Quest

by Kahlil Johnson

Uhhhh

32. Ripper 4

I woke up after a shriek. A light blinded my eyes, making me cry tears. It was night after all.

I tried to get up, but my legs weren't working.

They were too small, I didn't know why, but they were too small.

The shrieking woman took out something- barely charged - and I used my hands to crawl over the hard ground.

What kind of ground was this? This wasn't rock or earth, but it was hard and black, but that might have been due to the night.

There were lights on poles that lighted the street, and it was strange. The town was big, and every building had more windows that I had ever seen.

I stopped cold. Where did I see a window? How did I know what a building was?

Who was I?

I stopped moving. I didn't know anything. No, I knew something. A fire. I should be dead!

My heart pumped incontrollably and I garbled a sound, asking for help.

It was cold. My neck hurt.

An overwhelming noise that repeated in a loop, like an animal under torture, came closer and closer. It was a moving box, a carriage my poor memory informed, but it didn't have an horse or another animal moving it.

The noise, the blue and red lights and the black colors scared me. If it hadn't been for the silhouette of a person inside, I would have thought it was moving of its own will, like a predator after its prey.

It slowed down, and again lights blinded me.

Faceless men wearing strange armors -recently washed- and with strange tools barked and talked something.

One of them settled down, and using a smaller of those little torches started examining me.

The man moved his head up and down and other voices followed.

I didn't know how long it lasted before one of the soldiers took pity on me and covered my nude body with a blanket.

"Soooo, what do you think of our new teammate? Psycho much?" Slapdash introduced the topic with her usual tact.

"Sally, don't talk of her like that," Grinder chided.

"I didn't see you unmasking to her, George."

The tinker sighed. "One thing is precaution, the other is prejudice."

"I swear to Legend's shiny ass, you always went out of the way whenever she starts flipping with her creepy knives," Slapdash replied, badly mimicking Ghostchild with a straw.

I agreed with her on one part: her knives were creepy. Freaking schreeches.

"And that's my problem to deal with," Grinder rebutted. "You read her file. It hasn't been easy for her."

"Dummy, she's a para. Good trigger, bad trigger, she's fucked up. Do we want to make a collective pity party everytime a new cape is born? I just want to be sure she doesn't stab any of us in our back."

"They went after her and her father."

"Again, do we want to make a pity party? Let's talk about Hunch here and Weld instead. They don't know if they have a family. But they aren't threatening anyone."

I knew I had one. Not that I could return to them.

Grinder muttered: "Firefly finds her funny."

"Because she looks like a little girl. He's an asshole, but he adhores munchkins. It's like he took the Mom genes I threw away or something. I bet he would play with Bonesaw if he found her. Oh, and look at that! Our new Ward fits better in the S9 than-"

Grinder growled: "That's uncalled for. She has fucked up, but it was always self-defence. Don't you dare compare her to those monsters."

Sally blushed and stuttered. It was one of her quirks: if she was ashamed of what she said, she always had to take some time to reboot herself.

"I know, it's... it's fucked up."

I intervened: "What were you saying about pity parties?"

She blushed again: "It's not that, pity or not, who cares. It's just, I'm afraid we have to put up with her for at least two years when she has no intentions to do so."

"Would you be surprised?" Grinder asked.

"But with everything else? It feels like a ticking time bomb. Sure, Boston isn't the wreck that Brocton Bay is..."

"May Accord preserve order and decorum," George memed.

"But fuckups happen," Slapdash finished.

I inserted myself once again. "I think she's trying to be better."

Slapdash asked curious: "Really?"

"She kept her old cape name. And I think Miss Militia is a good influence on her."

"Where did you hear that?"

"I didn't need my power. She had a small talk with Weld, I talked with him, and voilà."

Grinder muttered: "And I'm supposed to be the leader."

Slapdash giggled: "You ain't leadering material, hon."

"Touché. Tinkers and leaders don't play well together, especially for all the time I have to waste for the batteries of my suits."

He finished his smoothie and said: "And look at that, it's recalibration time."

Slapdash huffed: "And I have consolle in five minutes. Hey Hunch, would you...?"

"No," I denied.

She groaned. "Whatever."

I waited some minutes, and after being sure I was alone, I composed the number.

"Hello, this is Tony's. How can I help you?"

"Two margheritas and a can of coke. Send to the Ward Hunch."

I waited for thirty seconds for an answer. "Perfect. They'll be made in eleven minutes!"

Everything was going to be alright.

