If anyone is wondering, this originally was supposed to include a fairly short section including what Luna is up to. However, given that it was angling to be something like 22,000 words at that point, I decided against it- we'll get that later. As such, this is all Taylor- I hope you enjoy, even if it is a little bit rushed.
Taylor stayed the night in her workshop, deciding against trying to return home. There was no knowing what Coil might do, or what he might try. Taylor preferred to be close to her Dad, just in case. She had to leave, though, returning to the city in the dead of night. She made use of her time by drifting through the streets until she found a small store, one that sold camping gear. It was a simple task to pick the lock and deactivate the alarm, making her way in to find what she needed.
Her lair, wonderful as it was, did not contain a bed. And sleeping in a chair wasn't as easy as she might like, not without being exhausted. No, in this case Taylor was going to act first, ask permission later. Besides, she left enough money to pay for the camp-bed and sleeping bag that she took. That was morally sound, right? Not that it really mattered, she mused as she left the building with her purchases tucked under her arms, a dozen high-nutrient camping bars tucked into her pockets. She retreated to her lair, setting up the camp-bed – really just an aluminium frame with canvas topping- and sinking down onto it. A few camping bars provided sustenance, although they didn't really fill her. Still it was enough, and Taylor drifted off to sleep, tucked under her sleeping bag, quiet in the dark.
The burring of her phone woke her, hands flailing briefly before her eyes adjusted to the dark and Taylor sat up, blinking away sleep. A hand reached out and snatched up the device, peering at it. A message from Tattletale. Simple, short, and seriously worrying.
C. Coils men. Hospital.
A string of letters and numbers after, that Taylor recognised as an address, simplified in haste. She didn't wait, pulling on her armour and darting out into the dawn, her wings spreading behind her in crimson waves as she launched herself into the air. No semblance of subtlety now, Taylor pushed herself to her highest possible speed and whipped through the air, blazing a straight path through the opaque shroud of night in a streak of red. The location Tattletale had sent her was a warehouse and Taylor took barely five minutes to reach there, dropping from the darkness onto a sniper who was crouched on the roof. He didn't see her through the night, his attempt to fight her off quickly failing before her attack, and Taylor tied him with his own cuffs before dumping him in a hidden position and slinging his gun on her back. Time for a bit of infiltration, she decided, wrapping herself in a camouflaging illusion before she eased open a roof window and dropped down, letting her wings catch the air and slow her drop, easing her landing. There were three more mercenaries in the building, waiting- Tattletale and her captors hadn't arrived yet. Taylor let a smile drift onto her face as she crept around the edges of the warehouse, her illusion reinforced by the darkness, allowing her to sneak up on the nearest mercenary without drawing any attention. She rose up behind him, her hands reaching forwards and clamping around his head, psychic lightning sparking between them and rendering him unconscious. The two others saw him fall and turned, guns rising, just as Taylor stepped away from his body and whipped her hand. Pillars of telekinetic force lashed from her hand, three slamming into each mercenary and ramming them into the wall. One of them slumped to the ground, the other trying to rise and reaching for her rifle with wheezing, struggling determination.
Taylor closed the distance and knocked her out with a single blow. She quickly hid the bodies- not too carefully, since it wasn't as though it wasn't going to be obvious that something had gone wrong, but well enough- and concealed herself in the shadows. Coil's mercenaries weren't a match for her, but they could easily kill Tattletale if they had a moment. She would have to make this fast and brutal.
Standard issue for her, really.
She waited in the silence for a few minutes, not really keeping track, until a truck pulled up. Two men quickly disembarked and pulled open the doors, the truck driving in and coming to a halt. Taylor slid the sniper rifle off her back and let it slide to the ground, waiting. Waiting. The back doors of the truck opened and the rest of the group jumped out: three more in the back, with Tattletale bound and gagged, one driver, the two who had gotten out first. Six.
Poor odds. For them.
"Echo?" called the driver, looking around. He called again, suspicion and concern filling his voice. The mercenaries moved forwards, one of them pushing Tattletale into the cover of the truck as the rest fanned out.
"Echo! Report!" the man called again. Again there was no answer and Taylor began to build power, letting it wind down her arms and along her fingers.
"Something's wrong," the last merc stated and Taylor took that as her queue.
"Oh, you bet there is."
Figures turned and guns came up and Taylor snapped her hand out, a wave of force slicing out at hip height and knocking them all down like a row of bowling pins. She sprang after, wings unfolded and beating hard to thrust her through the air, soaring over the fallen five and landing heavily on the last. He went down with a stifled cry as her boots caught him in the chest and Taylor landed, whirled around with one wing extended stiffly behind to sweep anyone charging her. There was no impact, the mercenaries still down and Taylor hurled herself into the fray again. One of them had risen and she flicked her hand out, a whipping tendril of invisible power knocking the levelled rifle aside so that the crimson beam of energy wasted itself on the wall. Taylor put the man down with a haymaker to the jaw, now in the thick of the fight and putting her advantage to ferociously efficient use. A woman lunged at her with a knife and Taylor caught her arm, broke it over her knee and grabbed the woman by her lapels, flung her into a second one with enough force to knock them both down. A man rising to his knees caught a boot to the jaw that was followed by a fist to the temple, four down, a fifth swinging his gun in a practiced motion. The butt crashed against her shoulder, the lightweight weapon barely felt against her armour and Taylor applied a swinging backhand to his head, kicked at his knee as he fell before she grabbed him by the back of his uniform and threw him onto the pile of two fallen. She flexed her wings in a motion nearly unconscious and turned to face the last one, a woman who held her rifle in hands that shook just the slightest bit.
"I admire your determination," Taylor told her gently, "But it really is wasted."
Taylor felt her fear spike before it was thrust aside by defiant anger.
"Fuck you!" the mercenary screamed, jamming her finger down on the trigger.
When the gun only clicked her despair was like the finest wine, so perfect that Taylor almost felt guilty about enjoying it.
"Looking for this?" Taylor asked, holding up the magazine that she had telekinetically disconnected from the gun while the mercenary had been distracted. The woman whimpered, anger draining away as the fear returned with a vengeance and turned to run. Taylor extended a hand and enfolded her in a wall of force, gently lifting her from the ground and bringing her back, kicking and screaming.
"There's no need for that," Taylor told her reprovingly, "I won't kill you. You're far more useful alive."
Somehow that failed to dampen the hysterics that the woman was undergoing, her struggling becoming more pronounced as Taylor raised a hidden eyebrow.
"You know, this is pretty fortunate," she mused. "I was just looking for your boss, and now I have a nice source of information delivered right to me. I'll have to thank Coil when I see him. Although I am curious as to why he would be trying to kidnap Tattletale. Fortune seems fond of bringing us together, Tattletale."
"I'm grateful for it," Tattletale answered, having worked the gag from her mouth. She was at work on her bonds and Taylor let the mercenary hang harmlessly in space, shrieking mindlessly, as she freed the Undersider without mention of their deal. After all, Coil was probably watching. If there was anyone who could have a camera in the gear of his soldiers it would be him, Taylor mused as she returned to the mercenary.
"Now then," Taylor said, leaning in, "Shall we see what it takes to find out what you know?"
The mercenary screamed even more loudly and Taylor-
-woke up. She rolled over in her camp bed, tipping the frame with her weight and crashing painfully to the ground, one wing crunching underneath her. A stream of curses left her mouth, Brockton American English spiced with the vilest swearing of Low Gothic that Taylor could muster.
"That motherfucker!' she exclaimed, only just keeping the declaration in her head as she painfully squeezed to her feet and massaged her wing. The wing itself didn't feel much pain, sparkles of crimson energy filling in the missing feathers, but she'd wrenched her shoulder when she landed and pain was flickering from it.
"Interesting that he would abandon the vision there," The Emperor mused as Taylor returned to cursing Coil, "Almost as though he was genuinely afraid that you might find him. That suggests something interesting about his powers."
'I don't care how interesting his powers are, they won't matter when I've got my fist buried in his medulla oblongata,' Taylor responded spitefully. The Emperor chuckled.
"Feeling vindictive today, Taylor?"
'Not only is he a murderer, kidnapper, extortionist and gun runner, he's interrupting my sleep! That goat-touching sponge-hunter, who decides to just look into the future at three AM? Does he just set an alarm and go 'Oh boy, three AM, here I go scrying again'?'
The Emperor ignored her ranting, so Taylor did the reasonable thing and kicked her bed in a fit of pique.
