Quest Chapter 29: Ripper 1, a 3x3 eyes fanfic

After the winter break, I thought they'd leave me alone.

Nonetheless, I felt a bit of dread when I found the trio in front of my locker. There was a strange smell coming from it, like ash.

They weren't the only students crowding the hallway, but only those three spent so much time bullying me.

When they turned to me, smiling as if there was something funny, I flinched.

Emma started: "Taylor, how was winter break?"

My hands tucked in my pants, a question like that sounded like a joke whose punchline I was supposed to know.

Sophia stopped me from my musings: "Yes, Taylor, tell us what you did this winter break."

"We'll be late for class, please, can you do this another time?" I pleaded.

I knew my words would rile them up even more, but it wasn't like they'd change their idea.

Madison eyed me from her position, tilting her head: "Oh, so worried about class, as someone would miss her. We know this isn't about being a good student."

I stopped, what were they talking about?

Smirking, my ex-best friend Emma said in a mocking whisper: "She thought they wouldn't catch her."

I felt my skin shivering, what were they planning? I hurried to my locker, I opened it and I coughed. It was filled with ash, and on top of it was a darkened piece of wood with holes.

I could see it was what remained of my mom's flute, the memento I held on at the start of the bullying campaign.

They stole it from me, and apparently, they burned it.

My eyes were burning, I tried to turn myself to pointlessly ask what was the meaning of all this when somebody shoved me inside the locker.

I was trapped, I didn't have the space to turn around, and when they closed it I felt my heart pummel. I tried to move but I felt my legs scraping against something. It was a scalpel, black and bloodstained.

I shouted: "Let me out, let me out!"

For minutes, there was only laughter. When I couldn't hear anything else, my voice was already dry, and I felt like sand was rubbing on my throat.

I couldn't move, or the dirt would rise, but at the same time, I was too big and was it too crumpled to stay comfortably still.

My head burned, my skin was cut by other metals in the garbage.

I didn't even have the reach to open my bag and drink.

I cried: "Help!"

Only silence answered me.

I eyed what remained of the flute, I was just so done.

Nobody helped me, I heard someone stopping to open a nearby locker and then rushing out of the way. "It wasn't fair…"

My left hand stretched towards the flute, I bent down as much a possible.

If I was going to be left here, I wanted to be closer to mom.

I touched it with my fingers, I hit my head against the cold metal.

I felt so stupid.

I finally managed to take it in my hands, but it was crumbling. I hit my head again, and I felt more cuts on my legs.

On my hand, was only charcoal.

I stood still for a moment, dazed off when I felt memories, visions coming to my mind.

I, we were different, smaller, unborn. We just wanted to return to our mom, to live, but they stopped us.

We killed and we killed, always trying to reach that warm place, we lived on the street, we ate those that wronged us, until finally, a man with strange powers, that we're sure he wasn't a cape, trapped us and killed us.

Then we had an even foggier memory, that of a war full of enemies, people of legend I/our big-self recognized from stories our Mom told us.

We had a Mom! And we lost her.

The flute…

I had gained powers/we were summoned, but we never wanted this to happen like that.

It was their fault!

We kicked the locker out, and we breathed the fresh air. The light blinded us momentarily.

One of the girls left to guard me bleached at my sight.

"Where are they?" we asked.

She quickly pulled out her phone, but we struck it with a knife.

"We need to know where are they," we stated, clenching our trusty black dagger.

I/our big self didn't want to kill her.

She pointed towards my left. It was right, they had a class there at the moment.

One more step and we would punish them.

No, I couldn't. I didn't want to kill them.

They wronged us!

I/we felt our control slipping, I was officially getting crazy, the whispers/our voice didn't reach our big self.

We needed time to think about what happened.

A white strand of hair fell on our face, another of our Mom's things we lost. We liked her hair so much.

We ran to the nearest bathroom.

We weren't Taylor Hebert anymore.

We were smaller, we had baby fat on our cheek, our hair was half black and white, we didn't need glasses, our eyes were light brown bordering on yellow, the pupil was slitted.

The mouth was still too wide, and our eyes were big, but childishly.

My clothes were too big for me, and the knives we were unconsciously playing with made us look dangerous.

With quick action, we slashed the clothes, and we materialized a dirty cloak to cover ourselves.

Their/ our wide-self's outfit was indecent, but we didn't want to risk being hampered by clothes.

I didn't look like I was, but it was closer to us.

We at least were recognizable, we weren't some of those case 53s, but we were outed.

I/our big self wished that our Dad would be alright.

They/our wide self never cared much about our dads before, they were just the ones who seeded our mom.

But our Dad cared for us, he was simply broken and he was feeling the loss of our mom as much as we did.

We opened the door of the bathroom and we run to the entrance when a wispy and transparent gas converged before us.

It turned into a girl of my/our big self's age, who was wearing a heavy voluminous black cloak and a mask that took the visage of a woman with a stern expression. We wanted to materialize our knives, but we refrained.

She might have been an ally, after all.

She fired a razor-sharp bolt, and only thanks to our agility we managed to evade in time.

A small drop of blood fell to the ground, she had cut our cheek!

We threw three of our scalpels, but she predictably turned to gas again.

She shot with the other crossbow, but we already moved to dodge it.

We sprinted against her, hoping to catch her off guard, but she simply vanished in the wall.

She was outside, waiting for reinforcements or for us to come out.

But why did she attack us?

They/our wide self was maybe a serial killer, the memories were too foggy to be sorted out at the moment, but nobody should know it.

Or maybe it was because we looked like the daughter of Jack Slash and the Siberian, which was pretty ironic in itself.

In any case, we concealed ourselves and went out of a window.

The 'hero' was in a sniping position on a tree, and it would be easy to attack her from behind.

PRT agents were surveying the area, and from afar we could see Armsmaster in his iconic motorbike, with Miss Militia at his side.

It felt so strange, seeing all the heroes there for us.

We hadn't even done anything yet.

Shadow Stalker returned to her gas form and flew down to meet them.

We quietly walked closer to hear what was going on.

Armsmaster started: "Shadow Stalker, did you engage the new trigger?"

"She fucking attacked one of the students, she's known to be a troublemaker. In her locker were some of the tools found in the clinic," she replied.

The clinic?

Miss Militia shook her head: "How did someone like her gain access to those materials?"

I didn't like the Ward's tone. It was ticking off all of our nerves, it was condescending and angry.

"Beats me. Maybe she was one of the clients. She's known to be a bit of a bad apple," she lied brazenly.

She reminded me more and more… No fucking way.

How did somebody like her become a Ward?

I/our big self had heard of a fight in ABB territory, near one of their 'clinics'.

We lunged, our knives cut her hands and her stomach, making her drop her weapon.

The coward got behind the two members of the Protectorate.

Miss Militia angled her weapon, an assault rifle, against me, while Armsmaster started muttering about M/S protocols and pointing his halberd against me.

"You can't protect her! She and her friends did this to us!" we shouted.

We were being surrounded, but they didn't have any resistance to our Mist.

Not that I/our big self wanted to kill them… Our head was hurting.

The Tinker ordered: "Stand down. You assaulted two people with your powers already. Do you have another associate with you?"

We pointed our right knife to Shadow Stalker, Sophia, who was pissed.

We shouted: "She attacked us, we were getting out of school and she attacked us. And she was the one who stuffed the locker with the ash and scalpels. And she was the one who ruined our Mom's memento!"

We felt adrenaline rushing through our body ready to plunge and eviscerate.

No killing, no killing.

Why not? Head hurts. My hands touched our head, it was too much.

A yellow glob hit my legs, then the torso, and finally covered the head.

It was dark, we couldn't move.

The sounds outside were muffled, we choked.

We were trapped, again!

A fickle light started to burn until it became a little flame on our hands. The lantern of London was our only chance.

They/our wide self found leverage to use our knives, and we started cutting the foam around us.

We found ourselves in the Mist, a light chuckle escaped our lips.

We could never be a hero with our abilities: people were fumbling around coughing and blind, Miss Militia was trying to stay up, leaning on a long sniper rifle.

Her bandana, an American flag, was dirtied by her spit and some blood.

Armsmaster was the only one standing upright, he had a breathing mask incorporated in his helmet.

Some of the troopers had tried to use gas masks, but theirs hadn't worked.

The Protectorate leader cried: "Stand down, and release this fog!"

We didn't answer, our target was in front of us, fizzling in and out of the fog.

Sophia was looking pathetic, and most of all she looked scared.

We were in front of her in less of a second.

It would be so easy to strike her down like she tried to do to us.

But was it the right thing to do?

Taylor Hebert wanted simply to be left alone, and Jack the Ripper… what did they/our wide self want?

We were alive, and a part of us lived with our mom for a while.

She was dead, but we still had our dad.

We had but a moment to dodge the blade behind us.

"Stay away from Shadow Stalker!"

Armsmaster's gaze slowly followed our position.

Fucking tinkers.

Dad was more important than this.

We lifted our Mist and ran home, burning away our face from their memories.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

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Jan 19, 2020

#20

We were fast, that was for sure.

Our agility was awesome, jumping roof to roof was so exciting.

Though we weren't as strong as a Servant as just using the Mist had drained us a lot.

We were starting to feel woozy, and a bit hungry. We had to eat ice cream at home.

And think about what to do about our life. Lots and lots to do.

We turned the final corner and… the PRT was here.

We were an idiot, idiots, whatever! Of course, they'd take dad! As if siding with Sophia was enough!

Circling the ignorant troopers, we entered through the open door.

For a moment, we were scared that the rotten step of the porch would alert the others, but our Concealment worked in our favor.

Dad's voice reverberated on the old walls. "My daughter has never been to that place! She always went to sleep early. You founded the journal, and I-! She was bullied!"

Our heart skipped a beat.

They discovered the journal, where I/our big self wrote all the harassments, insults, hate mails sent to me/us.

It wasn't proof, not good enough for the Winslow administration.

We hated that, our plight being ignored.

Inside the kitchen were Dad, Assault, and Battery. All of them were sitting on those old wood chairs we spent many dinners on.

The heroine waited for a moment for my Dad to calm down, then she said: "Mr. Hebert, I understand. We will consider this. But your daughter threatened a classmate and then attacked a Ward. Armsmaster had reported she released a fog that killed some of the PRT's personal stationed there, the Ward and Miss Militia barely managed to survive. Panacea had to be called. And most concerning of all… we don't think she's stable."

My father was slumped on the chair, his voice became tired and rough: "What do you mean?"

"She referred to herself as 'we'," the heroine replied.

Dad asked again: "Excuse me?"

Assault coughed: "She may have multiple personality disorder. Honestly, I'm not a shrink, I don't know the real definition. But I know that powers don't come just because they usually happen on the worst day of our life. Or the best, though rare."

Battery shifted her eyes down.

Assault continued: "Some of us recover, others don't, some are scarred forever. We don't need to point out other infamous parahumans that referred to themselves as we, right? The Butcher, Gaistlig Ulaine…"

Dad was so close, just one more step…

"So you say that my daughter has gone nuts? That she's a killer?"

He rubbed his tired eyes, and those words hurt us.

Did he always have those white strands in the hair? Or had I/our big self failed to notice?

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do, then. Go to the Rig and wait for her to go to the Birdcage?"

Battery stood up: "She hasn't gone that far yet, the situation is still… salvageable. But we need to move you, even if we are doing our best to cover her trigger event."

Assault took out a smartphone from his costume and played a video.

We could hear Armsmaster's request of surrender and we saw from his point of view how we got trapped in the containment foam.

Of course, there was little less than a blur and a distorted voice in our place.

He started talking with Shadow Stalker, Miss Militia intervened.

They were drilling Sophia, asking her what was her relationship with us. Naturally, she denied everything, saying we were a loner wanting attention.

Somebody must have reported to Armsmaster about the state of the locker because he started asking her about that.

Then, the Mist started pouring out of the blob we were trapped in.

Armsmaster was caught in it as well, but he started mumbling more and more things until he activated a sonar in his helmet.

So that's how he found our position in the Mist. Tinkers were bullshit.

The video stopped when we got out of his range, and the Mist disappeared.

Dad caught his breath.

"Straight out of a horror film," Assault commented in a dull tone.

"Assault!" Battery cried.

"Puppy, tell me it doesn't look like it."

Dad watched their interplay, then he laughed. It was a tired sound.

He turned serious: "What will you do to her?"

Assault said: "Honestly? If she doesn't cause more trouble, we can take her on probation. Sure, it will be hell for the PR department, but if they managed with Miss Militia when she was a Ward, whose power is guns, then they can do the same for her."

Did they know we were listening? Maybe it was true, though, if they had a bully like Sophia on the team.

"And if not?" he said.

Battery tapped the table. "She mustn't commit any more crimes. She already killed somebody."

We scoffed internally, we weren't hero material, we were the posterchild of an S9 recruit.

We could live on the street, pickpocketing was going to be a joke. And even if a part of us had problems with killing, we could easily go over it to make the city a better place for Dad.

But Dad… he was destroyed. He'd never want us to live alone, and we didn't want to. If we left him, and we couldn't live with him…

We stared at an old family photo, one of the few that was still there since the incident. We made a decision.

We didn't trust the Protectorate at all, but for the sake of staying with him, it was fine.

We dematerialized our weapons, we went to our room and took a sheet of paper on the ground and a pencil scattered on my desk.

It was a complete mess, they had searched everywhere. We found the scotch tape under the bed.

With a makeshift white flag, we hurried outside, and going against our instinct we dropped the Concealment.