I closed the phone and sighed. At least Accord wasn't going gung-oh on Ghostchild.

I swinged my atrophied legs. I hoped his promise payed off, some day.

"Consolle, this is Miss Militia. We are making a turn at Vikare's road."

"Copy that," I replied.

I drummed my fingers on the table. A red alert appeared.

"There's been a robbery two streets ahead of you," I informed.

Dovetail replied: "Roger, we'll be there shortly. Kids, stay ba-

She always stopped her transmissions a half second later.

How many times did I listen to them?

I slammed my fist against my seat. It was just too much. Ghostchild was out there and I was here!

I wanted to think I was a better person, that I was happy for her. I wasn't.

I was trapped on a chair at the behest of an organization that didn't have my best interest in mind.

Accord proved me so, many Protectorate members were Cauldron capes, like the Ambassadors.

Sometimes, I wanted to blurt everything out. And who cared about if a boogeyman killed me. This didn't feel like a life.

I had my apartment, sure. I had a caretaker. But what was the point of heading out if I was scorned for my appearance?

I wasn't an Adonis like Weld could be. I couldn't take stress relief on villains.

Well, at least Accord like my Ω. Under my chin and perfectly symmetrical.

"The victim has been shot. He's been bleeding on the ground," Firefly commented from the sky.

For all he grumbled about his powers, he sure liked flying.

"Can we- permission to heal, ma'am?"

"Go on, Ghostchild," Miss Militia replied.

And it was irritating that Ghostchild, even if she was more privileged than me, had still something to hide to the public.

I sighed. Dwelling in these thoughts was bad for my mental health. One, two, three, four, five, six...

Bless Yamada.

It was in these moments, that something from my old life came up.

My old desire to hunt.

I had been a hunter and a warrior, and now I was crippled and cared like a toddler.

I hated my situation, and I hated my old self. He was surely the type that would have joined the Teeth.

The wooden mask that 'appeared' on my bed the day after Accord contacted me showed as much.

It had been a secret project of mine. My power worked better the first time I looked at an object, but if I concentrated, if I spent minutes looking at something, it whispered more.

Until I had been disgusted enough I threw it away.

Grinder made his appearance from his room. "Everything alright?"

"A civvie got shot," I replied.

He blanched. I felt a disgusting satisfaction in kicking his hemophobia.

I didn't like the current me, either.

"Well, good thing that my armor isn't ready. Say, do we order pizza again...?"

"Yeah, yeah." It was good pizza.

"There's been an explosion near the City Hall!" Firefly shouted. "It's the Teeth!"

"Tchz!" Grinder tchzed.

I informed: "Transport arriving in two minutes."

I read a feedback: "They had kidnapped the mayor. They want two hundred thousands dollars."

Firefly added: "The principal roads are blocked. By the way, I'm landing. It's too hot."

I sighed.

"Permission to scout?" Ghostchild asked.

"Denied," Miss Militia answered.

On another com, Bastion ordered: "Flinch, Poise, with me. We'll go against Spree's wall. Remember, Gorged's slimes are irritating but not lethal. "

"Aye aye, captain."

I chuckled. Poise knew how to rile that jackass up.

"That's going to be a mess and a half," Grinder commented.

"Nah. Bastion is many things, but he's not an idiot," I argued.

Flinch added: "Stop! Three members of the Travelers, Trickster, Sundancer and Ballistic are talking with Hemorragia. Trickster lent him a suitcase. It looks full of money!"

Bastion barked: "Hunch, look at it."

I activated the video and concentrated on the suitcase.

'leather, polished without a scratch.'

I answered. "It's from Accord."

Now I knew Bastion was pissed. But Accord must have been pissed as well.

"Oh poor Butcher..." Grinder added.

I called the Ward's patrol. "Accord has paid the Teeth's ransom."

"Roger."

Some minutes passed, and I felt myself at the edge of the seat.

What was the point of humor if you didn't use it on yourself?

"The Teeth are retreating. Let's deal with the mooks they left," Bastion said.

I expelled a sigh of relief.

"I think I'll make myself a smoothie. Want one?" The addicted offered.

I drummed my fingers. "Sure."

The tinker went out.

"The situation is clear," Flinch stated.

I informed the Wards and the other two Protectorate members.

I rolled my seat, and using the analog stick I adjusted the backrest.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my legs. I wanted to take a walk.

One day.

Last edited: May 3, 2020

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ic3shard13

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May 3, 2020

#391

Tap tap tap. The pen tapped in a steady rhythm.