'Three AM. What a bastard,' she grumbled as she leaned down to right her bed and sit down on it. A cold breeze wafted across her skin and she shuddered in aggravation, retreating into the warmth of her sleeping bag again and leaning back. She thought about maybe leaving and staying awake, but now that the immediate adrenaline rush had faded sleep was returning, weighing down her eyelids. She yawned and settled back, her heartbeat slowing from a harsh patter until it was drumming steadily in her ears.
'He'd better not go after Tattletale again. I dunno how much longer I can keep playing deus ex machina.'
"Sleep, Taylor. We have thwarted him once and he does not have much longer to trouble us."
Taylor smiled at that thought, letting the drowsiness overcome her and sent her drifting into slumber once more.
Some unknown instinct spurred her to her feet, leaving her bed in a single motion. There was nothing concrete, but fear prickled at her spine and chills raised the hairs along her arms. Taylor tilted her head and tried to call out, to speak to the Emperor.
There was no reply. A vision of some sort? But even if it was, there was no- wait. There was someone nearby. Several someones. Coils men.
Taylor didn't bother with her armour, throwing on her clothes and moving as fast as possible. There was only one reason why Coils men would be so close to her house and that was her Dad, trapped in there and unprotected. She needed to-
A gunshot split the night and Taylor moved. She took the stairs out four at a time, wings folded uselessly behind her on the narrow space and burst into the coldness before dawn, the faintest touch of light beginning to prickle at the horizon. Her wings unfolded the instant she was free, sending her towards her house in a single leap. She could feel the minds in there, the confusion and pain in her Dad and it ignited a spark of fury that surpassed anything she had felt rescuing Tattletale. She swept on, focusing on the four men outside her house and dropped from the sky.
Taylor weighed considerably more than anyone of her height and build had a right to, and her impact point was calculated. Even in her fury some semblance of tactics remained and she had aimed herself precisely. Her boots both landed on the back of the first mercenary's head and she drove him to the ground, his spine cracking under her weight. The three others turned and she whipped a hand at the closest. Flame bloomed from her fingers and splashed onto him and his screams split the night, piercing and agonised as the Warpfire clung like napalm, the stink of seared flesh making the air rank as she lunged. The blow she put into the third mercenary, a woman, was backed by enough telekinetic force that her skull imploded even through the helmet, a shockwave racing behind the slap to shatter bone and pulverise flesh. The last brought his gun to bear and Taylor twitched her fingers.
Lightning flashed and he died screaming. Taylor picked a gun from the ground and stalked into the house, crimson wings behind her like some angel of death.
"Dad!" she shouted, her voice raw with anger and splitting the air. She strode through the house, tracking positions and peoples as she went. She burst into the living room, a mercenary popped up from behind the couch and she pulled the trigger on her gun, crackling crimson bolts ramming into his chest and turning flesh to shattered, scorched ruin. A second from behind the door and Taylor turned into her, knocked her back, the merc lowered her gun and Taylor shoved it aside with a mental touch and a telekinetic slap. The bolts scattered across the wall, pitting the paper and leaving gaping holes before Taylor reached out and closed a hand around her throat. Rage seethed in her, hot enough that she didn't bother conserving her power and the Warp whispered through her soul, half memory and half instinct and the mercenary howled and writhed in raw, absolute anguish at the very blood in her veins ignited. Taylor left her there, dying horribly, and ascended the staircase with murder in her mind.
Six dead. Four left.
Taylor continued to move, the anger still mastering her. They were in the master bedroom, four mercenaries and her Dad.
Four dead men and her Dad.
Taylor kicked the door open, entering with wings spread wide and lightning crackling about her form. She was fast, crashing through the door and before the firing had even begun she hurled the gun she had taken, using it as a missile on the mercenary furthest to her right. He went down, a whip of lightning crackling from her fingers to slash across the man next to him, incapacitating for the moment, the third dropping to a knee with gun at his shoulder and Taylor glanced at the gun, the safety clicking on before a lance of force caught him in the chest and knocked him down, some vestige of sanity returning to her before her Dad tried to stand, tried to jerk away from the mercenary holding a pistol on him.
The pistol went off and her Dad collapsed with a muffled cry.
Taylor saw red.
The next telekinetic attack was a blade, not a ram, and crimson coated the wall as it caught the mercenary across the neck, his head rolling away. The man she had downed with a telekinetic blow rose with knife in hand, his posture hunching a fraction- cracked ribs, some tiny part of her mind said- and Taylor crossed the space between them faster than he could react, her fist breaking his ribs and driving shards into his lungs. She flung him out of the door, down the stairs and turned to the last two. They both ran, bolting for the window and Taylor went after them, reaching the sill just as they landed. One landed badly, the cracking of breaking bone loud in the quiet but the other rolled and stumbled away, staggering from the injuries of being struck by lightning. Some tiny, almost silent part of her admired the determination. The rest of her let the anger crystallise and shape itself, remembered the feel of igniting the blood of her earlier foe and her hand stretched out. A needle of bloody red flame flashed from her fingers and caught the stumbling man in the back.
For a moment Taylor could see his bones, outlined in the incandescent blaze before the attack took effect and ash smeared the street, cinders floating like flakes of greasy, scorched stinking snow. Taylor turned on her heel, concern washing over her and extinguishing her rage like a flood smashing into a blazing building. She dropped to her knees, hands pressing at her Dad as he tried to speak.
"Don't," she said, her voice suddenly croaking and her eyes prickling with needling tears as she planted her hands over his injury, "Don't. You'll be alright."
He looked up at her, eyes filled with pain and hope and she found a smile even as she poured power into him, clumsily sealing the wound and forcing his sundered flesh to heal, his punctured lung to rebuild itself. She saw his eyes blink slowly and panic flooded her, feeling his pulse slow under her fingers, desperation and terror throttling her heart before he took a breath and then a second, slow and steady as he drifted off to sleep. Taylor lifted him up and placed him on the bed, leaning over him and letting her tears drip down as she tried to calm her hammering heart. They had nearly cost her her Dad. Coil had nearly cost her the only family she had left, and the rage came simmering back at that. She turned, a gun floating into her hand and a single laser bolt put the dying mercenary in the room out of his misery before she jumped through the window and floated down to the last, trying to crawl away on his broken ankles.
"You know," she said, her voice cold and strangely absent even to herself, "When I was outed I told myself that I would crucify anyone who attacked my Dad."
A car on the street slowly tore itself apart, pieces ripping from the frame and forming themselves into a crude cross as she gazed down on the whimpering man, the murmur of unease in her heart crushed by the icy-cold anger.
"Thank you for giving the chance to demonstrate."
Taylor's waking was far less sedate this time. She came out of her bed snarling, wings flaring, soaked in sweat and with sparks pouring off her frame. A stray bolt of lightning scorched a wall and only the bellowing roar of the Emperor allowed her to regain her senses. It was so loud in her skull that she staggered, fingers flexing and reaching for her head as the voice faded. She dropped to her knees, thumping onto cold concrete and closing her eyes.
"A vision," she croaked, "Just a vision."
Taylor buried her head in her hands, dragging in a hoarse breath between her fingers as she waited for the hammering of her heart to slow, the feeling of ramming steel through flesh and bone still heavy and bright in her memory. Another time, she might have vomited. Might have wept. Another Taylor, an earlier Taylor, could have been consumed by remorse and terror at her own actions.
She wasn't that Taylor anymore. Her heartbeat slowed, her breath steadied and she rose to her feet, crushing down the nausea and the still-bubbling anger at herself, for being so stupidly reckless. Yes, Coil had attacked her Dad, but crucifying men on the street? There would surely be repercussions for that. It would set a precedent, but she wasn't sure it was a precedent that she wanted.
"Somewhere in your heart, you knew it was a vision. You overreacted, in some way," The Emperor said, calm and implacable, "Although that brings up interesting questions about Coil and how he would react."
'I knew it was a vision the moment I couldn't hear you. But Coil- if I'm taking part in his visions, I'm giving him false readings that put him off. It must happen in real-time as I experience it. Or his power is…compensating for me?'
Or maybe it just knew her reactions better than she did, but she didn't say that. She dressed quickly, glancing at the clock- four in the morning. Taylor gobbled down another nutrition bar, growling softly at the gnawing emptiness that remained in her stomach afterwards, and plunged out into the night. She might have prevented Coil from acting…or maybe he would react anyway. She couldn't protect her Dad and Tattletale at the same time and- and her Dad came first. Tattletale would understand, surely.
And even if Tattletale didn't…Taylor wasn't in this to make friends. Even if she regretted it, she spent the night perched on the roof of the abandoned house, glaring at the road through narrowed eyes and hidden by an enfolding illusion. Only when the sun had fully risen and the entire block was bathed in watery light did she rise from her position and stretch cramping muscles, rolling her neck and flexing her shoulders.