A female guard spotted us, and we hurriedly waved the flag. She didn't shoot us, but she didn't lower her weapon either.

Well, we were in the van, watched by three guards, Assault and Battery. They didn't even let us say hello to Dad.

We were still wearing the thrashed cloak, we were watched and they didn't want to see us play with our knives.

Considering we could project them easily at any moment, it was quite stupid.

"You're calm," Assault said, interrupting the silence.

We tilted our head.

"Usually, people on the first day they trigger aren't so calm. And they don't approach the PRT after trying to kill a Ward and after killing three troopers."

Battery gave him a not so subtle glare.

"We want to stay with dad," we simply explained.

The heroine hummed, then stated: "Family is family, after all."

Maybe trying to gut Sophia straight away was a bad idea. But the bully tried to kill us first.

"Can I make a question?" the red-clad hero asked.

"Sure." As if we wouldn't be interrogated later.

"Why 'we'?"

Because I/our big self gained powers summoning them/becoming the vessel of our Saint Graph, and we were fairly sure magic didn't even exist in this world.

And Jack the Ripper, maybe, was a ghost entity formed by the wraiths of dead unborn children of the Victorian Age.

We could perfectly be simply crazy, as well. Still, we could lie, if not say a half-truth.

"We are Taylor, but… our instincts aren't purely Taylor." Such as the simple instinct of saying I. Not like they/our wide self wanted their/our existence denied.

Predictably, silence returned, interrupted only by the white noises of the passengers' breathing and the rumble of the motor.

We found ourselves inside the Rig.

How did we pass over the water?

We were escorted to a white room, that looked either as a very impersonal waiting room or a comfortable interrogation room.

We were left alone for minutes, maybe half an hour.

It was probably a tactic to unnerve us, but we passed the time thinking and juggling with our knives. We could easily work in a circus.

Honestly, we hoped they didn't give us too much trouble.

Would we have to change schools? We looked too young for highschool.

Was Dad alright?

Would he hate what we became?

How many did we kill?

Was Sophia being a Ward the reason the school never protected us?

We started playing with our hair, longer than Jack had.

Finally, a woman in a suit entered with a pack of papers.

"What is it?" we asked.

"They are simple tests," she curtly responded as she exited the room.

They left us with a pen and the tests. Just the fact the first question was difficult was a statement of the absurd situation.

Name: Taylor Hebert.

It was the name our parents gave us. The other was equally precious, but we didn't think they'd appreciate it.

Other questions followed, about our family, our likes and dislikes, about general knowledge. Some were strangely worded.

We passed question after question without thinking too much about it. When we put down the pen, we waited even more. It was boring.

Never thought that being a prisoner of the Protectorate was going to be that boring. After a while, we curled on the couch, and we fell asleep.

I got up and stumbled. How did I get here? I was in a park, it was foggy and the smell of smog was irritating my nostrils.

"Welcome." It was the voice of a little girl.

I turned myself, but nobody was there.

Giggling surrounded me.

I ran.

I wasn't in Brockton Bay. The city looked too old, there were carriages, people were dressed in Victorian clothes.

They either weren't hearing the giggling, or they didn't care.

I asked the man wearing a typical suit of a high-class gentleman: "Excuse me…"

My blood froze: his face was blank, missing. The laughter intensified.

I ran until I found myself in what looked like the main street, but the laughs of what could only have been children were rising in intensity and numbers even as I was in the middle of a faceless crowd.

My lungs were burning and my legs were giving up. I wanted to go home.

I fell to the dirty floor, and silence overwhelmed me.

I knew it was a terrible idea, but I gave up. I got up and waited.

"Do you like our home?"

It was a little boy, wearing what looked like urchin clothes.

He frowned: "I guess you'd think about that story mom read us, right?"

How dare he! I wasn't perfect, but I was surely not part of them! "She was only my Mom!"

At that moment, I knew I made a mistake.

Another child approached behind him, wearing nothing but old tattered clothes. She was small and looked so fragile. Another followed, and then another, and then another.

The faceless crowd was replaced by thousands of children.

"May I have some more?"

They all pulled out a knife.

After the tenth stab, it stopped hurting.

We heard the sound of somebody entering, it was an attendant.

He was surprised to see us awake already. He put down the tray of food and quickly left.

It was vegetable soup and some chicken and potatoes. It was fantastic, even if we know it wasn't anything exceptional and they didn't even give us a sweet or something.

When we asked the walls if they had some ice cream, the attendant returned to actually deliver it.

Now dinner was perfect, the only thing missing…

"Where's Dad?"

We repeated the request ten minutes later, our legs swinging on the chair following the rhythm of the clock.

They didn't bring him.

In a certain sense, we knew why. We were an unknown element, and we were dangerous. But the situation was still very irritating.

What were they waiting for?

Maybe they were contacting Thinkers.

Maybe Sophia had told everything to Emma, who had called his dad.

The most we did was breaking that phone whatshername had and retaliating to the bolt the bitch shot.

Okay, there was the Mist, but we were scared.

It was a strange experience for them/our wide self, feeling guilty.

The part of us that was Taylor had great control over the rest, but most of the time it was fine.

It became jarring when we thought about our dual past or differences, or when we had a change of opinion or restrained some thoughts.

Jack simply knew how to kill and in retrospect, some of their/our wide self memories were a bit embarrassing for the simple lack of common sense.

Taylor was a girl that surrendered herself to her current situation, which was the opposite of how Jack thought.

Taylor never killed.

Jack never had a home.

Taylor lost her friend.

Jack never had one.

Taylor ate with her family.

Jack ate people.

The head was hurting.

The knives we stabbed the table with vanished like ghosts.

The room was swimming.

Some people entered our room, but we didn't have the strength to protect us. We felt a prick on our arms.

I was again in London. I was… smaller?

"We ate you. We can't accept a girl that decided to give up."

I looked at my hands. They looked younger, strangely soft.

I stated with more confidence than I had: "You can't expect me to let you do as you please."

My voice changed as well. If it sounded like it did when I was younger, I didn't recognize it.

Another voice, that of the boy, ringed: "Or what?"

I dipped in the memory of the vision after I triggered.

"I am what brought you here. You were destroyed, never to be seen again," I said.

The Mist was stirring.

"It's night, and it's foggy," another girl said.

"We can continue our fame, find a Mom that'd appreciate us," a little boy continued.

I didn't like where this was going. I didn't want to unleash them on the world.

"You were the one that brought us here, into prison." The voice was raspy.

But there was only one decision, one path that allowed me to live.

I took a deep breath, smog filling my lungs, and said: "There's a better way for us."

The Mist disappeared.

Only the fragile white-haired girl was in front of me. An illusion of safety.

"Which?" she asked.

It took a moment that felt like an eternity to elaborate: "Kill Orders exist. Endbringers exist. Jack's name is feared, but not Jack the Ripper. It's clear there's no way that style of life can survive."

"You are underestimating us," the girl said without much conviction.

I continued: "I'm not. And that's not what Jack wanted. Jack wanted a mother that didn't reject her. Jack wanted to live. I'm the only one alive here."

A chorus boomed: "Are you denying us?"

I answered in the only way possible: "I'm not. Taylor Hebert… there needs to be a new Taylor Hebert. Jack's abilities are Jack's, Taylor's life is Taylor's. We know what's the best way forward."

All the souls manifested before me. Tens of thousands, whose power was fueled by the hate and regret of an uncaring age.

All children, forever younger than I was if we didn't reach a compromise.

"Will dad care for us?"

My voice broke: "I don't know."

A hand patted my back. It was the fragile little girl. She gave me a black nameless knife and she smiled.

I started walking towards the main street.

I found a tall faceless prostitute, alone. Smoke was rising from her cigarette, a spire that curled like her hair.

I twisted the knife and I lunged.

As she died, her face became clear: "Little Owl…"

"Mom, you shouldn't have died," I whispered.

We licked the knife. The blood from our piece of memory was sickening and sweet. Our tears were simply salty and bitter.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

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Jan 19, 2020

#24

Danny Hebert stormed off, angry and bitter like an old sailor. If there was a thing that I hated about parahumans, it was how much they complicated the lives of the common man.

The report of the psychology test was a disaster, and we couldn't follow the M/S protocols without fear of the cape lashing out with her fog.

The analysts were both sure she was Taylor Hebert and that she was a homeless orphan.

She had a clear history with Shadow Stalker, and if I had my way, the Ward would be sent to juvie, and her supervisor fired.

But it was a cape in our side, and imprisoning her was both mildly difficult, and an assurance the cape would return to her vigilante ways or worse. She would probably be sent to Alexandria's boot camp, another pawn in Brockton Bay that wouldn't be returned.

I asked absently: "Armsmaster, when did you say your truth detector will be ready?"

"One month," he answered swiftly.

Sure, they could spin her somewhat in the Wards. She killed grunt soldiers but considering it was the day of the trigger event it could be considered a 'mistake'. I wouldn't want to be in the shoes of the person in charge of informing their families.

If it weren't for the answers to questions such as: did you kill? How many?

'Yes' 'I don't remember.'

From the videos, she never stopped writing her answers, she was mostly bored and irritated, so it seemed spontaneous.

Taylor Hebert's house was clean of any sign of crimes, and if the bullying campaign was as true as the other testimonies suggested, then she'd have chosen victims close to her, but again, all testimonies reported that she took the bullying passively.

She looked childish when she asked for her ice cream, and a little bit desperate when she asked of her dad. She ate dinner with the gusto of someone who usually didn't eat.

She looked like a mix of Bonesaw and the Siberian, and she surrendered herself to see her dad, who revealed that their relationship had deteriorated since the passing of her mother.

And they said that powers came in order to resolve issues. The more time passed, the more I was inclined to believe in some mad god having fun messing with reality.

If they sentenced her with the attack, they'd have to send her to a normal prison, where she'd easily escape.

And she would remember that, no question.

If she listened she could be integrated into the Wards, but it would at least require some strict surveillance, considering her Stranger powers. Though, her father wouldn't remember her if she used that. Leverage, at least.

Armsmaster, still in his standing position of one hour ago, adverted me: "Director, we have a problem."

Switching my monitor to the room cameras, I could see the Hebert girl smashing and cutting the table with her knives.

"A brute rating, as the locker suggested. Tell the guards outside to be prepared," I ordered.

I heard the voice from the intercom calling to her, telling her to stop.

We could foam the room, worse come to worse, but considering her trigger and how it worked out before, it would be dangerous. At the same time, opening the door would let a berserker Stranger out.

The girl's face was sweating, and she was exhausting herself. Her projections disappeared, and she started trembling.

I pushed the button and then ordered: "Move in to sedate her! Protocol alpha-gamma-charlie-01!"

Three guards entered, and the door closed immediately. The one who must have been Registon managed to tranquilize her.

"Escort her to the third block, cell 1," the lieutenant ordered.

Schizophrenia seemed more and more on the table. Furthermore, it was caused by her powers, so normal medications were just this side of useless.

"When she'll wake up, she won't be happy. Did Panacea finish her checkup?" I asked.

Glory Girl had rushed out immediately after hearing of an emergency at Winslow, and once learned what happened, her sister volunteered to help.

"Yes, Director. She confirmed the presence of sulfur in the lungs of the victims, and she stated that they looked like that of a severe smoker with cancer," the tinker said.

"Is Danny Hebert a smoker?" I asked.

"No, neither there's evidence Taylor is. Of course, all of this is coming from preliminary investigations."

If there's a thing I resented Nilbog over the others, was that I couldn't even take a drink of coffee to calm my nerves.

And some wondered why I didn't trust capes: people who got a prize, no matter how horrible, out of the worst day of their life, instead of those with discipline, training, and common sense.

Sure, there were good triggers, but they were so few and far in between that they didn't matter.

Some, like Hannah, could learn, others like Colin could be guided.

But I also had to use fucking children to have a chance against the gangs, and then what a surprise if I found myself in a mess like this when children were given powers adults shouldn't handle.

Seriously, taking evidence from a crime scene for a prank? How untouchable Sophia thought she was?

"There might be a way," Armsmaster said.

I directed my gaze to the leader of the Protectorate. "Yes?"

"Why don't we let her see her father?"

"This might still be a Master situation," I reminded him.

"We gave Shadow Stalker," he spat her name, "a chance, Director. She's not stable, but she approached us. I haven't finished the truth detector, but even I can see Sophia is hiding too much. Maybe Ghostchild's powers lead her to be more aggressive the more stressed she feels."

It was a possibility. In fact, it sounded plausible. On the other hand, many powers reacted unpredictably, as Armstrong's pet villain showed.

I agreed to his plan: "Very well. We still need to understand what she means by 'we'. She will see him through the grates, and if she'll seem stable, we'll let them meet each other."

Unsaid was that if she hurt him, it must be assumed she'd be too uncooperative for any relationship.

"I'll call the father right away," Armsmaster said.

He then exited the office with quick strides.

I looked at the documents on the table. Nothing seemed out of place.

I got up to stretch for a bit, but the pain stopped my old habit. That reminded me that I still needed to do my dialysis. I exited the office and told the secretary to go to sleep.

I walked along the hallway to my private quarters. This was a mess in every sense of the word, the only saving grace was that the fact wouldn't get public. The other directors wouldn't like the report in the slightest.

Knowing I was partly responsible for the birth of a new cape lent me a sour taste in my mouth.

Maybe taking the role of the Wards' supervisor from Armsmaster was a mistake. I was the hardass, 'Piggy', the boss you didn't want to face. It worked in keeping them in check when they were on duty, but not in their private life. I needed a gentler approach, someone who would care for them but that I'd trust.

