be transferring to Arcadia later on, as part of my Wards benefits. So I won't actually be going back to Winslow anymore. And it just feels like I'm leaving you and Maddy behind to deal with all that crap by yourselves, like I'm running away.

Emma's eyelids lowered gently, "Hey, there's no need to feel guilty about that. You've always complained about Winslow being a shithole, so it's a good thing that you're finally getting out of there, Arcadia's a much better fit for you. And you don't have to worry about me or Maddy, we'll survive."

I pursed my lips. After Mom had died, Dad and I were just surviving, we weren't living at all. There were hints of that in Sophia too, a vicious predator versus prey mentality that had evolved from her bitter experience as a mere survivor. Surviving meant a lot of things, none that I could associate with being purely good.

"I, um, sort of made Sophia promise to keep you two safe for me. If she doesn't then I'll... well, I'll get angry."

She smiled, "Thanks, Tay, I appreciate it."

I nodded, "Hey, can I get your cell-number, and Maddy's too?"

"Your dad finally let you get a cell?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Ah, gotcha," she hummed, understanding the situation. Emma prettily wrote down her and Maddy's number and handed the folded slip of paper to me. I pocketed it into the bottom-pouch of my turtleneck-apron and zipped it. "Want me to call her over right now?" she asked.

I considered it for a moment and nodded, "Yeah, that would be nice."

It didn't take longer than fifteen minutes for Madison to arrive, which likely meant that someone drove her here since I was pretty sure that she lived in one of those Downtown Apartments.

After Emma opened the room door to let her in, Madison bright-blue eyes found me instantly, she shot towards me and took my hands into her own.

"Oh my god, Taylor, it's been over a month! Where have you been, how have you been? You never kept in touch!"

"Hey, Maddy, nice to see you again. Sorry about that. I didn't know your number before but I do now, so I'll call more often."

"Girl, you can't be the only one, you might forget to call back, so give me your number too!" she said as she pulled out her own phone.

I smiled apologetically, "Sorry, you know I don't have a cellphone and you already have my house-number. So, um, I guess if you call the PRT HQ they can forward your calls to me -- I think I need to actually talk to them about that."

"Oh," Madison looked like I had kicked her dog, her hand lowering, "Are they still keeping you locked up?"

"For another month or so. Just got to learn the ropes as a Wards and then catch some thugs. You know, show myself off as a hero so the city doesn't have a panic-attack when I can start going out by myself."

She tilted her head, "Okay then, so when you're free, wanna go shopping again? We didn't get to finish last time!"

I doubted any stores had clothes in my size or shape, so actually going shopping sounded like a fruitless endeavor. But maybe Madison could work a miracle and piece together some outfits for me anyways.

Emma thought my current wardrobes were lacking and commented, "Great idea."

The idea of refusing her felt bad, so I smiled warmly, "Sure, next time."

Maddy beamed a pearly-white smile in return.

And then the three of us, Emma, Madison, and I simply chatted, about everything and nothing, letting words fill us with pleasantry of a delightful future that was yet to come. We played around with accessories and make-up, or rather they dressed me up like a doll after I had tried to describe what I looked like in costume to them. We had lunch, a deliciously seasoned spaghetti with meatballs cooked up by Missis Barnes and Missis Clements who had come over as well (though I had to cross back home to get my sturdy set of utensils and wares). We watched shows for a while in the living-room.

And then it was time to go home.

I felt reinvigorated, then bid my friends and their parents goodbye, before returning to my own abode.

There were still a couple of hours -- maybe a bit more if he wanted to work overtime -- before Dad would get home.

I decided to take a long, clean shower.

After that, I made a hot meal for Dad. 'He'll appreciate that after a hard day of work.' Normally, he was too tired to cook dinner and eat it, opting to go to bed instead. But, after my summer-camp revelation to support him more, I had started to spend more of my time trying to cook light dinners for him. Well, I say cook but it was more like heating up a small soup can of chicken-noodle or beef-barley while adding my own touch of seasonings along with a side that was typically a fried egg and a roasted quarter-slice of a tomato or something like that. Just simple and easy stuff that wouldn't be too bothersome to eat, so that Dad would have at least a partially filled and warm stomach before going to bed.

Fortunately, today was a normal workload and Dad only arrived home late as usual, so I didn't have to reheat the food.

I was out of the kitchen when Dad stiffened at the entrance upon the scent of a cooked meal.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home," I greeted, "Dinner's ready."

"Taylor!" he instantly snapped out of his daze and scrambled towards me. Despite being a thin man, he gave me a great big hug that only dads could do, "You're home!"

I hugged him back.

We did talk yesterday night about how I was coming back today. But I guess it didn't really register until now, the babbling of words over the phone didn't become real until now when we at last met again.

We basked in each other's presence as if recharging a nearly empty gauge named "Family Power."

But I knew of an actual physical-gauge that was near empty.

"Come on, Dad, got a hot bowl of beef-barley soup waiting for you."

"Dinner sounds good."

We let go and then I guided him by hand to the kitchen and his seat.

Dad ate slowly, savoring the meal, and we talked about the same things that we had said to each other yesterday but this time with more clarity and focus. The things I've been through, the things that I could now do, and the things that I would do later on. Soon enough, Dad cleaned up his bowl and plate, his spoon clinked like a bell upon release.

Dad let out a contented breath.

I was happy, it was the most idyllic I had seen Dad in a long time. And I could see the food-coma was beginning to sink into him, a pleasant drowsiness and lethargy.

We talked a little more.

Then he kissed me on the forehead, "Goodnight, Taylor, I'm going to hit the hay."