'Nothing,' she said, the first time she had communicated since settling on the roof hours prior, 'Nothing at all. I would have expected him to try again, to do something. He doesn't seem like the sort of man to just give up.'
"I would not call him the sort of man to throw good money after bad, either. His mercenaries have been badly battered, he cannot afford to hurl them away in some ill-advised attempt to gain leverage over you."
Taylor heard the Emperor out, rolling a hand over her face and sighing. The only good thing about the visions was that she had managed to get several hours of sleep before and in between- enough, she estimated, that she could manage the next few days on power-napping if need be.
'I guess you're right, but it feels anti-climactic. It's just not…what I would have expected.'
Taylor fell silent for a moment, slowly standing.
'I hope Tattletale is alright,' she admitted, just moments before her stomach growled. Taylor looked down at her midsection, a baffled expression crossing her face.
'Seriously? Those super-nutritious bars weren't enough?'
"Evidently not. If you intend to leave, I doubt Coil will make a move in the daylight. The Protectorate will be faster to respond and being seen to openly attack the families of other Parahumans will be a heavy blow to his image. He cannot afford to make enemies in such a way."
Taylor lingered, briefly reluctant to act and leave her Dad, but eventually the common sense of the Emperor broke through her concern and she retreated to her lair. She couldn't leave the place like this: fortunately, it was easy enough to disguise herself. She traded her armour for a long sleeved t-shirt, hoodie and jeans and then planted herself on her chair, gazing into the small mirror she had grabbed from her house several weeks ago. Initially meant as a way to check that she wasn't walking into her house splattered in blood, it would serve well enough to let her see the changes she was making.
Not that the changes would be physical. Theoretically possible, it was also far more effort than it was worth. No, an illusion would do. Properly constructed and anchored it would bend light itself, hiding her even from cameras. She stared into the mirror, focusing and calling on her power as her flesh reshaped itself. Her pitch-black hair changed colour, taking on a dull brown-blonde and hanging straighter than before, unruly curls hidden away. Pale skin darkened a few shades, becoming more a surfer tan, and her eyes changed to a non-descript hazel, unremarkable in every way. The wide mouth, narrowing just a little. The nose, shape altering. The cheeks becoming a little fuller, the chin and jawline softening until the girl staring back at her bore little resemblance to Taylor Hebert. Taylor gazed at herself in the mirror, momentarily distracted by the novel experience of seeing a stranger in her skin.
Her height she couldn't hide, but the bulk she was beginning to gain- she hid that, making herself look lankier, her clothes baggier. Nobody should notice unless they bumped into her, but even then the illusion would stand a good chance of hiding her. She looked down at her hands, fingers slowly curling before she sighed aloud, swiping her purse from the side and leaving the house at a brisk stride. The illusion was layered again, just long enough for her to leave invisibly, and then she was moving through the town at a rapid pace. She chose to walk to her destination: it was slower, but the fresh breeze and cool air brought a calmness to her and she liked to take the temper of the city. The city seemed peaceful, the fighting with Noelle limited enough that the vast majority of the populace were unaware of it. Taylor almost resented that, in a way. Browbeat, Regent, all the PRT Troopers…they had all died to save the people here, and they would never really understand it. It would be something in the past, some trifling concern that would pale in comparison to the ever-pressing demands of life. It wasn't fair.
But then, so many things weren't fair.
Taylor huffed through her nose and sped up, moving quickly through the main streets. There was still a chill in the air, the morning early, but already the city stirred. The criminals of the night had mostly retreated to their lairs, but there were always more. Pickpockets and muggers and thieves, the murderers in the Empire's ranks, the kidnappers of the ABB and the drug-smugglers and dealers of both gangs- and the Merchants who had scattered with their leaders dead. The city still seethed with the criminal element and, underneath, the tragedy of it. Addicts, the homeless, the abused and the desperate, so many left with no other choice. Taylor felt a flicker of empathy in her breast, breaking through the layers of apathy and tired unconcern that had begun to congeal within her. She wouldn't admit it, but she could see how easily someone could go sliding down the slope. How easy it would be to begin justifying atrocities as necessary. But those were darker thoughts for a brighter time, so Taylor picked up her pace and simply tried to enjoy the walk to her destination.
She came upon it quickly enough, the sign bold and bright and proclaiming for all to see: Fugly Bob's.
"That a burger restaurant is open so early in the morning is almost certainly a sign of the depravity of humanity," the Emperor stated, his tone light and teasing. Taylor chuckled softly.
'Now you're talking nonsense. Burgers for breakfast is so American that it might as well be in the Constitution.'
"You must have a very low opinion of the authors."
'If they didn't like burgers from here, they deserve that low opinion,' Taylor riposted, entering and taking an anticipatory breath of grease-smelling air. The café was empty, save for a few waitresses. Taylor secured a table and ordered a cheeseburger, mouth watering almost uncontrollably and stomach roaring with hunger. She paid, retreated to her table and went through the burger with frenetic, ravenous haste. It was gone in an instant and Taylor was left looking disconsolately at an empty plate.
'Well, one more won't hurt. Right?'
"Given the rate at which your augments are coming into effect, no. I would even encourage it. It's hard to get fat when you require and use resources at such a rate."
Well, never let it be said that Taylor Hebert was one to miss opportunities. She picked up another cheeseburger, smiling sheepishly at the knowing looks she received, and took her seat again. She ate more sedately this time, savouring the taste as she munched her way through the burger and a large portion of fries. One of the waitresses wandered over and Taylor struck up an amiable conversation with the woman, whose nametag proclaimed her to be 'Melissa'. Melissa was a pleasant woman, warm and friendly, and Taylor found herself enjoying the small talk more than she might have expected. She had to quickly make up an excuse for her early morning hunger- a quick story about being up all night working on a college project led into Taylor improvising an enthusiasm for taking apart toasters and microwaves in an attempt to improve them. It wasn't exactly the most riveting topic, but it steered the conversation away from dangerous waters and Taylor was quite happy to listen to Melissa ramble on about her family. They sounded very sweet, Taylor had to admit. The conversation only stilled when the TV in the corner of the room let out a tinny series of tones, the familiar opening credits of the Brockton Bay news. Melissa turned her head to the tv, Taylor cramming the last bite of her burger into her mouth as she followed suit. A brief check at her watch- nine AM. A bit early for a press conference, she thought as she saw the stage with the three figures upon it. Armsmaster, Myrddin and Chevalier. Well, this might be interesting.
"As I'm sure you're all busy, I won't keep you for long," Armsmaster began. Taylor bit her lip in thought. Armsmaster could be curt, yes, but he was usually better behaved for the press and he looked tired. It could be the lingering effects of Noelle, of course, but she could think of at least a couple of reasons for him to be exhausted.
"Slightly more than a day ago, Emma and Alan Barnes were murdered in their houses. Zoe Barnes identified the attacker positively, and the Brockton Bay Police Department determined that there was a strong likelihood of the identification being positive. I am speaking to you now because that identification was the civilian identity of the Hero, Circaetus."
Armsmaster said it all flatly, harshly, stating the facts in a growling tone. Taylor narrowed her eyes at the screen, a yawning pit opening in her stomach. Was he about to throw her under the bus?
"We have reason to believe that Circaetus has had her identity revealed, and that she fled from the police after they attacked her. While this is a plea for her to come home, it has a larger purpose," Armsmaster continued. He was unusually eloquent, something off about the pronunciation of his words despite the sharp, hard tone he spoke in. Almost like he was being dictated to, Taylor thought, and had to stifle a moment of inappropriate laughter at the thought of Armsmaster angrily reading from a slideshow in his helmet. Melissa had raised a hand to her mouth, although she looked more angry than distraught.
"How dare they accuse that girl," she whispered, something that drew Taylor's attention before Armsmaster stole it back.
"While the identification is likely truthful, the Protectorate can state with certainty that Circaetus did not commit the murders in question. At the time in question, a Parahuman threat had appeared in the city, with the ability to clone Parahumans that it was able to capture. We are certain that the murders were committed by a clone, rather than Circaetus, and therefore have no interest in taking her into custody."
Armsmaster glared around the room, as though daring anyone to question him. One of the gathered reporters did so, waving a hand in the air.
"How can you be certain? If the police department felt the evidence strong enough to attempt an arrest, how can you refute it?" he asked. Chevalier stirred, unfolding his arms and stepping forwards from his deadly straight stance.
"Mostly because Circaetus was fighting the threat alongside us at the time. Are there any questions that are more relevant to the issues at hand?"