The document was almost filled, everything was in its place.

Except for the name.

Keeping Ghostchild had been a far easier decision. We didn't have any better idea, and it was just a persona to wear while patrolling.

It was funny as a game of pretend.

But a name... it wasn't like people often chose their name.

Weld didn't want a civilian name. It meant nothing to him, he was already so used to being called Weld that he thought it would have been an unnecessary complication.

It was another reason for keeping Ghostchild: if we disliked it, we would never really get used to it.

And then there was Hana, or Hanna. She changed her spelling to fit in better, following the advice of her adoptive parents.

She was currently in the kitchen, cooking kubeh. It was a dish from her land she hadn't eaten in a while.

We hoped it was meat. At least, it was fried, if our nose and ears weren't betraying us.

Jack the Ripper. Taylor Hebert. Jack Hebert. Taylor the Ripper.

Uh, is the Ripper still appropriate? We killed more men than women, and they were mostly clean kills. Not many dismemberments either.

The Ripper would fit in the document. There sure was a lot of space...

Taylor Jacqueline Hebert. Done.

Taylor or Jackie for friends.

In the end, it wasn't a really difficult choice. Not everything was a compromise.

"Dinner is ready," Hannah called from the kitchen.

We took the papers off the table and sat back.

Our current Master settled the dish on the table. They were fried patties served with salad, tomatoes, and yogurt used as a sauce.

We picked four balls and some veggies.

"It's good," we replied.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. It's been a while since I cooked it," she smiled.

After everything, she still had some ties to her old home, even if she made herself a new one.

We continued eating. It was satisfying eating crunchy food like this.

"There's something I wanted to ask you," she added.

"Mhm," we hummed with our mouth closed.

"Have you ever seen something so big and vast you couldn't comprehend it? Made of innumerable mirror images, and whose pieces were scattered off?"

"Noooo...?" we drawled. "Is there a reason for that particular question?"

Miss Militia composed herself. "It was... it was nothing."

Okay?

We cleaned our mouth with a napkin.

No matter how much time passed, this situation was surreal.

Being in yet another new home, living there with Miss Militia.

We took a red apple from the fruit basket. We materialized one of our trusty knives and cut it in pieces.

We didn't miss her nervousness. A part of us was pained she felt so.

But we weren't supposed to be using our powers dilly dally. And we tried to kill Vista for energy, to escape one more day.

Once we finished our meal and helped her with the dishes, we announced: "We are going to bed."

We went to the bathroom and looked at the mirror. We put our left hand over our chest. It was beating.

We glanced at our hair. It was the same as yesterday and the day before.

We weren't going to grow up. This body wasn't real.

We dematerialized, passed the wall, and went to bed.

We didn't remember when we fell asleep, but when we woke up we were under the sheets and wearing the cloak.

It was early in the morning. We dismissed the cloak and the knives and settled the plushie on the floor on the desktop.

Our mind went back to the breakdown of last night. It wasn't fair, at all. But usually, these kinds of second chances didn't come: people died when they were killed.

Yet here we were.

The smell of coffee coming from the kitchen broke our brooding.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," Hannah replied. She had changed her clothes from dinner.

We placed a kettle of milk on the cooker and turned it on.

We picked up our cellphone and watched for new messages.

Two, from Ashley, after midnight.

"Found friends in Boston?"

And immediately after she added: "T say hi."

"Some. Tell T I say hi to him."

We scrolled through our apps, searching for something.

We didn't find it, so we put the phone in our pockets.

"Taylor," Hanna said.

We picked the phone again.

"No, that wasn't it. Isn't the milk boiling already?"

"We know."

We turned off the cooker, filled a cup, and started drinking it.

It wasn't even that hot, it was lukewarm. Like...

We drunk in silence, imagining how it would be like to live in those young days.

We wanted that warm place.

We took a deep breath and started washing the cup.

"Don't you want to eat something else?"

"We are fine," mom.

Dangerous thoughts indeed.

"We don't need to eat. The energy from the seal is more than enough as long as we don't overuse our abilities," we explained.

It was far from ideal from a Grail Holy War, but it was also because we weren't allowed to dematerialize.

We looked at her. "Does it feel different for you?"

"No, it doesn't," she denied. "My power can create nukes. I doubt it's an energy problem."

Geeze. How many Noble Phantasms were on the level of nukes?

But something didn't add up. We didn't know what, but it felt fishy.

That moment when we had to choose our Master...

What's done was done.

"Do you feel ready for today?"