"Yeah, goodnight, Dad."

I watched him go before washing the dishes. After that was done, I made sure the house doors and windows were properly locked and then went to brush my own teeth. I returned to my room and decided to turn on my brand new computer which had the basics already set up and to my surprise the internet service was faster than before -- it only took seconds to load PHO rather than minutes.

There wasn't much of anything new on the local section of PHO, most of it were things that I had heard recently from the other Wards or seen the last time I had browsed the website.

Tension had been rising between the E88 and ABB with lots of skirmishes in Downtown or the Docks (and that had me worry if Dad would get hurt from the crossfire). With the two gangs busy with each other and the BBPD and PROT busy with them, that was apparently enough to embolden the Merchants as they were performing lightning-fast raids in disputed territory for supplies that couldn't typically be found or produced in the scrap-heaps of the Trainyard (like food or medicine and of course more drugs). Uber & Leet were being their typical live-streaming scummy selves, staying far away from the action and causing crimes in Southern Downtown. Other small time Independent Villains were also avoiding getting themselves entangled with the big boys.

Meanwhile, it seemed that the younger members of New Wave weren't allowed to patrol alone because the usual solo-heroine Glory Girl was now seen teaming-up with her cousins Laserdream and Shielder whenever she went out. And there was a post online by Glory Girl stating that her mom was making them focus on bringing down the lesser villains instead of the gangs. The subsequent heated debates of whether New Wave was useless and past their prime had lead to plenty of hammers being dropped.

Furthermore, the BGB was moving out in force, the small vigilante group (or gang, if one really disliked them) was trying to join in at every major fight that they could. With the BGB reinforcing the PROT, they had managed to take Stormtiger and Flagbearer from the E88 into custody, while also taking out Cricket (E88) and Dokkaebi (ABB) from combat for a short while. However, the two gangs didn't take kindly to losing members, and so now half of the BGB's Capes (The Big Guy and Brawler) were down for the count along with a number of their non-powered members being severely injured or dead.

The PROT and BBPD hadn't suffer any losses yet, though there were more than a few close shaves.

The online-posters from Brockton Bay were hoping that the situation would deescalate soon because we were entering the Endweek -- the week which the Endbringers were mostly likely to attack during (though that was a misnomer since the time frame was closer to seven-to-ten days which didn't necessarily fall within the same week).

With how unpredictable the Endbringer attacks were, there was apparently an unwritten gentlemen's agreement called the 'The Endbringer Truce' where Heroes and Villains alike would abide to a total cease-fire and not cause any more problems until a few days after the Endbringers were gone. Generally speaking, this was primarily a show of good faith on the Villains' part, because there was a chance that necessity would force them to team-up with the Heroes if the Endbringers ever came knocking. Furthermore, if the Endbringers were attacking elsewhere, then the Heroes were usually the ones who had to leave the city unattended for a time to participate in the fight or clean-up, and the Truce expected for the Villains to stay low during that time. For example, Brockton Bay's own Armsmaster practically threw himself into every Behemoth or Leviathan attack that he could join.

I stretched my limbs and looked at the time on the corner of the screen.

"Shoot, it's getting late."

I wasn't particularly tired or sleepy but it was best to maintain a healthy and routine sleeping schedule. Tomorrow, early in the morning, I would be going back to the Wards Base for classes and after that would be the important meeting with the Director.

I put the computer to sleep and turned off the lights -- keeping a single nightlight on.

Then I plopped down on the center of my new bed, tail curling around, as I hugged my pillow.

I closed my eyes, darkness enveloping me, and fell soundly asleep...

[Connection Established.]

Then I was suddenly awake, in a house that was home yet not -- a distorted parody with crystals growing in places where it shouldn't or things being made of crystals when they shouldn't be.

'Am I dreaming?'

The room felt too real and fake with muted and vivid colors. The air was still and sterile. The lighting wasn't dark but neither was it bright, it had this strange and eerie quality to it, like casting shadows that were too strong and long.

I pushed aside the window-curtains and stared out into an inky void.

I couldn't sense anything but myself in the house.

'Should I be glad or scared that Dad isn't here?'

Well, actually, I could sense myself and three other someones that were already inside of my house, in the living-room.

I tapped into my Thinker powers to feel out the strangers. They were an intensely familiar sensation, something that always seemed to hum in the back of my mind -- the Roiling Earth, Shushing Waters, and Fluttering Sky.

I recalled that Armsmaster had been especially interested in these three during my powers-testing.

The choices were to simply stay in my room and wait out for who knows how long whatever this was, or...

Cautiously I left my room, slowly twisting the crystallized doorknob while the door-hinges creaked like glass. An uncountable number of things were twisted and weird, the stairs were curving into a spiral and had about four-time as many steps than normal. I wanted to simply jump down but I remained careful and took the long way down.

I eventually reached the bottom and stuck close to the stretched-out walls.

Stealthily, I peeked into the living-room.

I was surprised but then again I wasn't really sure what I had been expecting to see.

Floating in place were three large-sized clumps of prismatic minerals.

These Crystal Things closely resembled the luminescent crystalline growths that were here and there within this nightmare version of my house. One was floating behind an armchair (that looked more like someone's avant-garde art project), one was floating in front of the old television (which reflected nothing at all like a pitch black-hole), and one was floating by the corner (barely geometrical and irritating to the eyes).

Apparently I wasn't stealthy enough, because the Crystal Thing by the corner had shined, which gave me the distinct impression that it was looking at me despite having no eyes.

[Statement: We greet the Twenty First Conflict-Engine.]

What.