The reporters buzzed and yelled, Chevalier cutting through the noise after less than a minute.
"Quiet!" he roared, voice raising to a bellow that sliced through the rabble. The reporters went silent immediately and Chevalier took a breath.
"I'll thank you to act like adults, not children. You, from the Brockton Daily- your question?"
'Surprisingly effective at shutting them up.'
"The tone was just right. Very well done," the Emperor agreed. The reporter from the Brockton Daily raised his voice to be heard, although it sounded weak and reedy after the stentorian shout Chevalier had just demonstrated.
"If Circaetus has been outed, what steps are the Protectorate and PRT taking to ensure that she is not subject to retaliatory actions?"
'Oh, that's a good one.'
Chevalier tilted his head for a moment, as though sizing up the man.
"As much as possible, we will provide a protection detail for her family, just as we would for a Protectorate member in the same circumstance. While not an official member, Circaetus is considered a close ally of the Protectorate and is entitled to much the same protections. As for Circaetus herself, I'd suggest that she provides plenty of reasons to avoid attacking her on her own."
A faint rumble of sycophantic laughter. Taylor rolled her eyes, although at least it was confirmed that her Dad would be protected. Maybe not as protected as if she made sure to make an example of someone, provided a fragment of her thoughts, but enough. For the moment. It had to be enough. Chevalier took a breath, the noise rasping through his helmet.
"While we would prefer that Circaetus come to us, we are willing to accept that she may prefer to avoid that. Therefore, we want to assure her that no action will be taken against her, although we do intend to pursue her clone before it is able to escape. Are there any other questions?"
A reporter from a paper Taylor wasn't familiar with was selected next, his question concerningly straightforward.
"If one of these clones escaped, how can we be certain that there aren't more? Is there a potential threat from numerous clones? How were they allowed to be created in the first place? And most importantly, how does the PRT intend to address the implications that Circaetus is entirely capable of committing murder?"
Chevalier and Armsmaster both looked at the man, blank stares that he cringed under, but Myrddin intervened.
"I can field this one," he said, his wise-man appearance somewhat at odds with his affable tone.
"I can confirm that, unfortunately, several Protectorate heroes were cloned. The clones in question were universally unstable, with our assessment being that they were universally suffering some form of anti-social personality disorder, presumably as a result of the cloning process. This also seemed to affect their intelligence, however, and only the single clone of Circaetus is believed to have had the intelligence to escape, although we are continuing search efforts in case there are any more. They were created because information is not perfect, and not all Parahumans can be accounted for, and we do not intend to address any slurs against Circaetus' character because there are none to make. Her clone was mentally compromised and has no reflection upon her. Are there any other questions- preferably less loaded?"
"Interesting that they chose to imply that the clones were brain-damaged. They were murderous, but they seemed to be mostly functional to me. Except ours, of course."
'Better to downplay it to avoid inciting a panic, I guess. Just a pity that one of ours had to inherit our status.'
"You think Luna is a Perpetual?"
'It's the only reason I can think of for her surviving. That's going to make it a bastard to stop her.'
"Time-lock, if we have any grenades left. Alternately, we can imprison her. She doesn't have our powers. Being buried in a concrete block will keep her contained for centuries."
'Cruel, but something to consider I guess. I wonder if we could escape a time-lock?'
"I suspect it would be contingent on whether we retain our minds during the lock. If so, we may be able to teleport free. On the whole, however, I would suggest not getting caught up in one."
Taylor let her attention drift away from the tv, recognising that there wasn't going to be much of use anymore. She vaguely heard the next questions- was the PRT going to inform the press of the actions they would take against the clones? And were there any more details about the Parahuman threat?
Quite predictably, the answers were 'not at this time' and 'no', but that had never dissuaded any decent press vulture. Still, Taylor had already lost interest. She took another bite of her burger, her attention caught by the waitress, Melissa. The woman was staring at the screen with her fingers clenched, and she jumped when Taylor cleared her throat.
"Are you alright?" Taylor asked, keeping her tone gentle. Melissa looked down, her fingers unclenching and a surprised expression drifting across her face.
"Oh. Yes, dear, thank you. I just…"
"Just what?" Taylor gently prompted, sensing that Melissa wanted to talk about something. The older woman sighed and sat down opposite Taylor, her hands twisting together in thought and a frown rumpling her brow.
"It was just, what they said about Circaetus. It caught be unawares, that was all."
Taylor raised an eyebrow, sneaking a quick bite of her burger. Melissa smiled at that, continuing while Taylor chewed.
"She saved my life, you know."
Taylor took another chew, swallowed quickly.
"Circaetus?"
Melissa nodded.
"It was just after that big fight at the PRT HQ. I was just walking along the street, and I saw her- well, plenty of us saw her. She was walking along the street too, and she looked tired. I could tell by the way she was walking, like she didn't really want to be moving. But when that bomb went off…she pulled us all close and kept the building off us. I would've been crushed if she wasn't there, and plenty of others would have been too. She could barely stand afterwards and she still ran into the buildings to try and save anyone else."
Melissa shook her head, her fingers still twisted together. Taylor watched her, wondering if she had nightmares about nearly dying. Taylor couldn't say she had that problem…when she had nightmares, her shared memories allowed them much better material than mere death. But it was enlightening, to see someone like this. It drove it home, she supposed, the good that she was doing. Melissa was a good person, affable and friendly and cheerful and she would have died if Taylor hadn't happened to be passing by. It sent a sick, sour anger through her, a railing against the cruelty of luck, but Taylor didn't let it show.
"And then they accused her of murder. I couldn't believe it when I first heard about it, on the radio. I'm glad that the Protectorate were so quick to let everyone know that it wasn't her."
Personally Taylor suspected that they hadn't had much choice: to keep it quiet any longer would risk losing Taylor as an asset, and Piggot was definitely smart enough to realise that Taylor wasn't going to shrug her shoulders and fall in line because of a few strong-arm tactics. Still, she appreciated the gesture from the Protectorate nonetheless.
"They must like having her around," Taylor muttered before smiling at Melissa, "And I'm sure she'd be glad to know how highly you think of her."
Melissa smiled.
"I hope so, dear. Is that all, or are you wanting more food?"
Taylor shook her head, still smiling.
"No, thank you. Thank you for the company, too," she said, paying and starting towards the door. Melissa waved a farewell after her, letting Taylor stroll out into the morning.
'So, I don't want to sound like a pessimist, but Coil has an escape tunnel. We need to cover that.'
"And you don't want to sound like an optimist, but you think you have a plan?"
'Something like that. You see those Merchants over there, lurking around the alleyway?'
The Emperor grunted in acknowledgement and Taylor moved quickly towards the alley, pretending that she didn't notice the three men. She passed them quickly, her stride arrogant and confident, and silently let her power diffuse through her flesh, ready and waiting. She was half-way down the piss-stinking alley when a cough sounded behind her. Taylor turned, barely hiding her victorious smirk, as two of the Merchants crowded into the alley behind her. They were twitchy, strung out: probably in withdrawal from something. Dangerous, to a normal person. Too paranoid. Too jumpy.
"Givus all yer cash!" the first one spat, shambling closer to her and waving a knife. The one behind had a pipe in his hand and seemed less of a mess, more coherent. Taylor stared at the first.
"What if I don't want to?" she asked, a morbid curiosity touching her. She wondered how he would actually respond.
The Merchant gave a gurgling snarl and jumped at her, knife stabbing at her chest. Poorly maintained as it was, the blade still parted her clothing until it met her flesh, the screech of metal on metal filling the alley as Taylor flexed her power and let her skin and muscle turn to metal. The Merchant stared uncomprehendingly for a moment before her forehead met his nose. Metal broke cartilage and the man collapsed, clutching his face and warbling in pain. Taylor vaulted the body before the slightly better put together man could react, pinning his weapon arm to the wall and popping a punch into his chin. The Merchant staggered and Taylor tapped a finger against his temple to send him into unconsciousness with the faintest touch of power, repeating the act against the first man before she reached out with a telekinetic claw. The third Merchant didn't even manage to react as the claw snagged him from his place watching the alley entrance and dragged him back, being treated the same as the other two.
"Three won't be enough."
'They have to be part of a larger crowd. Besides, we just need to give some directions, right? That can't be too hard,' Taylor replied, wrinkling her nose at the smell as she bent over the Merchant who'd seemed most put together.
'Now then,' she thought, peeling back an eyelid to look him in the eyes, 'Why don't we see what's in that mind of yours?'