Armsmaster was inept at this. Dauntless was too occupied with his own family. Assault and Battery were indivisible, and I didn't trust him with this sort of position. Velocity wasn't authoritative enough. The only real option was Miss Militia: she genuinely cared for children and obeyed orders without question.

If 'Ghostchild', as our department called her, had even a sliver of a guilty conscience, how would she react to having her as her supervisor? Miss Militia wasn't one to hold grudges, and she understood how to leverage dangerous abilities.

When I arrived at my assigned bedroom, I grimaced. My spartan sleeping room was still as unpersonable as the day I got it.

In hindsight, I had been naive: I slept more here than at home.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

PronounsShe/Her

Jan 20, 2020

#29

We woke up in another room. It was a padded cell, only the bed we were on and a toilet gave the white walls a sort of comfort.

We messed up, there was no way for us to meet our dad again.

To our Jack's part, it was strange, losing ourselves like that: our wide self was always in the same way of thinking. To Taylor, it had been horrifying.

Would a part of us eventually subsume the other?

No, now we wanted the same things: a family, to be recognized, to live. We serrated our fists, and firmed our resolve: we'd have those, eventually.

Sounds of footsteps came in our direction. Seeing Armsmaster coming for us was unexpected. The memory of our previous encounter was very fresh on our mind.

Without preamble, he said: "We have called your father, he'll arrive shortly. We'd like you to talk with some Wards, in the meantime."

Dad was coming!

When he finished talking, we asked with some distaste: "Wards?"

"We'd like you to join," he said without hesitation.

"We can't be a Ward, we attacked you and the others. We tried to kill Shadow Stalker. We just want to be with our dad," we argued.

"What you did, it's not unprecedented. You triggered less than 24 hours ago."

"We almost killed Miss Militia, and we did kill other people."

She was one of our favorites heroes. Even if knives were better than guns. And more importantly...

"And we don't want to be in a team with Sophia!" we cried.

The lower part of his face soured. "You shouldn't divulge her civilian identity."

Of course, we shouldn't. "Why? You'll cover her?"

"She'll be reprimanded, and face her consequences. It's not simply about her, it's about her and her family and associates," he said firmly.

That was true. We wouldn't like our father to be in danger because of us, not that we cared much about her friends and family.

"How many know about us?" we asked.

"Few, and they all signed NDAs. They are coming." Armsmaster abruptly left, leaving the two officers outside alone.

After a minute, Vista and Gallant were in front of the cell.

Vista was young, closer to our visible age. She'd been a Ward for more than a year. Her dark blonde air gave a strange contrast to her green visor, her costume, and skirt, with waving lines of white and green. She looked like a family-friendly type of hero.

Gallant's costume was a knight armor, that was probably tinkertech. It suited him fine.

And then there was us, who had a dirty cloak and a set of daggers who were deadly and assured dead in the right circumstances. Honestly, we could probably kill Alexandria and the Siberian, maybe the Simurgh.

And they wanted us in the Wards. Vista didn't seem particularly happy to be here, not that we could blame her.

"So, uh, we'd like to talk with you." Gallant's voice was nice, even the strange computerized inflection didn't hide it.

"Okay. What do you want to know?" we asked.

Today we were receiving more interest than the past two years. If we were one to pity ourselves, we would be crying.

"Your powers," he said.

They were already trying to contain me.

He quickly added: "I mean, you have a very diverse powerset. Projections, a Shaker ability, a Stranger ability, and you're also a minor brute."

"And?"

"It's quite rare."

We supposed it was true. We didn't want to divulge a thing about 'Murderer of the misty nights'. Why did some of our skills sound so edgy?

"Don't you want to join the Wards?" he asked again.

We looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Do you know why we are here?"

At least he had the dignity to look sheepish.

"Even ignoring that, we're not exactly hero material," we continued.

Vista asked: "Why don't you think you can be a hero? Even just the Stranger ability would help a lot."

We materialized one knife. "We are good at killing."

Vista snorted: "So what? I could use my space warp to trap a person in a room until they suffocate. I could easily shoot someone from afar. Clockblocker can lock somebody in time and put a bomb under their feet. Miss Militia can create a nuclear explosive."

That was true. But we were Assassin, killing was our bread and butter. Literally in a certain sense. Still, it's not like there was a Grail War, we didn't necessarily have to kill anybody.

"We don't want to be in the Wards," we repeated.

Vista sighed: "Why? Don't you want to help others with what you have?"

Honestly? Not much, at all. Leaving aside the whole ghost of vengeance thing, we never got real help.

Our non-answer irritated her.

Vista put her hands up: "So you'll be a villain. Gallant, why the fuck are we here? Why did they call me?"

"Language," Gallant reprimanded.

Vista reddened.

He explained: "Well, you were on duty. It's pretty late."

"Kid Win is better at this. Is it because of her age? That's stupid," she commented.

We didn't want to join the Wards now, this was teenage drama at its finest. "We're fifteen."

Vista eyed me: "Uh, sorry."

Gallant stated curiously: "You don't believe that. But you're fifteen."

Well, I/our big self believed that!

The Ward backed away.

Vista eyed me with suspicion: "What, is there a problem? She wants to do something?"

Gallant muttered: "Them."

"Uh?"

"It's them. Initially, I thought her emotions were simply amplified, but sometimes there's something strange, like shades of color overlapping a… core. The shades are always of the same color, but the core sometimes isn't."

We smiled, somebody understood!

Wait, did it mean that tinkertech can detect ghosts?

Vista deadpanned: "They want Butcher 2.0 to join the Wards. And I thought we scraped the barrel with Shadow Stalker."

We bristled: "We aren't like Shadow Stalker! She trapped us, and tried to kill us!"

Vista shouted: "You almost killed seven officers and Miss Militia!"

As if it's our fault they didn't let us… not kill. Maybe maim. Okay, we were trying to eviscerate the bitch.

Gallant put a hand over Vista's shoulder. "It's her first day."

"I know… But it doesn't justify her actions," she said.

This was getting boring. Why did we think it was a good idea to come here? We could have lived on the streets, and then visited dad once in a while. We just wanted to go home.

"Is dad coming or not? Or was it a lie?" we asked irritated.

Gallant nodded: "He is. Can I ask two more questions?"

It's not like we had much choice.

"Would it be so bad to join the Wards? Even if you don't want to do it to help, or for fame, it's still a good job and it can give you support. It would be easier to give you the resources to straighten out your civilian life."

We snorted: "And work with Sophia Hess? The one who did this to us?"

Vista replied: "Hell no. She's out of our team."

We grunted: "So she'll be punished?"

Vista looked at us as if we were an idiot. Like we trusted the PRT to do their jobs.

We ignored her: "So, your last question?"

Gallant calmed himself for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"Who are they? If your 'core' is Taylor Hebert, who are the others?"

Who we were, really? We remembered a bit of the end of the war, it was unclear, but we shouldn't even be summoned anymore.

There was only one right word: "Children."

Rejected. Maybe that was the link between our past as Taylor Hebert and our past as Jack.

The two Wards didn't comment, and we all waited awkwardly for our dad to arrive or to be sent to an asylum.

Finally, we heard more steps coming in our direction.

Our dad was here. He was tired, he smelled of strong coffee with a hint of the sea.

When he saw us, he took our hands in his hand. When did we put them beyond the bars?

"Taylor…"

We shuffled our feet, looking at the ground. "Dad…"

"You look younger," he stated.

"Mhm."

He looked at the guards and at the Wards. "I suppose asking for privacy is too much. Can I at least enter the cell?"

The guards looked at Gallant, who nodded then told me: "Taylor, please step back."

We did.

The door opened without a sound, and dad entered.

He hugged us. When was the last time me/our big self had been hug? Or did we stop accepting them?

"I'm sorry," our dad said, interrupting the silence.

The words left our mouth before we could process them: "Don't be."

"I should have noticed. I was only interested in my work. I was afraid to ask if something was wrong. I never questioned why you had to buy new books, why you threw away all new clothes," he continued.

He was right. Our big self was pissed for that. But we still had a roof and food.

"We don't want to return there," we said firmly.

His grip on our shoulders tightened. "You won't."

"We're a villain," we said.

A killer. The guilt from our big self tainted our memories of Mom. Would she accept us?

"Why? You can be a Ward, you know. Wasn't being a hero what you always wished for?"

It was true, our big self wanted to be a hero since little, even if it was little more than a childish dream.

Jack… what else did we wish, except for a caring mom?

If we had become one, we had a caring mom once.

She was dead, we wanted another one, but we had her memories, her wishes for us… Could we help people?

We were Assassin, by definition we killed in the shadows. We were fractured, Gallant confirmed it.

How far until we lost control, how far until we were hunted for who we were?

Our hands trembled, ready to do things we couldn't imagine.

Our dad's hand, now much bigger than before, covered them. He was a bit sweaty.

Gallant outside was calming the guards, while Vista argued about opening the cell. We had to decide who we wanted to be.

Dad embraced me.

"I'm fine," I muttered.

Was, had it always been so easy?

I still felt like Jack, but our presence was mollified.

The other souls were in the back seat, no, I could count them individually, they were embracing the form of Taylor Hebert as I embraced that of Jack. Admitting that they, our wide-self, had a mother and lived thanks to me implied that they were all me.

I didn't feel possessive about that. After all, we were one and the same.

The weapons, the Noble Phantasms, were at the edge of my perception, ready to be unleashed.

I felt weaker than before, but I knew how to regain my strength in a moment.

I felt utterly exhausted. Keeping up our Servant-like state consumed prana, or whatever sort of energy we used. And the lashing out was easier to explain: we needed to replenish it, by attacking and eating others.

Hell, if whoever I was was simply Jack, we would have. But I was Taylor as well.

I still didn't feel guilty about attacking Sophia, but the other student might have trapped me, but killing them… Unsurprisingly, it didn't bother me much, but it did some.

Dad was caressing my head when he said: "Your hair."

Eh?

Vista looked at Gallant: "Is she alright?"

"The other presences seem to be asleep. You can give her your mirror," he replied.

From a pocket in her costume, she took out said object.

My hair was now mostly black, except for a white streak on my left bang.

I still looked like a twelve-year-old child, happier years for sure, my mouth was still too wide, but my eyes didn't look that bad.

Honestly, they looked kinda cool.

Also, not having to care for dirty glasses was good, and I was an expert in having my glasses dirtied by all sorts of stuff.

I looked like a cute twelve years old ready for Halloween.

"I'm too short."

I wanted to grow up. God, I hoped I grew up. My Jack part never grew up, and for all my Taylor part complained about it, being a beanpole was still better than being a short stack. Nobody would take me seriously.

Gallant was talking with the guards and Vista about me being stabilized. I was still very tired, and hungry. I let myself fall into the bed. It was surprisingly comfortable.

"How long has it been, dad?"

"One day," he answered absently.

I righted myself and turned to the two guards outside. "Can I have something to eat? I'm starving."

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

PronounsShe/Her

Jan 20, 2020

#33

Boring, boring, boring.

No, we weren't mastered.

No, we didn't know who the children the power who created our 'gestalt' came from.

No, we didn't know why we used black knives, or we could summon a dirty cloak.

Yes, our Mist was always lethal. It did tire us using it.

No, no cape approached us before the trigger.

Yes, the 'children' used to live on the street.

No, we didn't know why it happened.

Keeping up our changer/breaker state was tiring.

Damn our big self and our morals, we had a half idea to escape at least twenty times.

At least they confirmed that Sophia was out of Brockton Bay and ready to be punished.

And they'd come to the other bullies hard if we joined. It made the idea sound nicer, we had to admit.

Damn M/S protocols. Why did they ask if I liked the ABB more than the Empire or vice-versa? Or if we preferred Legend or Alexandria?

Some questions sounded so stupid and pointless. They even asked us what we ate two days ago. How could we remember?

It went on and on for hours, as we answered questions swapping between our Servant-like state and our relaxed state.

It wasn't easy, there wasn't a clear switch.

One moment our prana circuits were open, another they were closed.

But stopping the flow was hard, in a certain sense they felt both like our default state, it felt like trying to fill a bucket and then drink it back in one gulp, and in this metaphor, we were the bucket and the drinker at the same time.

A funny thing was that they were calling us 'Ghostchild': how we managed to keep a straight face at the announcement we didn't know.

Taking a deep breath, I stretched myself in the cell.

A trickling sensation eased the summoning of a black scalpel without fully opening my well.

It was something to practice during these extremely boring and irritating hours.

I couldn't do much without reaching in it, mostly a very minor strength and agility boost or a projection of my weapons.

The kinks in my shoulder were quickly removed by a series of exercises, and I even managed to do twenty pushups while answering what was the color of the sky and who's the best Arthurian knight.

When I answered Myrdinn they had the decency to wait before asking even more inane questions.

Finally, they lifted their restrictions. "So can I go home now?"

The officer before me explained curtly: "No, Ghostchild. The vice-Director wants to speak with you and your father about the situation."

So I had to exit the Rig wearing a cheap domino mask. At least they gave me clothes, a standard PRT jumpsuit. It must have been around six pm, the night sky was full of stars.

I had to admit it: Brockton Bay looked good from here, the shining lights reflected on the water made it seem a much livelier place than it was.

We were brought by a boat to the PRT Headquarters, and there I followed the officers through a secondary access hidden from the main road.

Using an elevator, we reached the floor where the vice-Director was.