Our first day of patrol in Boston.

"There shouldn't be a problem."

We clasped our bandana, and we were ready to go. It felt weird wearing this costume again, after abandoning it at the PRT building.

We stepped out of the room and gave a hello to Weld, Grinder, and Firefly.

"Ready for the patrol?" the pyrokinetic asked.

"It's not our first time. So it's the three of you, Miss Militia and Dovetail?"

Grinder replied: "Nope, I'm out. My latest project needs more work."

Lucky you.

Firefly laughed: "Well, tinkers have their priorities. Unless you have another power under your Trump umbrella."

"No," we said. "We don't."

Geeze, she used the cape name even telepathically. If she had said Assassin, it wouldn't have been out of place.

we replied dutifully.

"Miss Militia said we can go."

Weld blinked. "And they told me telepathy was impossible."

"Said the tin man to the ghost," Firefly deadpanned.

We huffed and went out. Ghostchild, fine. Being called a ghost, nope.

We reached the elevator, opened it, and closed it before either of the other Wards were inside.

It was petty, but it was nothing.

Yet, as floors after floors were 'pinged away' by the elevator, we felt fear. It wasn't a big fear, but it was something. The fear of losing our place again.

Less than a second passed before Hannah replied:

We recalled a scalpel and a bandage from our Ripper disguise and started playing with them. We needed to stop overthinking.

The final ping announced our arrival, and we stepped into the parking lot. Honestly, if it wouldn't cause a panic, using our Concealment would have given us a better entrance.

Miss Militia was talking with Dovetail. The heroine was wearing a white and violet costume with a high collar, and on her belt were a series of violet grenades. Her mask left her mouth visible, and her white teeth were showing in a smile.

That was something we noticed: practically every member of the Protectorate had white glistening teeth. Not a surprise, considering they had dental insurance.

"The park is close enough it shouldn't be a problem in case of an emergency."

"The Teeth had left New York..."

Now we knew we would meet them.

Dovetail sighed: "It's, unfortunately, something we have to deal with if it happens. Brockton Bay has its shares of problems as well, I doubt I need to tell you."

The way she said 'if it happens'... The Butcher was something that happened. You could fight them, but never get free of them.

Would it work the same for us? As long as we were attached to a parahuman, we got enough energy to continue living.

Not that we wanted to test it, we preferred to be er than ed in murder.

And with that terrible joke, Firefly and Weld entered the room.

We entered a van, which was white this time.

"What do you have in your hands?" Firefly asked.

We looked at the bundle of cut bandages. "Nothing."

We dissipated it.

The van stopped and we went out.

We entered the park and passed in front of a fountain. Two cornucopias were filling the pool and in the middle of the monument was a statue of a winged woman.

It was clearly made before the fall of Switzerland: it wasn't as well kept as the rest of the park, or heck, the rest of the fountain.

Firefly shaped two fire constructs as wings that 'flapped' him into the air, and Dovetail followed him into the sky. She was a much more gracious and quicker flyer, the wings didn't look too stabilized.

His costume was specially made to insulate himself from his fire constructs, but after a while, the fire became too much for him even with that.

Not that we could fault him for trying: flying remained flying.

Weld walked on the path, being careful not to step on the grass.

We simply followed him, and Miss Militia followed us.

It was a quiet walk from one side of the park to the other.

Only three kids asked for our autograph, but Weld got the most attention, even more than the Protectorate heroes.

He was a sort of celebrity, despite being a 'monster' cape.

Firefly grumbled about it half-heartedly.

We had to admit, patrolling here was much better than the Boardwalk. There weren't a lot of people, in part thanks to the weather, and seeing a bit of green... was relaxing.

Unfortunately, there was also the rest of the city.

We turned towards Vikare road and fricking then, Hunch informed us there was a robbery ongoing.

Who was the moron that robbed in daylight?

Dovetail replied: "Roger, we'll be there shortly. Kids, stay back."

Kids, right. As if we hadn't seen or done worse.

Miss Militia wasn't impressed by our deadpan expression, unfortunately.

We rushed towards the crime scene from the ground and we heard Firefly say: "The victim has been shot. He's bleeding on the ground."

How bad was our luck?

The robber was already incapacitated. The many, many silver forcefields Dovetail created disarmed him and stopped his escape.

Having Miss Militia point a weapon in his face didn't help.

We asked: "Can we- dammit!- permission to heal, ma'am?"

She looked at the paling man on the ground, and said: "Go on, Ghostchild."