With the Merchants and their friends enlisted as an impromptu roadblock for Coil, Taylor found herself at something of a loose end. She didn't really want to just loiter around, that left her mind far too open to questions like "Is it ethical to use drug addicts as a delaying tactic" or "Am I really willing to risk those people dying just to slow down Coil if he tries to escape", but right now she was a little out of things to do. Her armour was ready, her plan was in place.
She would attack at midnight, she had decided. There was no point in waiting any longer, she had managed to snag another mercenary while wandering through the city so that was enough. All she had to do was wait. Patiently.
Waiting patiently was not a strength of Taylor's. Happily, she was distracted by the buzz of her phone in her pocket, a text message coming through. Taylor patted through her pockets as she slowly meandered along the streets, carefully extracting the cell phone and checking it. A smile came to her lips as she saw who it was from: Theo Anders. A simple text, just a picture of an English essay with nothing more than a title and a single word: HELP. He probably didn't need any actual help, but maybe he just wanted to socialise.
Maybe he'd seen that she'd been outed and decided to try and distract her. Probably unlikely, but the possibility warmed the cockles of her heart. She let her feet carry her towards her home, replying to Theo as she went. Romeo and Juliet wasn't her favourite play in the world, but her Mom had been an English professor. She could debate on it, and if Theo was willing to talk about it to get her opinion on the essay he had to write…well, socialising was healthy.
Her only two friends were both friends with her Cape persona, not her civilian. Wow, that was depressing. Taylor let her phone hang in her hand as she bumbled along for a few more steps, briefly stunned by the revelation before she shook some sense back into her head. It wasn't that bad, right?
'Right?'
"I don't see that it makes any difference. Circaetus and Taylor Hebert are only different people to the public. If you've befriended someone as one, you can do so as the other."
'That's actually reassuring. Thank you.'
"I have my moments."
'Few and far between as they are. Hmm…the clone in the alley. I wonder if it's still there,' Taylor pondered, finally finding the source of a niggling discomfort that had been prickling at her since the day before. It wasn't as urgent as it once might have been, but she'd prefer to clean up her messes. Accordingly she changed her direction, striding through the streets as they began to stir around her, the city coming to life. Taylor mostly ignored it, moving steadily along, still thinking.
'So we need to deal with Coil, we can both agree on that. The armour's almost complete, so we can go tonight. The sooner the better. I'm thinking that we go in at midnight.'
"Midnight? An unusual time."
'I know that dusk or dawn is usually more traditional, but everyone knows that, so let's shake it up a bit. And given that our visions came at, like, three in the morning, Coil should be there- though we'll check first.'
"You aren't going to be subtle about this, are you?"
Taylor smiled bitterly, the faintest curve of her lips before she shook her head.
'No. No, I am not. We teleport in. We drop his mercs at full speed, and then we burst into his house and drop him. No torture, no gloating, no waiting, no prolonging it. Just a spear through the heart. No chances.'
"Good.
Good, Taylor reflected. Good, as though it was the only sensible thing. Maybe it was the only sensible thing, she supposed, even though it brought a frown to her face to consider that she was planning a murder. No surrender, no quarter, just a killing. But then, she was well past the point of pouting about it, wasn't she?
"If Coil does try to escape, who will you prioritise? Him, or the girl?" The Emperor asked, his tone level and questioning. Taylor scraped a boot along the ground for a step, thinking.
'The girl,' she said softly in reply, 'She comes first. She's the victim here, she needs to be rescued.'
The Emperor snorted, the sound reverberating around her skull and making her close her eyes in aggravation for a few steps.
'You disagree?'
"Coil is the more important objective. The girl has been his prisoner for weeks. Another few hours, a few days even, what do they matter? Coil is the one who kidnapped her. Coil is the one who lured us to Noelle. Coil is the one who used Raijin to kill Bakuda. Killing Coil matters more in the long run that saving the girl."
'The girl has a name,' Taylor responded, cold and quiet.
"So do all the people who will suffer if you allow Coil to escape through some misguided sense of righteousness," came the reply, the Emperor unwilling to simply leave her to it. Taylor paced on for a few more steps, left hand clenching in her pocket where it was hidden and teeth grinding.
'How can I just leave her? An innocent girl who's only fault was…was being kidnapped! They could have done anything to her, how can I just leave her?'
"Taylor," the Emperor said, his voice lowering, "I understand your desire to rescue the child. But it wasn't your fault that she was taken. And you must be ready to accept that she may not have been taken for any lingering purpose. You have to accept that she might already be dead, or as good as."
Taylor repressed her first response to that, and her second- though she suspected that the Emperor got the gist of them anyway- grinding her teeth more and clenching her fist until her nails bit into skin. The pain spilling from her palm ran to her head, centring her. Focusing her. Letting her think properly, instead of just reacting. And when thinking clearly she…she hated to realise what her thoughts were, but there was no point in hiding from them.
'I can't just leave her. But…'
"But?"
'But you're right, ok? You're right. You've got a point, more than a point! Coil needs to be killed and his death matters more than Dinah's life. Are you happy that I've admitted it?'
"No, Taylor. I'm not happy that I've forced you to confront something you didn't want to admit. But it would crush you far more to be hopeful only to let Coil escape to rescue a corpse."
Taylor didn't reply to that. What reply was there to make? Should she pointlessly protest that no, surely Coil- the man who had unleashed the monster Noelle- would not kill a child? No, it was useless. Instead she walked onwards, crossing a road in silence. She still tapped at her phone at infrequent intervals, maintaining her conversation with Theo about the metaphors and messages that could be teased out of Romeo and Juliet, but her heart was a little less in it.
"If I may offer more advice, Taylor, you should attempt to heal the Undersider Grue. If we are to make use of Tattletale's control over Coil's assets, we will need to make the transition as swift and smooth as possible. With this in mind, having Grue to provide her with muscle would be invaluable."
Taylor sighed.
'I know. We'll head to the hospital and give him a look over once it gets dark and visiting hours are over. Hopefully he won't be too heavily watched. With any luck, he'll have been put in there anonymously and we can just waltz in. But for the moment, we have a clone to find.'
Taylor tilted her head up and pocketed her phone as she approached her house and the alley where she had found the body of one of her clones, walking down and into the alley, fingers flexing and eyes straining into the dark.
There was no body in the alleyway, just a dented dumpster and smears of blood and Taylor swore softly as she peered down the narrow path.
'Someone's taken the clone. I wanted to check it over, see if there were any clues about where Luna might have gone.'
"Looking on the bright side, it isn't a risk to your identity anymore."
'That- well, I guess you're right. But c'mon. Read the room. It's weird that someone would steal my clone.'
"Perhaps they wanted to dissect it? To try and replicate the alterations made to it?"
'Good luck with that,' Taylor grumbled as she sneaked back out of the alleyway, 'They were all defective. Trying to make any of the transhuman enhancements work with a defective copy and current technology would kill everyone they tried it on.'
"Assuming that it doesn't fall into the hands of a capable Tinker."
Taylor whispered a breath in annoyance but didn't stop moving, pacing towards her lair with her power wrapped around her in a disguising cloak. She could see the police patrols, pacing around her house. She could see the hero within, probably standing guard for these first few days. And she could see her Dad, worried and tired and nervous all at once.
Taylor's heart suddenly ached, a thickness in her throat that she couldn't acknowledge as she turned away from the house and crept back into her lair. If she spent the next ten minutes huddled on her bed with her head clasped in her hands…well, that was her own business. She took slow, deep breaths, letting the chill, slightly damp air flow into her lungs and settle the pace of her breathing before she levered herself back to her feet and started towards her armour. She just needed to keep it together for a little longer. A little longer, and then she would be ready.
Infiltrating the hospital had been easy. Grue had been placed in Brockton Bay Central as John Doe, the PRT obviously wanting to hold to the unwritten rules by avoiding identifying him. As such Taylor stood over Grue, looking down at him. Emotion stirred in her chest and rose into her throat and Taylor tilted her head back, closing her eyes and letting the guilt run through her. It was like burning pokers and scarring acid, hard and hot and she wallowed in it, luxuriated in the mis-placed emotion before she pushed it aside and focused on the task at hand. Gentle as a falling tear she reached down, fingers brushing Grue's temples over the bandages, and fed power through him. A fractured skull, minor brain swelling, a concussion…Panacea could have healed those in an instant, had she not been injured herself. And, Taylor reminded herself, if Panacea was honest about her ability to affect brains. That lie still burned, the thought that Panacea would have let Browbeat die to preserve her lie if he could have been saved. The hypocrisy of calling herself a cure to all ills and- but this was no time for anger. She needed all her concentration to tease Grue back to health, slowly binding the skull, the brain returning to its proper shape, the fogginess being chased away. Taylor let it go, healing him, fractured bones in the rest of his body coiling and merging together with slow reluctance, returning him to health. It wasn't immediate, but she was done within perhaps a quarter of an hour, stepping back to admire her handiwork.