Dad was inside with Miss Militia and Armsmaster. The heroine looked fine, and her expression was neutral, but I still felt myself tighten under her gaze.

Suddenly we felt a hand patting our shoulder, and while we relaxed we hid our blush glaring at our dad.

He wasn't impressed.

We took our seat and waited for somebody to break the silence.

The vice Director Renick, as the nametag on the desktop implied, started: "Miss and Mr. Hebert, we are sorry."

What?

"We should have noticed that Shadow Stalker was disregarding the rules of her probation," he continued.

My dad wasn't surprised by hearing that, they must have told him about that already.

We weren't: "She was in probation?"

"Yes. She had one confirmed kill under her vigilante career. A testimony supported that she was in good faith and that was a simple mistake in her judgement, but knowing what we know now…"

So she'd been a psychopath and they already knew it. Not that we had many stones to throw…

Our dad glared: "So you're saying that your Ward was left unsupervised even with murder accusation. How can I know if the other Wards aren't the same?"

Armsmaster took the word: "They aren't. You must understand that we had a supervisor on her, but he didn't report the situation."

"So it was incompetence," we said.

How fucked was the PRT if they reminded us of Winslow?

The head of the ENE Protectorate was still calm. "Yes. Sophia is currently in a cell, the school and the supervisor are facing charges."

At least there was a positive of the situation.

"But we still need to discuss news about the trigger of Taylor Hebert," he said.

We said: "Nobody should remember it."

"No, few testimonies were present, and they all firmed NDAs about what they've seen. Nobody managed to link your new look to the one of 'Taylor Hebert'."

We relaxed a bit.

Renick continued: "But there's still the matter that it will be known that a new cape has appeared and that Taylor Hebert has disappeared. You confirmed you can't change back, correct?"

We nodded.

"Then, we must create a new identity for you," he said.

"Will we be separated from dad?" we asked.

"No. We can create something, like being a cousin of Taylor Hebert or an adopted orphan…"

It felt wrong. We were their daughter! But considering the risk associated with keeping that identity…

"Fine," we said.

"Of course, we can transfer you to another city."

Dad retorted: "We'd like to continue living here."

Renick frowned: "This complicates the matter. It will lead to a connection easier to pick up. In that case, I again strongly suggest you join the Wards. Are you familiar with the Unwritten Rules?"

Both dad and we shook our heads.

"In theory, capes don't go after other capes civilian life, they don't try to dig information about them. All the fights are engaged without resorting to lethality, and villains can't endanger civilians. Maybe you know one of the most common examples, the S-class truce."

Dad and we nodded.

Against forces of nature like the Endbringers, monsters with incredible powers that could easily dwarf the Triumvirate, and deranged groups like the Slaughterhouse 9, serial killers with great abilities, villains and heroes alike teamed up to try to beat them, or as it happened most of the time, at least reduce the damage to a minimum.

Dad was as skeptical as we were: "Lung and Hookwolf don't play by these rules at all. I heard that a new cape, Growl or something, was killed last week."

We tilted our head.

Dad chuckled: "I don't usually follow cape news, but a coworker I have is something of a geek."

He sighed: "Now though, I'll have to pay more attention."

Renick nodded: "Of course. The Rules have merit, but they are what they are. Unwritten, based on good faith. Villains, especially those who have the power to cover themselves, tend to disregard them. And at the same time, if Brockton Bay wasn't the powder keg it was, we would sometime ignore them."

Dad rubbed his left eye and stated: "Not filling me with confidence in your organization."

Renick grunted: "You seem an honest man, and your daughter doesn't look like she wants to take a mask and go to fights. But capes are always dragged to cape fights, and an independent with no backing doesn't last."

We snorted, they didn't even know how good we were. Even somebody like Lung, if caught undefended, would be easily killed. But if we did that… we'd break these Rules.

He continued: "And the matter remains that your daughter caused severe harm to my officers and three of them were killed. Considering you surrendered and you've been cooperative, we can avoid drastic measures, but your powers seem unstable, and you are alone. If you enter the Wards, you'll receive training, assistance, and protection, and it will be easier to set a new identity for you and to let your father continue to be your guardian without revealing who you are."

Dad slammed his hand on the chair: "You're threatening my daughter for a mess your Ward caused."

Renick frowned: "I'm doing my job. I said three officers died? Twenty get replaced every month. Brockton Bay needs everything we can get. We didn't keep Shadow Stalker because we liked her character, we needed her because she's useful. She caught many criminals, and letting somebody like her out was simply a matter of leaving her alone to be eventually killed or to have her turn to villainy. You are the head of hiring of the Dockworkers, you know how deep the problems in this city is."

Dad took a deep breath and said: "I know your game. You want Taylor in the Wards, and we out of the city. We won't leave, we were born here and here we have our roots."

He firmed his glare: "But we want compensations for what happened. You admitted to me you are hanging on a thread. What if we took out the news that a Ward bullied my daughter?"

Renick put his hands on the desk, and drank a glass of water: "I hope you aren't considering mutually assured destruction."

"No. But as much your organization has to offer, we have as well: Taylor managed to escape and arrive at our house with none of the wiser. She entered it, and me and Battery and Assault didn't even notice it," he said.

We blushed, we left too much evidence it seemed.

"You said you kept Shadow Stalker because she's an asset. I bet Taylor can run circles around her."

It felt good hearing that. Even if it was more due to Jack than Taylor… But without our big self, we wouldn't even have a dad.

Renick turned to me: "So you'll join the Wards?"

We simply said: "As long you don't stab us in the back…"

Unsaid was again.

"We won't cause problems."

After all, we repeatedly told them we weren't cut to be a heroine. Not that we couldn't see unlethal applications of our abilities, but secret spy wasn't much better than an assassin. And being called a hero, it felt weird. Weren't we half-ghost of vengeance or something?

Renick relaxed: "So then it's a simple matter of handing the documents."

Dad nodded: "I need a lawyer."

"We have a list. And before you object, most of them worked with villains as well."

They started talking, and we soon felt bored. We couldn't even play with our knives without risk of foaming the room.

We took a moment to relax our senses…

Closing my 'Servantness' still felt pretty weird.

Miss Militia hadn't said a thing since I entered, and both her and Armsmaster were still standing in the same position since the start of the meeting.

I took a piece of candy from the bowl on the desktop. It tasted like lemon.

"Would you like to see the other Wards?" I glanced at the heroine.

"I can?"

I'd work with them, but seeing them even before having officially joined?

Unless they wanted them to remember my face in case something happened. Yes, and Emma was preparing a party for me.

Renick turned to me: "Of course. Militia, Armsmaster, you can go. I doubt Mr. Hebert will try anything."

I wasn't the only one using sarcasm here.

Dad asked: "Are you sure, Taylor?"

Well… "It's not like I can help you with this, dad."

Plus, if the other Wards were jerks to me, I was more than ready to pay back.

Armsmaster, with his rough voice, commanded: "Follow me."

So we walked. There was a tunnel, reinforced with tinkertech as Armsmaster explained, that connected the Ward's building with the Protectorate Headquarters.

It was quite a short trip, and as I stood in front of the door,

Armsmaster lent me a bracelet.

"What is it?"

"It's for tracking you. When your dad will sign the contract, you will be effectively on probation."

I took it. I doubted it would work on Information Erasure. But considering everything, tinkertech was bullshit.

The heroine pushed a red button. An annoying buzz followed.

"It's to give them time to take a mask," Miss Militia explained to me.

And I had this flimsy domino mask, not that my hair color and my eyes weren't forgettable. Unless we decided so.

When the door opened, I found myself in front of the Wards.

The place was quite bigger than expected, there was a big living room with a kitchenette and big television, complemented by a console and a very big couch.

There was little to none personal decorations: if we excluded the posters of the Wards team that succeeded in Brockton Bay, the place resembled a living room out of a catalog, not completely sterile and lifeless but still impersonal and a bit cold.

I couldn't guess much about Gallant, but Vista seemed a bit miffed about me.

Aegis looked rigid, almost attent, contrasting Clockblocker, who looked too much relaxed for this kind of meeting.

Kid Win was trying to smile and seem welcoming, but he looked a bit forced.

Triumph, the current leader of the Wards, was the one with the most open expression: his mouth was almost closed, he was biting his lip, and didn't seem happy at all.

Miss Militia, who was still much taller than me that I was used to, started speaking: "Ghostchild's guardian is currently signing her in the Wards. Since for the foreseeable future they'll remain in this city, we'd be happy if you welcomed her in the team, especially since we failed her."

Armsmaster continued without letting me have the time to understand what was going on: "Considering my own… lack of supervision in part led to this, the Director conceded that Miss Militia will take my place as the Wards's leader and guide. You will receive additional training under her watch."

Even if we didn't fully understand the implications, we could see from the Wards reaction that this surprised them.

"So we're going full boot camp," Clockblocker commented.

Triumph let out a long-suffering sigh, while Miss Militia, quirking an eyebrow, and damn if she could be expressive with a bandana on her mouth, stated: "No, not boot camp. Usually, we deferred to you the training of tactics for patrol and for the console, but considering the incident… I will supervise you. And to be perfectly clear: if there's even a hint of a problem in the team, in your civilian life or else, you need to report it, so that it won't escalate and that we will be able to help you."

Gallant asked: "Why the change? I mean, besides the obvious case with Shadow Stalker, the Director never took our advice and suggestions much thought…"

Clockblocker retorted: "Only because you're an empath doesn't mean you know if we need shrinks or something."

Gallant continued as if he hadn't heard anything: "She even forbid us from interacting with other Ward's divisions."

Triumph tried to pacify the situation: "Yes, but things will be different."

He turned to us: "Ghostchild, I'm sorry for what happened to you. I never had a good relationship with Shadow Stalker, but I should have seen that coming."

Now they returned their attention to us, great.

Vista sighed: "Yes, she was someone hard to deal with."

"Still, it was mostly my fault. Even if I hadn't been a Ward for long… As a leader, I should have done better."

His voice sounded honest but rehearsed. Considering he was the leader, the clusterfuck would fall on him as well. Not that we had much sympathy for him anyway.

Armsmaster took the final word: "Yes, so please be welcoming to our new recruit. Ghostchild, I'll partecipate with the PR department in the creation of your costume. Please be free to leave suggestions to my e-mail."

He and Miss Militia got out.

Clockblocker whistled: "That was as close to an apology you'll ever gonna get from him. Tinkertech from him in your first costume, not bad."

That sounded… weird. Maybe they were really regretful?

But was it because of our powers?

We could easily imagine Sophia's case being a problem of incompetence instead of corruption, but it hardly painted a prettier picture.

The silence was getting pretty awkward, and we had a half mind to try to escape when Kid Win spoke: "We have some refreshers. Would you like anything?"

"A soda."

He moved to the fridge.

Aegis asked: "So, what are your powers?"

We tilted our head: "We thought you knew already."

He reacted a bit at how we referred to ourselves, but not as much as we expected: "Not really, they gave us a general description. Until you enter power testing…"

We narrowed our eyes: Clockblocker and Vista stiffened at his words.

Triumph added: "And we'll tell ours as well, right guys?"

Various sounds of confirmation resounded in the room.

Not that it changed much explaining them again: "We can project knives…"

We showed them two big butcher knives, the other type of knives, and the scalpels.

"And we can go unnoticed until we attack."

We took the soda out of Kid Win's hands. It was really really nice. Why did our big self stop enjoying all of this?

"Man," Clockblocker said, "I wouldn't want to be in the PR shoes right now. I wonder how they'll spin you."

We shrugged, it wasn't our problem. We threw the can in the bin.

Triumph asked: "And the fog? Aren't you also a mover/brute?"

"Yes, but it's costly keeping it up." We took a moment to breathe the air in.

I noticed how they shifted as my hair changed color and explained: "The Mist is what it is: dangerous, and it let me strike the target easily. Like everything else, it's difficult to keep it up for too long."

My powers didn't reassure them a lot.

Clockblocker passed me a plate of chips and stopped it in midair in front of me. I looked at him.

"What? This is an explanation of my powers. I stop things for about thirty seconds to ten minutes, and nothing affects them."

I nodded, so the power on his PHO profile was his real power. It looked pretty versatile.

He removed his mask. He looked… normal, even if his red hair and blue eyes weren't very common.

"I'm Dennis Ryan."

Was this his real name? Was he an idiot to reveal himself to me so quickly?

He put his hand in front of me. I almost shook it…

"You aren't going to use your powers on me?" I asked tiredly.

"Nooooope."

Triumph scolded him: "Clockblocker!"

"Cmon, I was kidding! I won't pull a trick like that on our new black ops assassin."

We stared at him.

He returned my stare. "Do you deny it?"

"Not at all. I still don't get why you believe I can be a hero with these powers."

I caught the falling plate.

Kid Win snorted: "Do you have an idea of how dangerous you'd be as a villain?"

One would say we'd inspire a legend. Or we were inspired by a legend?

"Yes, so?"

"You can be as dangerous as a hero. As long you don't use too brutal takedowns..."

Vista muttered: "As if they'll ever let her use her knives for anything short of a brute. Or if they'll ever let you use your Mist on anything short of a Kill Order."

Aegis tried to use a sterner voice: "We can't exactly go toe to toe with the other gangs. We aren't in the Protectorate yet. Anyway," he removed his mask as well, "I'm Carlos. My power looks like an Alexandria package, but the doctors called it more like redundant physiology, my body adapts to the damage I take. If I break an arm, I can ignore the pain, and use all the muscles I have without a problem."

I looked at his uniform.