Grue opened his eyes, blinking foggily in the dark and Taylor brought a hasty hand to her lips, shushing him. His eyes went very wide as he saw her, but he didn't cry out and she offered him a smile.
"Don't move," she softly advised, "Healing a fractured skull isn't easy even with parahuman powers."
"Fr- fractured skull?" Grue wheezed, voice croaky and unsteady. Taylor nodded to him.
"My clone really worked you over. You're in Brockton Central, but Tattletale organised your release when you heal. Don't worry about that."
Grue blinked up at her- Taylor could almost see the thoughts, dragging themselves sluggishly through his mind. It was only to be expected, though, he had taken quite a nasty knock.
"You're not wearing a mask," he mumbled, eyes flickering across her face. Taylor looked down and him and shrugged, as nonchalant as she could manage.
"My clones weren't subtle. I got outed as soon as they ran around," she told him, "But don't worry about it. You're better off concentrating on getting better yourself."
She shot that last bit over her shoulder as she turned back to the window, moving almost soundlessly.
"Wait," Grue called after her, his croaking voice raised to a painful mockery of a shout. Taylor paused, sighing slightly and half turning.
"Yeah?"
"Why- why did you heal me? How did you heal me?" he asked. Taylor pursed her lips, letting a frown rumple her brow before she sighed.
"Because I needed to do something to make up for letting my clone run riot, and you're the one who needed it most," she told him.
She didn't answer the second part of his question, but she was out of the window and spreading her wings to the cool night air before he could even try to ask it again. It was almost time to set out.
Midnight was nearly upon her when Taylor roused herself from a brief nap and stood before her armour. Had she access to the resources of the Imperium, of a planet, of a country, even of a company she could have crafted a proper undersuit. She could have had options. But she had none of that, so she just pulled on the tightest top and trousers she could manage, moving in them and wincing at the cold stone on her feet. They didn't restrict her, at least, and so she turned to her armour.
Taylor dragged her fingers along the chest piece of her armour with slow reverence before peeling it away from the frame and laying it carefully on the bench. The white and gold had served her well and would continue to do so in the future, but for now…for now, less subtle means must be employed. She took a deep breath, lifting her arms around her and calling her telekinesis, raising herself into the air. Bereft of armouring stations or servitors, she made do with what she had, awkwardly manoeuvring her legs into the lower half of the armour and shifting until she was placed correctly, the armour not yet tight around her. A wave of her hand called the torso into the air, the heavy breast and back sections dropping over her head and into place, the weight on her shoulders pushing her down. Taylor slid her arms through the holes, flexible pseudo-muscle fibres moving and shifting as her hands snaked down to the ends before the upper-arm sections and the vambraces snapped into place, pauldrons the last to snap into place, the cocoon of power around her shifting to snap and click connectors into place, wires and clamps and pins that made the armour into a single whole, wrapped tightly around her. She drew in a breath and reached down, keying the small button near the hip, and the disparate armour pieces snapped together, the plate that covered the activation button sliding into place with a pneumatic hiss as the hum of the power pack filled her workshop, electric tendrils sliding up and down her spine and raking through her head as she made the psychic connection with the armour that would allow it to move almost as she did. Pain raked through her head as the connection was made and Taylor bent with a grunt of pain, armoured hands clawing at her face for a moment before the pain faded, vanishing as though it was never there, even the remnant fuzz fading down to a steady beat, mimicking her heart. Taylor let the gauntlets on her hands grind into place, covering her in a protective sheath, with only one piece of armour left to place. One piece. The most important.
Slowly she reached out for her helmet, marvelling in the smoothness of her motion, the armour pseudo-muscles lightening the load until she could barely feel it. Perhaps half a second of delay in the armour motions, enough for her to notice but not enough to overcome the sheer protection and power the suit offered and becoming less severe by the moment as she grew used to it, the pulse in the back of her head and behind her eyes settling into place. There was still some delay, the mediocre materials limiting her, but it was ready. Her hands were steady and controlled as she lifted the helmet from the bench and settled it into place, clamps cracking into place around the neck to hold it there. The quiet hiss of the atmospheric seal was the last thing her unguarded ears heard, the world tinged red through hardened visor, and Taylor smiled. Now, she was ready. She closed her eyes and let her wings form behind her, ethereal feathers needing no gap to pass through ceramite plating, and flexed her arms. A moment of thought before her hands flashed in a quick motion, fists whipping out and feet dancing as she shadow-boxed, getting another, better feel of the armour before she nodded in satisfaction.
It was time.
She held out her hand and a staff drifted into it: not her chain-glaive, completed though it was. The glaive was completed but crude, power thirsty and loud, prone to breaking down. Unsuitable. In it's place Taylor had quickly altered one of her replacement staffs, wood bound with metal at each end. She looked at it and concentrated, power whispering along her arms, and smiled as she saw the translucent blade, almost a spear-tip, appear at the top of the blade. She raised it and brought it slashing down, a gash opening in the air. Every colour she could name swirled within, every colour she could name and uncountable others that she could not, and Taylor stepped into the Warp with steady stride.
They were all there. Taylor lay flat on a roof, wings tucked close and low behind her as she assessed Coil's base. They were all there, she could feel them. Sixteen mercenaries, a small group but Coil probably considered it enough given that nobody should know that this place existed. Coil himself, near the centre.
And a quieter, younger mind that smouldered with dull despair. It sank into Taylor as she touched that mind, crawling through her bones and chilling her blood and Taylor took a moment to drink it in, to taste the complex flavour of true, utter despair before she excised it from her soul and let it drift away into the Warp, just a memory.
'He's in there. Well, no time like the present.'
Taylor shuffled back and slowly rose, cutting another portal and stepping into the Warp. She began to walk along a path made solid only for her as she focused, collecting herself and fastening her mind to the minds of the mercenaries that she had primed in the days before, locator beacons for her. She found them, saw through their eyes, heard through their ears before she dragged herself away. Slowly her stride accelerated, from a walk to a jog to a slow run, still accelerating, and Taylor hit a full sprint a moment before the Warp opened before her and she leapt into the control room, wings spread and staff in hand.
She hit one of the mercs she hadn't brainwashed first, feet slamming into his chest and knocking him into the wall before the cries of alarm even began to sound. A pulse of ethereal power rippled from her frame and the two mercenaries she had primed fell like puppets whose strings had been cut, leaving her with three left.
Her staff slammed into an unarmoured jaw. Two left.
A twist of her wrist and a flick and a psychic tendril caught a man by the leg and used him to swat the other, both falling before she tossed them on top of the first she had hit A brief check to make sure that none of them were in danger of dying, and Taylor ensured they were all unconscious with fluttering psychic sparks before she rose again, glancing over the cameras to check that nothing was amiss.
Six in the control room. Six on patrol through the corridors, moving in pairs. Six on break in what looked like a lunchroom. She must have arrived just after shift change she realised, a thin smile crossing her face at her good luck. She left the control room and set out, fully intending to waste no time. She'd go through the lunchroom, but the patrolling group…those she could leave unless they saw her, she decided.
Taylor hit the lunchroom door at a run, an armoured juggernaught that couldn't be stopped by ordinary metal or wood, crashing through with no regards to subtlety or patience. One mercenary was in her way and the impact of her pauldron hurled him aside, brushing him away like grass in the wind with bones crunching beneath the impact. The others were fortunate and they were fast, far enough away that they could react in time- for as much good as that would do them. Lasers whined and cracked but didn't pierce her armour, the thick ceramite plates proof against them and Taylor plunged into the knot of men, fist and spear swinging. Three fell before her, scattered by her blows before the last turned to run: Taylor reached out and caught him by the back of his uniform. Servos whined and pseudo-muscles strained for a moment before they found purchase and Taylor could lift him from the ground and use him as a flail, crashing him into the last of his comrades and leaving them both crumpled as she pressed on, her task suddenly urgent. She had been rash, the laser-fire a chance of alerting the base, but she was close. So nearly done, so close to Coil, so she set his location in her mind and continued at a sprint.
Interlude: Coil
The first that Coil- for he was truly Coil, Thomas Calvert had been dead since Ellisburg- knew of an attack on his base was the bleeping of an alarm on his desk, shrill and insistent. He looked to it and slapped it with his palm, a frown crossing his face without his bidding. An alarm that detected laser discharges in his base was excessive, by most standards- and certainly it tended to be set off by horseplay more than by any threat- but paranoia was merely a standard in his line of work. A touch of the button and the second computer screen on his desk flickered, tapping into cameras to show…to show six of his men, fallen in the canteen.