"So that's why it's rusty red. To cover your blood," I muttered aloud.

His handsome face looked a bit taken back: "Yes, that's the reason. Being all bloody isn't very heroic."

Vista took her turn: "My power is distorting space, I can compress or bend it."

She made a brief demonstration. That was a very strong power. She took out her helmet.

"I'm Missy Byron." She said her name without particular care.

Kid Win took the word: "I'm a tinker, but I guess you knew it already. On the subject, do you think you'll let me examine your projections?"

Well, on one hand, they were the concept of serial murder given form. On another, Armsmaster managed to resist the Mist. Were they thinking of other countermeasures for me already?

Gallant retorted: "You know you'll have to ask Armsmaster permission first."

He turned to me: "As for every recruit, they're gonna examine every aspect of your power."

Except for Maria the Ripper, because I didn't think they'd be happy with us killing somebody while we chanted and laughed.

Kid Win nodded: "Right, sorry to ask. Maybe I'll try to see Armsmaster directly."

He didn't sound much sure about it.

He removed his mask as well: "I'm Chris, I'm happy to work with you."

He had a pale complexion and brown hair. His brown eyes looked a bit tired, but he sounded sincere.

I tried to seem professional: "The pleasure is mine."

It looked so strange to be trusted so easily. Didn't they care at all about Shadow Stalker, did they simply acknowledge the new status quo? Or maybe it was because of the order of Miss Militia.

Gallant removed his helmet, his face didn't look new.

"Yes, I'm Dean Stansfield, of the Stanfields. Yes, I'm dating Glory Girl."

Dennis mumbled: "For now."

"As everyone else said, I'm happy to have you on the team. My power is sensing emotion, and blasting others with beams that makes you feel specific emotions. They aren't really strong, but they help in keeping villains off guard."

"So you aren't a tinker?" I asked.

"Not at all. Kid Win and Armsmaster helped me make this up, but it's mostly for protection and to confuse the villains."

Uh, deception. It looked like almost a novel concept for the Wards.

The last member, Triumph, removed his leoline helmet. "I'm Rory Christener. Like Dean here, I suppose you have seen me on television sometimes."

Yes, he was the mayor's son, a mayor that dad thought was a dick.

"I can control sound, with my voice I can blast people and knock them over. I won't stay in the team much longer…"

His curled down lips went up. "But I'll try to do my best until I enter the Protectorate."

I took off my mask. "I'm Taylor Hebert. I am- or was -fifteen, but my powers changed my appearance."

From then, we sat on a table and ordered take out.

They told me some stories of encounters with other villains, and the impression I made of them was consolidated. Most of them were naive, they felt guilty about Sophia but their main emotion was disbelief, as if what happened couldn't have really happened.

At the same time, they exchanged many nervous glances when they thought I wasn't paying attention, especially when the well opened.

Vista, for all her bitchiness, at least said what she thought.

Nevertheless, it was a better treatment than I received at Winslow.

I didn't trust them a lot, but for working? As long as I and my dad were cared for, I could live with that.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

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Jan 21, 2020

#37

Power testing was both fun and boring. Fun because we could lash out. Boring because we lashed for the sake of it, without an opponent to match us.

"Tests with the projection: finished," a doctor said, filling a document.

We could hit targets up to seventy-five ft. easily with our scalpels.

Our butcher's knives were more useful for combat with a brute, and the others were for quick strikes.

They tested that our weapons weren't indestructible, but they quickly reformed and that their strength, durability, and sharpness varied with the flow of Prana, even if they didn't call it that.

The same was for our Brute and Mover ratings, our reflexes, and our capabilities in general.

On the one hand, we didn't know how much storage we had, but we were limited. On the other, we didn't see an easy way out, except by killing our opponents to replenish our reserves, something that we didn't tell the PRT at all.

Our big self wasn't particularly happy to resort to it, except in dire circumstances.

Our 'stranger' skills were monitored, and we practically disappeared from most of their systems except the most complex that used tinkertech.

We even tried our Identity Erasure skill, which fooled everything they brought except a little piece of tinkertech from a tinker that specialized in reconnaissance and information gathering.

Armsmaster naturally started studying it with interest.

They tried to take a sample of our Mist, to experiment with gas filters and confront it to similar gases alike.

Apparently, even tinkers of the caliber of Armsmaster and Dragon couldn't make head to toe about what it was composed of, except residues of sulfur and carbon monoxide, and only tinkertech was able to filter it.

The piece that Armsmaster used in our first confrontation was devised as a countermeasure to the ability of an affiliated Empire cape, whose name was Fog. He worked primarily with Night, a woman that became some sort of invincible monster when she wasn't watched.

Jack's abilities were the perfect countermeasure to them, but we refrained to say so.

We wondered if we had the full strength of a Servant there would be anyone able to resist us.

"Please, release the Mist," the speaker said.

It still felt wrong to let others examine what we were capable of, but it was the only feasible way to stay with dad and to have allies. We never had many.

Our hands were trembling, we had to close the flow.

I slumped in a seat, the air vents removing the lingering traces of the Noble Phantasm, whose smell was oddly nostalgic.

After ten minutes, the examinator and Armsmaster reentered the room.

The doctor said: "We have Panacea on the premise, she didn't object to examine you."

I eyed him: "Didn't you take some samples already?"

"She is faster. We have practically confirmed that entering your breaker state leads to an abnormal consumption of your catabolic reserves. Even if you aren't a case 53, we have to consider that your powers have certain requirements."

Like the souls of the slain.

Bad Jack's instinct, I needed to be a hero, for dad. For what mom would have wanted.

"Okay."

Armsmaster commented: "In any case, it's improbable that she'll be able to return you to your original appearance. I sent a message to the reception, she, Brandish and Glory Girl will arrive soon."

I sipped the milkshake an assistant brought while looking at my boss.

It was almost eery the way Armsmaster managed to stay firm in his position without moving. Well, I could do it. But didn't he get cramps standing upright like that in his armor?

"Excuse me, I have to go." Uh, he went away so abruptly.

Since nobody else said a thing, it must have been expected. It's not like the gangs would stay low just because a Ward was being tested.

I was continuing my perfect scalpel streak against the targets when the door opened. Of the three members of New Wave, only Brandish was wearing her civilian attire. She looked the perfect picture of a lawyer, as she was.

Panacea's robes covered most of her face, almost as if she wanted her identity to remain hidden, and little of her brown hair could be seen. She wasn't quite glaring at me, but she didn't look all that happy to be here.

Glory Girl, meanwhile, was wearing her tiara and white costume and she looked absolutely stunning and beautiful and she was close to us and she was our mom we needed her-

"Aura, Victoria!"

We looked at the knife in our hand and her and we snarled: "Don't try that again!"

Brandish had her signature light weapons out and Glory Girl floated out of our reach.

The older cape asked: "Where is Armsmaster? You said you'd have a Protectorate member in the facility."

The doctor, a middle-aged man with a kind smile, said: "Mrs. Dallon, there's been an emergency."

She didn't respond to that: "You'd have let Panacea alone with a dangerous stranger, shaker and brute?"

He made a gesture to the officers inside: "Not at all. For your information, Ghostchild has been all but uncooperative for us."

He gave us a meaningful glance, we closed the well.

"Your hair really changed color. It almost looked like that old Japanese cartoon, right Ames?"

Amy Dallon looked at her sister like she grew another head. "She almost killed all the men that went against her."

"Yes, but it was her first day. It's not easy like us second generations."

I thought she was a more goody type of heroine, but she wasn't mad that we murdered three men. Yay?

Carol took the word. "Amy, examine her."

I let my hand out. It was almost a let down that I didn't feel anything different when she took it.

"Well, she has the body of a healthy preteen," she said.

I grumbled.

"But there's something strange…"

She touched one of the white strands of hair. "It… her cells are full of carcinogenic."

She touched my scalp. "It's like some cells are on the verge of dying, and there are strange amounts of DNA that aren't hers, it's… actually from dozens, hundreds of people, it's too muddled to be sure."

Well, that was a surprise, and almost scary. I was supposed to be the scary one, not the New Wave's healer.

"Can you try to use your powers?" she asked.

I summoned a weapon.

"No, like before," she raised her voice, "when my sister used her aura on you."

Damn, it was getting tiring.

"The foreign DNA it's flowing through her body. Her cells are mutating, but…"

She left her hands and quickly retreated. "How many… it's like you have other people's cells."

Okay, now parahumans powers were officially scary. What's next, a Thinker that looked at us and then screamed Jack the Ripper?

Victoria rushed to her position: "Ames, are you alright?"

While Victoria Dallon embraced her sister, Carol looked at me: "What did you do?"

Panacea answered: "Nothing. I don't fully understand how her power works, it's something I've never seen before."

Glory Girl eyed me with curiosity: "Doesn't Aegis have all that strange biology?"

"Yes, but hers… is stranger."

The unfortunate pun made us stop the flow of energy.

The doctor coughed, steering us back to the original conversation: "You didn't see anything else?"

The still blushing Panacea continued: "Nothing in particular, except an accelerated metabolism."

She asked resolutely: "She won't use her fog, right?"

The doctor adjusted his glasses: "I'm not the one who'll establish protocol, I simply study the effects and limits of powers. But I can imagine she won't use something like that against normal crooks, if at all."

Panacea nodded but looked at me with suspicion.

Carol's expression wasn't much better, only Glory Girl looked somewhat relaxed.

"Well, it's always nice to meet a fellow heroine. They'll probably team you up with Vista a lot, maybe I'll be able to meet her more often."

I refrained to tell my pre-Trigger real age, it was a matter of secret identity.

Already the boys on the team were a bit condescending, and that seemed to displease Vista, somehow. Like we made a particular choice that led us to the strange circumstance of our age.

My musings were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Militia.

"Good morning, Glory Girl, Panacea, Mrs. Dallon. Ghostchild, have you finished your examination?"

We nodded.

Brandish asked: "She will be overseen, right?"

The blaster stated evenly: "Our department will take all the necessary measures to ensure Ghostchild will follow the rules we settled with her and her guardian."

The lawyer didn't look convinced.

The Protectorate cape continued: "The Protectorate and the PRT thank you for your collaboration."

"Of course. Victoria, Amy, let's go."

She didn't give Miss Militia even more than a spare glance as she went out of the room. Her daughters were a bit more than sheepish.

The impression she made us sucked. I pitied the two Dallon's sisters, she was surely a horrible mother.

Miss Militia turned to me: "Do you feel rested enough?"

"Yes, why?"

"You have a meeting with the PR Department."

Already I was feeling a bit of dread.

She added: "I'd like to say you'll be fine, but you'll face Glenn Chambers in person."

Her eyes crinkled, reflecting the smile concealed by her bandanna.

"Is he that bad?" i asked.

"He made several suggestions to change my costume slightly."

Well, it was flashy. And patriotic.

"Why?"

"As you probably know, I wasn't born in the states," she said.

Yes, we read that somewhere. Was it that autobiography of the Triumvirate? At least that piece of garbage had some truth.

"He liked that I represented an immigrant fully integrated into our society. But he thought that I also represented the stereotype that associated America with guns, 'good for a certain type of fans, but bad in the eyes of the other nations', as he said."

"Wait, aren't most gun control laws abolished?"

A right of the common people to defend themselves from parahumans, or something like that. It caused a lot of death outside the USA in the '90s if I remembered Gladly's lesson right.

Was it why the Unwritten Rules were born? A parahuman was exponentially more dangerous than a common person, but a bullet to the head was still a bullet to the head. And a parahuman with a gun was better than a normal person with a gun.

"It was before it happened. So, if he proposes something outrageous, don't be afraid to tell me, ok?"

She winked. She really winked as she did on TV.

We blushed.

"Sure."

The man before me looked absurdly wrong for his job. His hair was gelled as a sort of tomahawk, his rectangular framed glasses accentuated his long eyelashes in a perpetual squint. He was a bit obese, and even if I never had a great interest in fashion, I knew that an orange shirt didn't fit at all with those white jeans.

Nevertheless, he was the head of the PR department, here to give me a costume.

He started immediately to talk: "Now, I usually don't personally work for each new little Ward that enters the program, but since your case is more complicated than most, here I am to salvage the unsalvageable. Already a stranger powerset doesn't inspire great confidence, people nowadays are more worried about their privacy than their lives. Then we have the fact that you summon a holster full of weapons, daggers at that, not something marketable like swords or spears. And less we talk about using scalpels, less the Nine decide that Bonesaw needs a sister. The 'Mist', as you call it, is another matter entirely, and its cover is the only lucky aspect of the mess that this branch did in respect to you."

He then showed me again the fight I had with the PRT from the perspective of Armsmaster.

"If somebody told me you were one of the Nine or the secret child of Fog and Night, I wouldn't bat an eye," he said as if he spoke about what he bought at the grocery store.

"But you aren't known yet, you aren't rushing into things, and you aren't in this for glory."

That tone surprised me.

"That means, you are willing to work with us instead of going against us. Ghostchild is already a perfect cape name, non-threatening and vague enough that should fit you. There's the matter of changing it when you become an adult, but it's hardly a pressuring problem, as you de-aged. We can't spin you like a colorful cape like Vista, but already your changer form is something we can work with. Your main color will be white."

White… It didn't sound too bad. Certainly better than pink. But there was still the matter that the color was very 'unstealthy'.

"Wouldn't grey work better?" I inquired.

"Sure, little child soldier. Why don't we provide a camo, as we are at it?"

He didn't need to sound that condescending.

"We also can't spin you like a ninja, as you aren't Asian, and that would lead to cultural misappropriation," he said gesturing with his fingers, "and doing this in the city where the ABB and the E88 are is a disaster waiting to happen. But there's a little thing about your power, you are a very agile mover."

He put up a video of me, or better us going all out on an obstacle course. After the stay in the cell, it had been nice to unwind.

"Parkour is cool. We can take that, with the knife's holster and the ghost imagery, and mesh it all together. It's not perfectly heroic, but it can work, especially for a 'cool' preteen that doesn't talk much. Because, as long as you refer yourself in plural, the less you talk the better."

That, I understood.

He showed a concept design: it was a bodysuit, mostly white with silver in the gloves and a little white ghost with their tongue out on the chest. In part, it looked like streetwear, the texture of the legs looked like jeans and the shoes looked like Converse.

He started highlighting the various parts: "You were doing acrobatics in your bare feet, so you'll need comfortable wear, a mix between a proper shoe and a socket. It will tear after a while, but still better than you throwing your shoes away. You'll have two pouches, one with a first aid kit, the other with sponsored candy, probably lollipops."

That was weird: "Why candy?"

"For fans, always nice to offer it. They'll also buy it at the store. And for you, the scientists said that if you overuse your powers you'll feel lightheaded, and then you'll enter a berserker state. To prevent such a disaster, having a little sugar won't hurt."

It was something workable, I guessed. Barring an all-out gang war, I wouldn't even be in the field all that much.

"My weapons?" I asked.

"You can have your holster out when you face danger, but don't start playing with your knives if you're bored. Especially scalpels and the butcher's knives."

He made a show to ignore the scalpel I was twiddling with, as he continued: "For your face, we have a white bandana that has a red picture of a cartoony laugh and a sort of baseball cap… Better show you."

The cap my supposed cape persona was wearing was in reverse, cementing the idea of a 'cool kid', and the hair was put up in a ponytail. Most of my lower half was covered by the bandanna, whose smile reminded me of a game Uber and Leet reenacted once. Super Mario, was it?

As if answering my untold question, he said: "Since you'll be working here, using Miss Militia as a model of a fellow weapon projector it's not bad. And your eyes are the most expressive and impressive part of your face, covering them would be simply a mistake. The hat is for additional identity coverage since your hair is distinct. You'll probably have to wear contacts as well in your civilian identity, but that's not my job."

After all, it wasn't as bad as I feared. In fact, it seemed oddly fitting, in a way: my movers' ability was certainly one of the best parts of this package deal if we didn't want to kill, and the costume seemed practical if a bit childish.

There was only one problem: "What if I need to fight someone? Blood..."

He stopped me immediately: "You won't."

We tilted our head: "What do you mean 'you won't'?"

"Do you have a half idea what would happen if a Ward, a preteen looking Ward, was shown on TV covered in blood? I know Brockton Bay is a shitshow, I haven't forgotten that it was the fault of this department that you triggered," he said.

We flinched, the anger burned for a moment.

"Nevertheless, you aren't a child soldier. You aren't required to engage in every fight. Your stranger and mover abilities are more than enough for reconnaissance and information gathering. With this, I don't mean you should never use your knives. I worked with parahumans for years, I know you need to use your powers. Just, throw them as you did in the test room. If you need to use anything else, even your 'mist', tell your superiors. If they aren't complete idiots, they will listen to you."

We took a deep breath. "Okay, it's workable."

"Good, you sound smarter than most Protectorate members. You can go, a prototype will be delivered to you in a few days."

Well, it sounded fair: hiding what we could do was good.

Appear less threatening? Even better.

And if we materialized our cloak to cover our costume from blood?

I didn't know if it was more of a bad Jack's idea or a bad Taylor's idea, but it was something to consider if shit hit the fan.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

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Jan 22, 2020

#52

"Combat training?"

Triumph guided the group to the Protectorate training room. "Yes. As Wards we usually don't dwell on it much, we are learning how to control our powers. The Protectorate is first and foremost an organization that tries to integrate parahumans in society."

I kept my face neutral as he continued: "But we learned a bit about tactics. Sometimes Ward's teams from different regions challenge each other."

I nodded.

"We learned how to use our powers in a variety of situations, even if we are mostly divided into 'support', 'intercept', 'attack', and other roles. Your powers, in particular, are flexible, you can hit fast and scout ahead. You can't probably go head to head against brutes of the caliber of Hookwolf or Lung," he said.

Because fighting like that was stupid.

"But you can probably deal with common thugs no problem."

The training room was big, and there were signs of contraptions that could be lifted from the floor, probably to recreate obstacles.

Miss Militia was on one side with Assault and Battery, and she started speaking: "Ghostchild, we'll try to see your abilities both in and out of your Breaker state."

Well, that was unexpected. "Why out of it?"

Assault quipped: "Well since you tend to go in it when you feel stressed, we want to see how much control you have over it in stressful situations. Since, you know, heroes tend to fall in them."

That was probably true. I'd have to return to school... Not that I'd be a pushover like before.

"So I will be your dear opponent," he said.

"Knives or not knives?"

Miss Militia said: "First, without any weapons."

I readied myself in front of the smirking hero.

At an unspoken signal, I dodged his slow and telegraphed punch.

He started attacking a bit faster, and I lost concentration when one of his punches stopped an inch from my nose. I fell on my knees. Fortunately, the floor was padded.

He helped me get up: "Well, why didn't you attack?"

I asked: "How? You're too strong and you have an advantage in reach."

Apparently, it was the rightish thing to say, as the Protectorate hero nodded.

We resumed our starting position, and I decided to use a dagger and two scalpels. Just this was difficult to contain, and the weapons felt much less real.

When we started the fight, I threw the scalpels to his face.

As he covered himself, I lunged to his knees trying to slice them. I found very strong resistance, but I managed to leave a barely bleeding wound.

He took my overextended arms and threw me down the floor.

He took out his left boot: "Sss, what are they made of? You sure she hasn't cheated?"

From the peanut gallery, the ever-helpful Clockblocker said: "Nope, her hair remained the same."

Kid Win commented: "To leave a cut like that… they aren't normal knives."

Assault was applying a bandage on the cut.

He joked: "Thanks, I'd never figure it out. You need to be careful with them, especially against normal crooks."

That sounded fair, annoyingly so.

Miss Militia took a moment to think: "Aegis, can you come forward?"

The Ward didn't seem surprised to be called: "Sure."

"I won't face Assault again?" I asked.

The hero replied: "Nope. If you can do that damage as a base girl, I'm afraid I'd have to go all out to defend myself."

That was… reassuring, in a strange way?

The Ward was in front of us. We materialized all our weapons.

"She has a power that gives a holster of knives. How does that make any sense?"

We ignored the bickering as we eyed our opponent.

Even if he saw what we did to Assault, he didn't seem to take us all seriously.

We asked Miss Militia: "How much damage?"

Aegis answered for her: "I can probably take as much as you can dish out."

The heroine retorted: "I'll tell you when either of you will have to stop."

We took out eight scalpels.

Aegis moved quite fast, but to us, he might have been a snail.

Three scalpels went in his face, and he didn't even try to block them. Admittedly, it seemed he didn't need his eyes to follow me.

We used the others on his arms and legs, and again except using him as a pincushion, we weren't doing much. He was still too slow to follow our movements, but he was more than resistant. If we were to fight in a closed space, something that the ring we were in represented well, we'd escape.

Unfortunately, as it wasn't an option, we'd have to take a more drastic route.

He went up floating in the air, his blood dripping on the floor. We still sent him other scalpels, but again they didn't have a lasting effect. Some were pushed away from his cuts, cluttering on the floor.

We stood waiting, for what might have been a minute.

He suddenly accelerated towards our position, punch ready to knock us out.

We dodged it, and called a butcher knife, ripping and tearing flesh that covered his birdcage. We materialized the other type of knife, as we tried to defend…

"Stop!"

Aegis and we stumbled on the floor, rolling out of the ring.

The little droplets of blood falling on our mouth tasted strange.

Aegis quickly stood up, as we did as well. We closed the well again.

I did a number on him. His eyes were painfully closed, his chest was open. The muscles were stretching and closing the wound quite rapidly, but a copious amount of blood spilled on the floor. How did he manage to stand up? The beat of his heart was visible and hearable from where I stood. The part of me that was Taylor felt grossed out.

In any case, they couldn't fault me with this. He said to go all out.

Our supervisor ordered him: "Aegis, go to the infirmary."

He made a salute: "Yes, ma'am."

His voice sounded like a gurgle, he was choking on his own blood. How much did it hurt?

Miss Militia, her gaze as cool as a cucumber, said: "Ghostchild, you don't need to worry."

"Eh?"

It wasn't only my voice that raised.

"The purpose of this session was to see how you fight," Miss Militia continued. "Aegis' power lets him resist fatal injuries, and he doesn't feel pain. He had volunteered last night."

A question arose from my lips: "Why have Assault, then?"

He responded: "Kids going all out against each other, it's not exactly my cup of tea. But considering that you managed to cut me without entering your breaker state…"

His face was a bit pale.

Miss Militia continued: "You still need to find other ways to incapacitate your opponents."

Glenn Chambers's comment came to my mind. "Without using the blades?"

"Not necessarily. Powers want to be used."

I didn't know how to respond to that. My powers felt fundamentally different than the others, but I couldn't deny that ignoring my weapons, our legend, felt wrong.

She continued:"But we need to learn restraint. It's something that comes from practice and experience. I pass a lot of the time at the shooting range, to learn how to use as many weapons as possible."

And she probably needed to study where to shoot to not kill. I had a general medical knowledge, so I cheated a bit.

"For my powers, the matter is different. I have to learn how much time I can spend accumulating energy versus how much energy I need to handle a dangerous situation," Battery stated.

It felt a bit condescending, I knew how to use my powers!

But I knew how to use them to kill. Controlling myself, ourselves, was going to be hard. Leaning on my teammates as well.

If only my body hadn't changed! No, that was wrong. Even if either part of ourselves survived the locker and the warm light, we'd never have what we have now, the memories of a real family, the will to be. We'd never be a hero, even the most untouched part of our big self was mostly uncaring about what our wide self did once for a 'living'.

But we could learn to do that job. We nodded resolutely.

"Good, go take a shower and change yourselves. Later, you and the Wards that aren't on monitor duty will see Sergeant Lanny about combat protocols."

Assault quipped: "And don't worry, the others will review them later."

Some groaned. I ignored the others' eyes, hurrying to the change room.

We were lucky my costume hadn't arrived yet, we looked a mess. We took the edges of our domino mask. It looked flimsy and cheap, but it was quite comfortable and if you didn't know how to remove it, it wouldn't budge an inch.

We threw the Protectorate jumpsuit in the trash can and took out another from the bag they gave us.

The shower was brief but soothing, and while we were drying our hair we heard a voice.

"Can I come in?" Vista wanted to talk to us. That was surprising.

"Sure," we replied.

The young cape seemed surprised to see us caring for our hair.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yes, why are you asking?" we asked back.

"You are… how do we call it? Saying breaker state every time is a bit of a mouthful."

Jack. Yes, we wanted to go to M/S protocol, right now.

We stopped the flow and I covered myself.

"Can you wait until I have changed?" I said. Even after all this, I was still self-conscious about my appearance.

"Well, we are both girls. I'm not going to look, but we are going to change together quite often."

My left hand passed over the scar left by Sophia's bolt.

"I have a scar as well," she blurted out.

"Really?" That was something they didn't talk about.

"Hookwolf. He was attacking some tourists, of mixed heritage. When he saw that I let them escape, he ran against me. Unfortunately, my power doesn't work well if there are people, so I didn't manage to be fast enough," she explained.

Why didn't he have a Kill Order yet? "And the E88 calls themselves civil."

"I know, right? Anyway, I returned to base and patched myself up. They were furious I didn't tell them," she muttered.

"Why?"

"Because 'I shouldn't have engaged'. Like letting him kill those innocent people was the right choice."

Innocent was a strong word. What did it mean to be innocent? Everyone did something wrong at least once. Sure, good people must exist, my memories of my younger years proved that. But it was also a world that ended lives and twisted people.

She continued:"So I wanted to tell you, for me, it's not a problem to see a bit of blood. But the others outside were a bit squeamish."

"They told me to go all out," I replied, repressing the instinct to materialize a scalpel.

She nodded, frowning: "Yes, but they aren't used to it. They don't let us fight real villains if they can, and the gangs know better than fight Wards. Hookwolf probably didn't care because he was already sentenced to the Birdcage."

The Ward moved a strand of her hair and changed the topic: "Anyway, that wasn't the point. If there's something you want to talk with, feel free to do so with me and the others."

She was looking at the floor. In fact, after the first two words, she looked at everything but my face.

The reply was easy: "I don't want to."

This time, she tried to keep her tone of voice even, but it sounded a bit winy and angry: "Why not?"

"You could have asked me anything in these two days. I know your names, but I don't know you. All those capes' stories, all that you've talked about are things you say on PHO, on TV, to the fans," I explained.

She rebutted: "It's what comes easy to us. After all those PR lessons, it's just second instinct."

I shook my head:"You are tense around me. You don't like me, it's fine. I'm not here to make friends."

A family is more important than friends.

Vista closed her hands in two fists: "You, you! We are tense because you are tense!"

Was she an idiot? "Did you think we'd be all buddy-buddy with her teammates?"

She was shouting: "We didn't know! She was a bit of a bitch, but we didn't know she was a sadist! You didn't make the best first impression either! When you entered your breaker state against Aegis, you were smiling as you…!"