A lightning bolt of fear tore through him, training keeping it at bay as Coil tapped at buttons and tried to track whatever had attacked him. His heart beat painfully hard as he saw the infiltrator, sweat breaking out across his suddenly chilled flesh and his stomach churning.
Circaetus. Dressed differently to be sure, her armour replaced with a heavier, bulkier make, but the wings and the eagle on the chest were unmistakeable. She was here. She was here, in his base, storming towards him with frightening speed and implacable determination. Coil didn't hesitate. A smack at another button drew the attention of his last men, directing them to cut the vigilante off, and Coil himself stood.
The timeline split.
In both timelines Coil reached into his desk and pulled a pistol free, a laser weapon that he was familiar with, more powerful than those he afforded his men if built along much the same lines. In the first timeline Coil turned on his heel and ran, fleeing through his escape tunnel towards the dubious safety of Brockton Bay, deciding not to contest the day. He ran through the tunnels, breath coming short as he moved and silently glad that he had kept up with his PRT training. Once he was clear he could detonate the base, catch Circaetus in the blast, perhaps flee the city. His plans had been set back, but not defeated. He could always win.
The thoughts of vengeance and victory were still churning in his chest as he emerged into the badly lit night and the first bullet slammed into his chest. Coil staggered back, his costume too thin to provide any solid protection and three more shots were fired, two missing. The last hit his chest again and Coil felt his ribs snap and shatter, pain bright and choking and blood frothing in his throat as the filthy Merchant leered at him through a mouthful of rotten and broken teeth, the laser pistol falling from his hand as he tried to lift it and the…dark…closing…
In the second timeline Coil ran for Dinah, his pet. She was close by, closer than Circaetus, and he needed answers. Answers she could provide, especially when there was no way out. He burst into her room and dragged the small girl to her feet, his grip bruising on her thin arm and all pretence of gentleness discarded. He let go of her arm once she was on her feet, just long enough to catch her a ringing slap across the face that puled her attention to him.
"What are the chances that I can use the escape tunnel to get away from here?" he demanded, fingers closing on her arm again, digging into flesh. Her eyes shone with fear and pain but he didn't relent, shouting the question again and shaking her with brutal force.
"Twenty- twenty percent," she stammered, her voice warbling with pain before she blinked and shook her head, tears beginning to fall as she spoke again.
"Ei-eighteen percent."
Coil swore. The timeline split again.
In the first he abandoned her, sprinting for the tunnel again. He bolted down it as fast as he could, moving with speed borne of fear and he burst into the night already firing. Laser pulses burst in the darkness, flesh burning and bursting under the impact and Coil yelled in senseless triumph, staggering as a bottle smashed into the side of his head but he was alive, alive and pain bloomed in his chest, his feet leaving the floor. His head tilted back just enough to see the blank, vaguely knightly helm of Circaetus before her other hand closed on his skull and squeezed and…and…
In the second timeline he tightened his grip on Dinah and dragged her back, ignoring her fear and her struggles to haul her to his office. When she struggled he struck her again, whipping the pistol across her mouth in a blow that stunned her long enough for him to drag her into the office, hiding behind the desk. It was easy enough to move her slender, emaciated form, but it made her a poor choice of human shield. Once there she shook her awake again, holding her in front of him.
"What are the chances that I can kill Circaetus?" he demanded, voice lifted to a roar. Eyes that had dulled with addiction gazed at him and he repeated his question, screaming it at her, and she slumped in his grip, mouth moving slackly, words so low that he barely heard her.
"Three percent."
Three percent? Three percent? His pet must be wrong, must be wrong, that couldn't be right. No, no. The armour. He needed to think. He needed time, even if unfamiliar panic was acid in his throat and clawing at his guts.
"What are the chances that I will survive if I use you as leverage with the Merchants?"
"Twelve… percent," whispered his pet Seer, tears already streaming down her face from the pain and the confusion and he snarled aloud.
"And if I use you with Circaetus?"
"Si…si…sic..."
Her sobs were painful and wracking, her whole frame shuddering with every rasping breath and Coil knew that he was pushing her too hard but he didn't care. She could be replaced, and so he let go of her arm long enough to drive a blow into her stomach, another into her chest with the pistol and he slammed the barrel of the gun against her head, grinding the barrel painfully into sensitive skin.
"What is it?" he bellowed, and she forced herself through the pain to whisper the answer.
"Sixteen percent."
Sixteen percent. Four in twenty-five. Poor odds, but better than he'd gotten yet.
The timeline split.
In the first he shoved Dinah away, into the middle of the room, and crouched behind his desk. The door to the room exploded from it's hinges, torn from the wall by some cataclysmic impact as Circaetus strode in, her helmet fixed on Dinah. He rose with pistol hissing, bursts of fire whipping across the room and bouncing uselessly off her armour, scoring the plates but no more than that. He saw her turn, saw the crimson eyes of the helmet lock onto him before her free hand rose and twisted and he screamed as his bones broke and flesh twisted, tearing him apart.
In the second timeline he remained behind the desk, Dinah hauled uncomfortably into the air before him. He tapped hastily at his computer with the hand that still held his pistol, the other occupied with Dinah. Even though she slumped in his grasp, a limp marionette without any holding her strings, he dared not let her go. The door burst from the hinges and Circaetus strode in, staff in hand and tipped with a translucent blade, her armour creaking and whirring around her. In her left hand was a laser rifle, one from his men: she tossed it to the ground with magnificent contempt.
Taylor Hebert, he reminded himself in an attempt to see her as just another brash child, but he couldn't convince himself. Not with the armoured monstrosity there before him, wings the colour of fresh blood spreading broad and sharp behind her hulking armoured frame.
"Coil," she said, her voice as cold as winter and sharp as the Arctic winds, "Let her go."
The timeline split. In one Coil remained still, Dinah raised before him. In the other he lunged left, away from Circaetus and towards the beckoning rifle and the blade cut through his spine and toppled him, paralysed and staring helplessly at the floor as a heavy boot began to press on his skull.
The timeline shattered.
Another spun, his pistol coming up. Shooting at the head, the eyes, the shoulder, the knee, the chest, all of them treated the same, the glowing blade punching through him as she ignored his attacks, turning his body from a thinking, living machine to a discarded mass of meat.
The timelines were discarded for the other, the second, all of them the same.
In that timeline Coil remained still, mind churning desperately.
"We don't need to fight, Circaetus," he said, desperate for some way to dissuade his merciless executioner, "We can come to an agreement. We can find a way to both get what we want. You can get what you've come for."
Circaetus laughed, a chilling noise that sounded almost metallic through her helmet.
"What I've come for, Coil? I've come for the girl- and for your head."
The roiling fear in his gut solidified, freezing into a dragging, clogging lump that momentarily choked his breath and deadened his tongue. He fought his way past it, licking his lips and keeping his voice as level as he could.
"You can have the girl, Circaetus, but I'm quite attached to my head."
The timeline split.
In one Coil threw Dinah at Circaetus and turned to run, trying to escape. The blade took his head in a single blow, searing through meat with terrible force and he blinked, back to the stand-off, his arm around Dinah and his pistol pressed into her head.
The timeline split.
Coil leapt for his desk, hand reaching for the button that would initiate the self-destruct, fingers stretching, and a hand closed around his skull and drove his head into the unyielding metal with brutal force. Hard bone met harder steel and the timeline lasted just long enough for Coil to feel his skull shattering.
He stayed frozen, limbs paralyzed by the understanding that he wasn't fast enough. Wasn't fast enough. Wasn't strong enough. Only his words could possibly save him from Circaetus. She was watching him now, her spear low by her side and ready to lunge, helmet fixed on him.
"If you kill me," he said, voice coming steadier and smoother than it should ever have been able to given the dryness that rasped at his throat, "This city will fall into chaos."
"Oh?" Circaetus asked, her head tilting. There was amusement in the metallic grating now, something like a playful cruelty and Coil felt a rush of relief, a spearing lance of hope that splintered the fear and tore the deadness in every limb to tatters.
"The Empire Eighty-Eight," he started, sure that he could draw her attention with that, "I have all of their names. And if I don't input the correct codes every week, all of those names will be released. Every name. You know what they will do if they are outed."
"It would be chaos," Hebert mused, her tone thoughtful, "But you'll have to do better than that to save yourself."
Coil swallowed hard.
"The girl. You can have the girl, and the list of names, to do whatever you like with them. And I'll leave Brockton Bay and never return."