Her red face paled. A bit squeamish, uh?

The flow closed.

"You didn't want to talk to me."

She replied bitterly: "No. 'Just because we're both girls', they said. I know every power is different, you might be the closest thing to a case 53's that still has her memories. But you can't expect us to talk with you. You don't even have the goal of being a hero, for you, this is just a means to an end."

For a moment, we wanted to tell who we were. Of those dreams of White Chapel.

We opted differently: "You want to talk? Let's talk. Powers."

"Powers?" She seemed surprised at the change of topic, but she looked curious as well.

"You know how we got ours. How did you get yours?"

She froze. Her eyes darted angrily at the door, even as we slowly walked towards it.

"Fine. It was just stupid."

We turned to her.

"My parents are divorced. They constantly argued about everything. I didn't even know what the problem was, we had money, we were happy, but they started long-winded arguments that always ended up with someone screaming. We had this very long table in the dining room, for the big family parties we held in the festivities. I had a dream. They sat at the opposites ends, and both mom and dad wanted me to be near them, to agree with them. Mom was pulling my arms to sit near her, dad shouted angrily, got up, and picked me up. Mom launched him something, and I fell on the floor, so dad went to his side, the right side. They continued to bicker more and more until a glass shattered near me. After that, I woke up."

She made a gesture, space warped and she came in front of us in one step.

She was smiling a bitter smile: "See, stupid. This," she pointed at the floor, "this is important. I was just a little girl that didn't know better."

She opened the door and slammed it.

We felt like a dick.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

Jan 22, 2020

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ic3shard13

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Jan 23, 2020

#58

The lesson had been an enormous waste of time.

There were only so many times that you could hear the general rules of engagement:

"1 Always contact console first;

2 Never start hostilities;

3 Always be cautious about new capes;

4 Wait for members of the Protectorate and PRT to arrive as long as possible;

5 If necessary, ask to surrender and only if the situation requires it intervene."

Sure, there were other implied rules, like older Wards should have command on the field, and all Wards had to present a PR friendly face, but they were easy to understand even if fucking annoying. At least they didn't cover M/S protocols again.

It was all mostly for the newbie and we all had to act as guard dogs around her.

I wanted to hurry back to my room and finish my homework and leave this shitty day where it was.

"Vista!"

I let Gallant catch up with me.

"Is everything alright? I didn't ask before..." he said.

Gallant was always nice, he understood that I worked hard like everyone else and that being a Ward wasn't a game for me. He didn't treat me like a stupid child, he acknowledged I had my own opinions.

But sometimes his habit to play shrink for the team was annoying.

"It's nothing. Just tired." I said not whining.

"Okay, it's just that Ghostchild..."

I frowned: "It's always about her these days. We had a discussion, and it ended."

"She felt guilty," he said as if it explained everything.

Sure, whatever.

Seeing my indifference with more senses than most, he continued: "It's not that I don't care about your side of the story, it's more like her power interacts weirdly with mine. Her feelings are always so intense."

Duh.

"She triggered less than a week ago. She just needs to adjust," I said.

He shook his head: "She will need more than a week. Her life is in shambles, we don't have any case 53 in our team, but I know they feel ostracized for how they look. Like them, she changed and she has an entire identity to build up. Armsmaster is preparing contact lenses for her eyes. She doesn't feel safe around us, she's afraid of her own powers."

Aegis hadn't returned from the infirmary yet. Did they call in Panacea? What a good way to endear New Wave to us.

It wasn't my problem. "And what am I supposed to do? She doesn't want to talk."

Ignoring my previous words, he asked again: "Did you talk about anything in particular?"

"No." It wasn't your business.

I continued: "And what would we talk about? We didn't tell her anything about us. We didn't even condemn that bitch! We are all tiptoeing around the fact that our ex-teammate triggered her. We just act as if Shadow Stalker never existed in the first place. I heard your discussion with Clockblocker and Aegis. Clockblocker was defending her!"

He took a calm tone: "He was saying her situation was more complicated than it appeared."

Yeah, she was a sadist and a sociopath.

"I don't care, Ghostchild doesn't care. A trigger event, however stupid it was, is still a trigger event. We all knew, you knew that Shadow Stalker was a ticking bomb. Are we going to leave this matter in the same way? Wait for our 'new black ops assassin' to impale someone on duty and then we all act shocked?"

Problems didn't solve by themselves.

Gallant replied: "We are all shocked. I tried telling Miss Militia and Renick to give us psychological help, but they say there aren't enough resources. I feel as impotent as everyone else, but it's hard to do nothing when you see what others are feeling."

Figured. They didn't have the resources to emancipate me.

I clenched my hands: "Again, what am I supposed to do? She doesn't want to talk. She's hiding some of her powers, and we are all waiting for her to

reveal them."

As if what she had wasn't terrifying enough. The analysts thought she had some sort of thinker power with medical skills, but after everything, I wouldn't be surprised if she was also Bonesaw 2.0.

We had to attend all these big meetings on why and how her powers manifested, a theory that I was pretty sure Gallant approved was that she reverted her age because she was happier when she was younger.

I had to bit my lips to ask what the hell the mist and the knives had to do with 'a return to innocence'.

Psychologists didn't know shit about parahumans and powers, and Gallant had to know it. He was always so open, but he never revealed his trigger event. Most boys didn't.

I had to agree with Dennis: in what way could a shrink help us?

I got to the point: "You were just hoping she'd open to me because we're both girls. Or maybe you didn't want to touch the problem."

"It's not as simple as that," he argued.

Of course. "It's never simple. Explain then."

He hesitated, it was clear even if his expression was hidden behind the helm.

"I thought you'd have something in common," he said.

"Like what?"

"Well, she looks closer- he stopped. And he damn knew why.

My voice was quiet as a whisper: "She's fifteen. She said so. What were you implying, that we have a pajama party and talk about boys? That we make each other's hair? I'm not like the girls at school. I thought you understood."

"Vista..." He was searching for the right words. I didn't let him find them.

I stated very calmly: "Vista no. Vista is tired. Just, just go."

I compressed the hallway and hurried to my room.

Weren't we supposed to be a team, us vs the world? Weren't we supposed to be heroes?

The fact that nobody was speaking against Shadow Stalker was disgusting.

The fact that they were all waiting for the newbie's mess to resolve itself even more so. No, it wasn't that. They just wanted her to be integrated as if I knew some magic words.

She might have to need a therapist or something, but Sophia needed one as well. Even if I'd never say to their faces, they were both so annoyingly edgy and angsty, like the world hated them in particular so they had to hate it as well.

"I can never be a hero." What the hell did it even mean? Was she cursed with evilness or something?

Blissfully, I didn't meet anybody else as I hurried to my room.

Naturally, I repressed a scream when I noticed that somebody entered without my permission. There was a letter on

my desk, right next to my textbooks.

I put it on the side and started doing Math. Geometry was fricking easy when you played with space as if it were a ball of dough.

I needed a calculator for the next part though. It was in my backpack if I remembered correctly.

I looked again at the letter. Never be said that Missy Vista Byron didn't read her letters.

The handwriting was neat and precise. It was from Ghostchild. As if it could have been anyone else.

"Dear Vista,

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't have asked you about your trigger event.

We didn't think it was stupid. Your parents aren't fit to be parents.

I'm not cut for being a hero, I'd rather stay at home and live a normal life.

But I'll cover your back on the field, whenever I can.

If you need help with homework or anything school-related don't be afraid to ask. It's all stuff I already learned.

Good day,

Tay Ghostchild."

I stared at the words, trying to decipher a hidden meaning or a secret code. I thought things like this happened only in family dramas.

I finished homework on my own and decided that today I really had enough about people.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

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ic3shard13

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Jan 24, 2020

#77

It had been a boring and long day learning about my new identity, one of Anne Jacqueline Hebert. I wanted to keep Taylor, but that was difficult. Anne was a no brainer to remind mom. And if I told others to call me Jackie? Why, I'd respond to it as if I always had that name.

After I was pretty sure I memorized it properly, I went to my official Ward's bedroom to change into my costume. It had arrived, and tomorrow I could finally go home with Dad!

Sleeping at the Rig was annoying, even if the beds were surprisingly comfortable. At last, I'd have some rest from the drama.

I hadn't seen Vista yet, I hoped she took the letter well.

I was going to her same school, it was decided that I'd better fit as a thirteen-year-old in an elementary school than a fifteen in a High school.

It sucked a lot, I'd much have preferred to wait to take a G.E.D. but apparently, a probationary Ward needed to go to school, and informing the Youth Guard of my real age was an obvious no.

At least it was better than the pit that was Winslow, if we had to return there we would have unleashed a bit of more Ripper than we did with Aegis.

We didn't write a letter to him but we apologized, though fortunately he was already healed. Still, we hoped they didn't want us to go full out in another test.

We closed the well and I materialized a knife to cut the box that had a brilliant 'Don't open, for Wards only' written on the side.

Between the layer of plastic covers, there was the dreaded bubble wrap.

I spent thirty seconds popping it.

Then I decided I needed to move on lest I wasted a half-hour doing that.

The costume was easy and fast to wear. I had feared it would be pretty tight, but it fitted comfortably. Being a something-Servant helped with my physique as well, de-aging aside.

I had to admit it, hearing the 'clack' of the clips that connected the bandanna to the cap was strangely satisfying.

I looked at myself in the mirror and struck some poses. Even with our full gear out, we didn't look too threatening, which was the point.

And the gummy bears, or gummy ghosts, didn't help. At least they weren't terrible.

It felt strangely wrong looking like that as if all the differences of who we were before and who we had to be were too much.

Taking a deep breath, I went to the Wards' main room.

"Well, it fits you," a time-themed Ward teased.

I tugged the sleeves: "Do you think?"

Clockblocker nodded resolutely: "Yes, another white in the team."

Gallant snorted from the couch.

He soon realized his unfortunate comment: "Wait… Okay, I didn't want to make an E88 impression."

I let out a laugh. It was kinda funny.

He deadpanned: "Well, I at least made you happy. I can see though, you can do Miss Militia's shtick well."

Aegis interrupted him: "Yeah, yeah. Want to join me in console, Ghostchild?"

Apparently, I conveyed my unwillingness to do so, because he said: "Yes, you can do Miss Militia."

It didn't feel right to spend time with him so soon. A man ripped apart, walking as if it were nothing?

I was scary but other capes were as well.

I went to one of the free computers to read some news. Some posturing battles between the E88 and the ABB. Minor gangs going around. Nothing new after all, just some minor capes entering and leaving the scene.

As I heard an insistent buzzing coming from the main door, the other Wards wore their masks.

It was a simple touring group. The kids, some younger than what I looked like, were looking in wonder at the simple room and the Wards. I didn't like the attention.

I was an Assassin, not a hero to be paraded!

Nevertheless, a chubby boy took out the courage to ask me: "Who are you?"

I replied confidently: "I am the new Ward Ghostchild."

Some of them looked excited to see me, a new Ward, others dismissed me entirely and went to ask for autographs from the other boys.

He asked again: "What can you do?"

I summoned a knife. Some parents looked at me wearily, but the kids were more than a bit fascinated.

Was I like the children here, when I watched the TV all those years ago?

An unimpressed brat scoffed: "That's it?"

I rolled my eyes. We summoned all of our knives.

A young girl came dangerously close to our holster: "So your power is knives."

We took a deep breath.

I explained a bit more: "Not only that. I can also become invisible and I'm very agile and fast."

Now they were interested.

"Can you become invisible now?"

"No, because if I forget I'm invisible the other heroes won't find me if they need me," I said.

The real reason was that using powers of the master/stranger variety in the base was very much forbidden. I wondered what happened if I entered Identity Erasure and never left it.

The other Wards would stay in master stranger protocol forever.

The pudgy boy nodded.

"Can I have an autograph?"

I glanced at the redhead who asked. We felt a flash of anger, but we managed to contain it.

Again, we said confidently: "Sure. Where do you want it?"

She gave me the brand new Wards backpack she must have bought at the gift shop.

I wrote the name Ghostchild, and her eyes lit in a smile.

It felt strange to be appreciated simply for that, for the simple reason I existed.

A man of short stature took her hands: "Come, Christine, the guide is saying we need to move on."

I stood there as they left the place. I still had the pen in my hand.

"It's good, isn't it?"

I glanced at Gallant.

I mumbled a 'what'.

"Seeing others happy for what we represent."

I capped the pen and put it in its place.

"So, who wants a pizza?" Clockblocker asked.

"Pepperoni," Gallant exclaimed.

"Margherita," I answered.

"Ananas," Aegis said as he opened the door from the console room.

Clockblocker nodded: "Ok. Aegis, ask the others in patrol."

"I can't do that. And you know it," he pointed out.

The time-stopper grumbled: "Fine, I'll call them on the phone. As if it were less distracting."

I went back to my room. It wasn't fair that I was a hero. Our history was all but heroic.

Nobody would know it, of that we were sure.

We struck a determined hero pose.

"Oh yeah, do you want some drinks with…" Clockblocker opened the door.

We materialized a butcher's knife. His comment died on his lips.

We told him swiftly: "Cola."

He nodded, got out, and shut the door.

We closed the flow and started popping the remaining bubble wrap.

I imagined that every bubble was one of Emma's bones.

The human body had lots of bones after all…

The bubbles finished at the last vertebra of Gladly.

Okay, I needed to find a better past time. But I had nothing with me, I should have asked dad to bring a book or something.

I could return to the living room and surf the Net or watch the TV. But Clockblocker was probably there, Vista might be there, Aegis as well…

Well, the bed was comfy.

But I wasn't tired.

I took a deep breath and simply opened the door.

Kid Win was on a chair, taking notes and drawing schematics of something. Did it look like a… cannon?

Gallant, Triumph, and Aegis were chatting on a corner, Vista was watching TV and Clockblocker was fiddling with his smart-phone.

Another thing to think about. They were going to give me two cellphones, one for Ward's duty and one for personal use. Naturally, they both had trackers and I was highly suggested to always keep one with me.

Killing people had some sort of consequence, even if I lived in relative luxury.

Real luxury if compared to the Victorian Age.

I flinched, deciphering Jack's memories was really hard, they felt more like vague images and strong feelings.

They were real for us nonetheless.

"Ghostchild."

I turned to Vista, who already got up from her seat.

"We need to talk."

She had such a serious expression. It didn't fit her looks at all.

I shouldn't be thinking badly of her, I messed up our conversation big time.

But her costume was… so colorful and cute childish.

"Sure," I said, "want to go to my room?"

She agreed: "I suppose it's fine. Third on the left, right?"

"Yes."

The walk was brief but silent.

I sat on the bed, while she chose to sit on the desktop.

She briefly glanced at the mess I made with the box but fortunately, she didn't comment.

Her hand moved and she pushed a button on her visor, and she removed it.

Her eyes bore on me.

"Listen, one of the biggest rules in the business is that you never ask a cape their trigger event, it's always personal."

Before I could properly apologize she stopped me: "You didn't know it, but we do know yours. What happened with Sophia was fucked up, and none of us has apologized properly. We all knew she was a bitch, but she never broke the rules and she played straight with us. I thought she had enough beating the occasional thugs."

She bit her lip, and muttered: "I thought a Ward would be better than that."

Rising her voice, she exclaimed: "I'm going to teach you all those rules. It took me some time to learn them. If they think you're too young they tend to shelter you, but it doesn't work. BB is BB."

I nodded. This wasn't how I expected the conversation to go. Having somebody that helped me understand cape culture was useful.

I coughed: "I see no problem with that."

Her face relaxed, and her posture slumped a bit. She took another glance at the shredded bubble wrap.

"Can I ask why?"

We grumbled: "We were bored."

She blinked, twice. "Oh, mmm… they make a nice popping sound. If you want I can lend you something to read."

We scratched our neck: "That'd be nice, thanks."

We shook our head. I asked: "How long for the pizza?"

She started kicking her legs. "Some time. The best place is a bit far."

"Uh."

She dropped from the desk. "Do you want to watch something? We have quite the film collection."

That didn't sound bad. "Sure. Oh, your visor."

"Thanks. There shouldn't be anyone else, but better be sure. You always need to be prepared." She said, nodding firmly.

I closed the door and followed her.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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ic3shard13

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ic3shard13

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Jan 28, 2020

#102

This was a new start, as Anne Jacqueline Hebert. It was written on my new flashy I.D., even if in the photo my eyes were a normal brown and my curly hair completely black.

Another change in our lives was our house, now closer to the Boardwalk than in the Docks.

It was a bit painful leaving our old home, but to add more coverage to my new identity, it was a small price to pay. It was a bit smaller, but all the most important things were inside.

Dad had requested the help of some of his coworkers to bring the furniture and clean the old dusty basement, where they found one of my older toys, an Alexandria doll stained with milk.

It was currently on my desk, right next to the contact lenses Armsmaster created. I didn't remember when I got it, but I remembered how much I played with it.

The memories were a bit sour due to Emma's presence in most of them.

Dad still had some trouble calling me Jack, as he preferred to not associate me with the most infamous cape serial killer, but he was trying.

Jackie worked though!

I started preparing breakfast for both of us, hoping to help him get used to the new situation. I refused to let our new warm home be turned as lifeless as our old one, with us acting more like roommates rather than family.

After two weeks of practice, building a story for my new ID, buying new, too much color full clothes, stress tests to be sure that we didn't go Ripper the instant I entered my new school, the day finally came.

I was enlisted in the same year and class of Missy Byron, as a seventh-grade student in the prestigious middle school of St. Jeanne.

At least in the afternoon, we were free for extracurricular classes, as in going to the PRT HQ to do console and patrol.

I adjusted my pants as I looked at myself in the mirror.

Yes, that was an expression of 'don't mind me, I'm just doing my business'.

My dad drove me, and it wasn't even that long of a trip. There wasn't a lot of traffic in this section of the city.

He assured me with a hug and a pat on the head that made me glare at him.

I entered.

The school looked normal, as budget-constrained as Winslow but cleaner and ordered.

My first class was Math, so I took a deep breath and went there.

The teacher, a certain Ms. Grant, introduced me: "We have a new student, Anne Jacqueline Hebert."

I looked at my new classmates in search of a companion.

Missy was at the bottom of the class, strange, I figured she'd be one of those kids that preferred listening to the teacher.

The others were eyeing me curiously.

"Hi, I'm new here. Hope to be friends." My smile felt strained as I said those words.

The teacher wanted to start her lesson.

"Well then, take a seat."

Coincidently, there was a place near Missy.

As the teacher started explaining stuff I could do with my eyes closed, a girl on my left asked me: "Hi, I'm Ashley. Where are you from?"

"Uhm, I was homeschooled."

Yes, my 'origin' was quite simple. No need to invent anything traceable.

Her light blue eyes widened a bit: "Oh, why have you changed?"

"My family thought I needed to socialize more." Aka, the Youth Guard wanted me to socialize more.

"Really? If you want, one of these days the two of us and my other friends can go out together, to see a movie or something," she offered me suddenly.

Her puffy nose gave her a bit of a nasal voice.

I almost refused her on reflex.

Most afternoons were spent at the Wards' center, but I didn't like staying there, especially as I finally could be at home.

Besides the awkwardness/rage with Shadow Stalker, there was a bit more infighting in the group that I knew about.

Triumph would be gone at the end of the week, Kid Win and Aegis were giving the cold shoulder to Clockblocker for some reason, Gallant and Missy worked well together but there was a strange tension between them.

Only the two of them talked frequently with me, the interaction with the others was stilted, and even then most of the time I was learning how to work at the console and memorizing the millions of rules that were an integral part of being a Ward.

And M/S protocol codes. To confirm ourselves after Information Erasure was so annoying.

Miss Militia, that somehow took sympathy in my condition regardless of us almost killing her, spent some of her time teaching us tactics simulating difficult situations, asking how we would deal with them.

It felt like never-ending work, since Winter's break I didn't relax a lot.

Sure, maybe she was a bully, or her friends were jerks, but it wasn't something I needed to worry about. They were middle schoolers, I was a Ward, I was a… Servant.

Kinda.

I knew how to not be bothered by that.

I replied nonchalantly: "It depends on the days."

"Friday?" She asked quickly.

I hummed: "That day should be fine."

"Okay, I'll text the others to see if it's alright with them," she nodded and took out the infernal contraption.

Ms. Grant asked me a question immediately after, probably to see if I was keeping attention.

I answered it easily. My grades at Winslow were horrible, sure, but mostly due to the bitches, and this was elementary school.

Lunch was a quiet affair, I didn't feel ready to eat in the cafeteria so I took a quiet spot in one of the free classrooms. It was nice having a moment of quietness, once in a while.

After classes finished, I followed Missy to the parking lot behind the school.

We entered a nondescript blue van.

"You know, it won't be easy keeping friendships," Missy said out of nowhere.

"What do you mean?" I knew it already.

"We capes and civvies have different lives. There are things you won't talk about with them. Some days you'll have things to do, others there will be emergencies and you'll have to drop what you programmed. And it's not like you'll explain what's the problem," she explained with an even tone of voice.

"Is that why you spend a lot of time at the Headquarters?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. Her parents were such jerks!

She nodded: "Yep. I tried at the start, but it didn't work. Too little common ground."

I didn't comment on it. I never had much of a social life recently.

"Besides, doesn't it feel weird for you, interacting with people younger than you?"

The question didn't make much sense.

"I mean, won't they feel childish?" she asked again.

Well, maybe, but not really. Honestly, I preferred middle school students much more than high school.

And to be honest, I felt more 'childish'. One of my favorite dreams I had recently, was of us, the current us, playing in a garden with mom and dad, and my parents cuddling us while kicking out those like Emma that wanted to disrupt our peace.

Even the worst kind of dreams was different, even when we were scorned and hunted we fought back.

"We can't say. If we don't like being with them, we'll simply stop seeing them. And some of the Wards," we pointed at us and her, "don't take us very seriously for our appearance as well. Doing the same to others feels wrong."

She mumbled: "I don't think it will work. Why are you knifey, though?"

Knifey was the unofficial code word for me going us that Clockblocker invented. It quickly spread to the other Wards, much to our dismay and amusement.

"It feels uncomfortable keeping it locked for too much time," we said, as we played with one of the strands of hair that had been black seconds ago.

And it was another side of us, we were more spontaneous, even if some meany could say unhinged. Our big self had a piece of stick in her butt, always so serious and suspicious. Well, she kept our wide self from asking Aegis if he could live without his heart. And 'knifeing' Clockblocker when he saw us do the embarrassing pose…

Was this what they called self-reflection? Living was weird.

She didn't look like she fully understood, but she nodded. "Okay, but remember to 'close' it again before we step out of the car."

We knew it, we knew stealth. Vista sometimes was so annoying, she had a bigger stick in her butt.

A horrible joke formed in our mind.

We deadpanned: "Yes, mom."

Her sputtering was priceless.

After we finished giggling, we closed the well.

The rest of the journey was in silence, as my dear teammate glared at me.

Aegis asked from behind me: "Ready to your first patrol?"

I stretched my hands: "Sure. It's just the Boardwalk. I thought I had to have all this big presentation first."

Kid Win made a gesture of 'so and so'. "It depends. They didn't want to overlap your 'official entrance' with Triumph's graduation to the Wards."

I muttered: "That doesn't make any sense."

"I don't work for PR," he defended himself, putting his hands up.

The route was quite simple: from one end of the Boardwalk to another.

There weren't a lot of people at this time of the day, but it was the Boardwalk. The nicest place in the city, where tourism and money flew, peace was kept by a private force, the Enforcers, and everything was more expensive.

I didn't like it at all. There'd be fans asking autographs, people filming, and cape groupies wanting to see my powers.

"You need to remember that we're heroes. We need to present a certain image. Are you ready to present yourself as one of the ones who fight the good fight?" Aegis sounded condescending and paternal.

Did he think I was lying?

He was always so… stiff, especially near me.

I didn't think he was afraid, he looked more cautious.

Was he like this with Sophia as well?

Or was he already imagining himself as the leader, disciplining us as if we were an unruly child?

No matter what, we were our own master. The blood oath of the dream was stronger than any command seals.

We held no love for the PRT and the Protectorate. Some of the Wards were fine, and we were ready to do our part, but no more.

Kid Win put himself between the two of us: "Hey, calm down you two! There's no need to start bickering now. Just smile and do what they want you to do. We are capes, they know we're different. And if someone asks something unreasonable, we go on and ignore them."

"Well said," our supervisor approved. She was very quiet, we almost missed her entrance.

Would she work as an Assassin as well?

Maybe she was better suited as an Archer.

Miss Militia glanced at us, her eyes wrinkling amused. "Is there something funny, Ghostchild?"

We closed the well. I lied: "Nothing."

I asked: "Why are you here?"

"Well, it feels appropriate. The Boardwalk is one of the most secure locations in the city, at most there are petty thefts and stunts from C-list villains like Uber and Leet. Though, you may never know in our profession. And the PR department wants to publicize you as my 'apprentice'."

My hand moved towards my bandana.

A flash of memory passed in my head: "Isn't it what they did with Kid Win?"

The mentioned cape flinched.

Armsmaster didn't look that personal, and I was getting the idea that Kid Win had some problems with his tinkering. In the few days I spent in the Wards lounge, I found some of his projects, half-finished designs drawn quickly and furiously.

I felt a bit bad about bringing it up.

And Aegis was again as attent as a soldier.

However, Miss Militia had most of my attention: "Yes. We will patrol together quite often. I hope I'll be able to help you. Being in the Wards, learning how to live peacefully as a parahuman, and integrating into society isn't easy."

That was doubly true for both of my pasts. Peacefully…

"It's impossible," the words left our mouth before we processed them.

We felt the stare of the three other capes. We mumbled: "We mean, live peacefully. This city is torn by the gangs, the Endbringers kill millions every time they attack…"

Peace was impossible, the times were different from old Jack, but the world was where people still killed to live and let others die without care.

"I know. It doesn't mean we don't have to try. Villains outnumber the heroes, yet the Protectorate is strong," the Protectorate member said.

Miss Militia's eyes gained an intense focus. "My country of origin is torn by war and feuds. Every parahuman outside of the States triggers alone, without a support structure, without a guide. There is a line between heroes and villains, and I believe that doing the right thing is where the line is crossed. Understanding what is right alone…"

Her holstered weapon flickered in green flashes between a combat knife, a small gun, and a baton.

As we felt our own weapon in our hands, we understood why they paired the two of us.

The other two Wards were shocked, so naïve as if what she said was some closely guarded secret.

We didn't believe in the PRT or the Protectorate. It had failed us.

But even dad… he failed our big self many times.

We closed the well, though we wanted to feel our power.

I nodded and followed her, one of the favorite heroine of my childhood.

Last edited: Nov 25, 2020

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