Circaetus took a slow step towards him, her helmet still fixed on him. Coil kept the gun pressed tight against Dinah's head and blinked the sweat from his eyes, knowing all too well how fast Circaetus could be.
"Still not enough."
"Then what do you want? What do you ask for?" he demanded, even his façade of calm beginning to break. Circaetus nodded to herself.
"The Undersiders. A bonus for them- because I know you've been paying them- to make up for Noelle. And the same for the PRT. And then- then, I'll let you go."
Coil could have sobbed with relief, but he kept his face grim, hidden under the tight mask. His body language remained still, he knew better than to just trust her. But then, Circaetus was a hero. She would be too easy to manipulate, too trusting and too naïve. He knew it. Even his pet Tattletale had confirmed that Circaetus put stock in honour, in truth, in loyalty. Foolishness, but foolishness that could save him now.
"You will let me go free? You swear it, on your honour?" he demanded. Circaetus waved her free hand in a last motion.
"On my honour."
Coil thought for a moment, but he knew he didn't have the time to think it out. He made his choice.
The timeline split.
Coil let pushed Dinah towards Hebert and trusted in Circaetus' honour, the girl slapping into Circaetus and an armoured arm closing protectively around the girl.
The blade pierced his heart and spitted him like a sucking pig.
The second timeline and Coil pressed the gun in harder, pulling the trigger in one last, paranoid act of defiance. The trigger clicked uselessly and suddenly his arm was torn aside, Dinah being dragged across the room and to Circaetus, an armoured arm wrapping protectively around the girl.
The blade pierced his heart and spitting him like a sucking pig.
Taylor
Taylor pressed Dinah against her armour, hiding Coil from the girl as she pulled the blade free, leaving him without support. The wound was cauterised by the roiling energy forming the blade, but Coils heart was gone, blood no longer pumping, brain already failing, eyes misting: his last words slipped, croaking and wavering, from his lips as he fell.
"Your…honour…"
"Honour? It's just a word that people like you use to pretend nobility and to imagine that they aren't monsters. And only a fool lets a snake bite twice," Taylor said aloud, keeping Dinah pressed against her, face pushed into her armour to hide her. "Don't look, Dinah."
The girl didn't listen, wriggling around to stare at Coil as he reached out a wavering hand, fingers clawing at the ground like dying worms before they fell still, the final breath gurgling slowly from his throat. Taylor could feel Dinah shaking, feel the relief and the disgust and the pain that wracked her and she gently touched her fingers to Dinah's forehead, smoothing away the worst of the pain with the softest touch of power before she pulled the girl back into her, letting Dinah press her face against ceramite plate as she shook with sobs.
Coil was dead, his soul fleeing his body and vanishing into the aether, but Taylor was in no mood to take chances. She needed to leave some evidence, but only some. She raised her staff in one hand, the translucent blade forming again before she drove it into Coils' neck. An effort of will and the blade widened, flattened out to slice through bone and flesh. Taylor lifted her staff again and drove it into the ground, manifesting an identical blade on the other end to make the hole before she let it dissipate, the staff fixed there. She kept Dinah pressed against her as she bent to the head and lifted it, impaling it on the staff and leaving it there in grisly reminder. A snap of her fingers and warp-fire consumed the body, consigning Coil to ashes and dust. Taylor let her hand fall and looked down at Dinah.
"Can you walk?" she asked gently. Dinah swayed on her feet, eyes squeezed closed and face still pressed against Taylor, so Taylor nodded and scooped her up into a bridal carry, letting the small girl bury her face in the junction between neck and pauldron. She held Dinah close, small sobs shaking the girl, and set off. Away from the charnel house. Away from the memories.
It was a quiet walk out of the base, broken only as Taylor freed an arm from carrying Dinah and rotated her wrist to gain access to the small screen on the inside of her left vambrace, a thin ceramite plate sliding back to allow access to the control screen. She used the screen to quick-dial Tattletale, making use of the wireless connection she had installed into her helmet to use the phone without needing to remove her protection- the only thing she had managed to install into her helmet, truth be told, though it was useful in its own way, a good foundation for more.
"Tattletale? Your employer is dead. If you want to pick up the scraps I'd move fast and bring some muscle. Good luck."
"You won't be waiting there?" Tattletale asked, rushing the question out before Taylor disconnected. Taylor paused.
"No," she said with finality, "I have a child to return to her parents."
Taylor disconnected before she got another answer, continuing on out of the base and into the cold night air where she could spread her wings and sweep into the sky. After all, what else was there to say?
Dinah's parents were staying with the Mayor, Taylor knew, and she hoped they would still be awake. She knew where the Mayor lived, a comparatively short flight away, and she used the time to smooth away some of the trauma and the addiction that wracked the skinny, underfed girl who clung to her and shuddered with every breath. She couldn't take it all away, but she could help. She hoped it would be enough.
It was an easy enough thing to hide herself to pass the outer wall of the house- more a mansion, really- and land at the doors. Taylor sighed and tucked Dinah more carefully into herself, awkwardly angling the small teenager and raising a hand to hammer on the door.
Three heavy knocks, ringing resoundingly on wood. It was quickly answered, a dapper man opening the door and looking at her with an expression of confusion that quickly turned to shock as he saw Dinah.
"If the Alcott family are in," Taylor said, keeping her voice level and gentle, "I have something for them."
It was only minutes later that two voices cracked the air, a man and a woman crying out in unison.
"Dinah!"
Taylor smiled beneath her helmet, just a little sad as they ran to her, both weeping unashamedly. She had soothed Dinah to sleep while they waited and now she carefully passed the child to her parents, watching with a sorrowful eye as they sobbed over their rescued child.
"She wasn't fed very well and I suspect that she was drugged, but she'll recover," Taylor told them. Mrs Alcott looked at her, eyes red with tears and a smeary smile on her face.
"I can't- I can't thank you enough, how did you-"
"Detective work and luck, ma'am, and you don't need to thank me for that," Taylor replied, before she turned.
"Wait!" called Mrs Alcott, and Taylor half turned. For a moment she wondered what the woman saw her as. An Angel perhaps, a figure in crimson red and matte grey and splatters of blood with a lost child in her arms? Not an image Taylor had ever wanted to take.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Alcott, but there's always more to do. And I have a family to get back to." Taylor softly told her, before the Warp opened before her and welcomed her back.
She emerged close to her house, slowly walking back towards it. Her Dad was still awake, she could feel, and mingled hope and worry twisted in her breast at the thought of seeing him.
'You aren't going to remark on my opinion of honour?' she asked, mainly to distract herself. The Emperor hummed softly, something deep and dark inside his mind that just feathered at the edges of her conscious.
"Stand among the ruins of a shattered empire, Taylor, and ask the dead what their honour brought them. The silence you receive is more than answer enough."
Taylor looked down, a slow nod curving her head before she raised it again, striding towards her door. A familiar figure limped out, clad in vaguely Greek armour and plaster casts.
"Circaetus," Dauntless called, though he kept his voice soft. His gaze measured and assessed, but he merely nodded to her as he drew close.
"You've decided to come home," he stated, eyes keenly assessing. Taylor nodded stiffly, suddenly tired. So very tired.
"I had a man to take care of first," she said, quiet and uncaring of judgement. He nodded.
"The man who led to your outing?"
"He wouldn't have stopped there," she said, "But now…we came to an agreement. He won't cause any more trouble."
Dauntless looked at her, at her armour and her wings and the blood and then he smiled, teeth glinting through his helmet.
"Good," he softly, "Good. I'm pleased to hear it."
A single step to his side and a jerk of his head, the PRT Troopers at the doorway stepping aside to clear a path.
"Go on. Your Dad's waiting."
Taylor nodded to him and slowly walked into the house. Over the creaking step, through the doorway, wings folding to fit through the narrow hall and she was in the living room, hands coming up to work latches and pop seals. She let her helmet fall just as her Dad turned to her, his eyes widening and his emotions a sudden song in her chest as he rose to his feet.
"Taylor?"
What did he see of her, she wondered, in the knightly armour and the wings like a blood-drenched angel, but she put that thought aside.
"Dad."
He didn't pause, coming to her in a sudden movement to clasp her in his arms, his limbs just long enough to wrap around her armour and Taylor choked suddenly, tears springing into her eyes as she wrapped her arms around him in turn, her head tilting down and the weight of the past days crashing down on her. So many things to say, so many things to do, but for the moment Taylor could pretend that none of them mattered.
For the moment, she could pretend that she was free.
For the moment, she could let herself hug her Dad and imagine that everything was ok, that everything would be ok.
And for the moment, that was good enough.
Merry Christmas, y'all.