We cut his jacket and his shirt open and searched for the wound. It looked like he had been caught in an artery.

The hospital was close... but we were closer.

We opened our medkit and started doing our magic.

It took less than three minutes, and the work looked better than our old ones.

Those videos on Youtube helped.

We looked at the phone he held on his hand.

"This idiot was the guy that called the police."

Dovetail replied: "Don't use that kind of words, please."

"Even if I agree," she added in a low voice. She moved closer to the victim and put a hand over his face and one on his heart. "He's stable."

Weld asked: "Aren't you going to land?"

Firefly replied: "I can resist a bit more. There's something..."

And then there was an explosion.

The flier commented: "There's been an explosion near the City Hall!"

Dovetail flew right beside him. Damn, she was fast.

He added: "It's the Teeth!"

From the coms, Hunch reported: "Transport arriving in two minutes."

Weld moved to restrain the robber with a pair of zip-ties.

Console continued: "They had kidnapped the mayor. They want two hundred thousand dollars."

Dammit, this city was supposed to be more peaceful than Brockton Bay!

Firefly put the icing on the cake: "The principal roads are blocked. By the way, I'm landing. It's too hot."

The sirens announced a coming ambulance. If only these two idiots didn't precipitate their mess...

Weld gave an uneasy chuckle. "And here I hoped this was a good welcome to the city..."

We growled.

The rescuers moved to take the robbed into the transport, under the eyes of some frightened bystanders.

If assisting a robbery gone wrong and an intrepid rescue by the heroes had been a novelty, now it wasn't anymore. The Teeth were a group of few capes and few members, who remained in a place for a little while before escaping elsewhere.

We hoped they bit more than they could chew... but it wasn't going to be the end of them.

"Permission to scout?" we asked.

"Denied," Miss Militia answered.

A Ward wasn't supposed to go against villains like them.

Yet there had been no problem to assist at the fight between Purity and the Homies. Vista, though a mover, had been close enough to reach us.

Two weights, two measures. How was it possible that the Bay was allowed to remain in its state?

The saying 'don't shake the boat' felt wrong.

Hannah had to have an idea of what Maria the Ripper was. And we were a Ward. What kind of joke was this?

"Fuck." Firefly cursed.

Dovetail frowned: "Be careful with your words. I don't think you want another week in anger management."

He flinched. "Can't you bring Miss Militia with you? We can deal with this loser."

The loser in question grumbled under his breath.

We tapped the floor with our foot. Seriously, we were a great match-up for this Butcher. She was female, and the danger sense wasn't going to end if we struck first. It wasn't night yet, though.

Weld whispered something to Firefly and patted his back. We caught an "I know, buddy", but that was it.

"The Protectorate is currently dealing with the situation," Miss Militia was saying to a reporter. "Bastion, Flinch, Poise and Frameshift are near the area. As usual, we advise all citizens to stay far away from the scene."

Common sense was a superpower that some people lacked.

We looked at the knife we generated and dismissed it. We were definitely in 'overthinking' territory.

The wait was excruciating.

"Accord has paid the Teeth ransom," Hunch informed.

We almost choked. Accord did what?

What kind of villain was he?

"Roger," Dovetail replied.

In the meantime, the police arrived to take the criminal. The officer in charge gave a disgusted look at Weld, took the criminal with an excuse, and gave a glance to us.

"Freaky eyes..."

We glared at him and muttered: "Hell it's starting... Mria the Rprr."

We weren't so low to unleash our Noble Phantasm just because we got insulted, but imagining it felt good.

We dismissed the four scalpels and huffed.

"The mayor has been rescued and the Teeth have retreated," Hunch said.

Well, at least that was done.

We hoped there hadn't been any casualties on our side.

"Roger, let's go back to base, guys and girls," Dovetail said.

We complied, and in a few minutes, we were back.

The Protectorate members and we Wards went our respective direction. We took a gummy ghost and munched it.

It was the best thing that came back with the costume, really.

"Do you want one," we offered.

Firefly chuckled: "Sorry, but I don't like sweets."

Weld replied: "I don't really care about food."

Oh, right. Well, better for us.

We asked: "There's going to be a meeting about the Teeth, right?"

Firefly soured: "Yes."

Was there a history between him and the Teeth?

We blinked.

We wanted to learn how to heal but was it possible to change a Servant skill with mere practice?

If that was true...

Right, because shit happened.

"What are you smiling about?" Firefly asked.

"Nothing," we said cooly. "Nothing."

The two jerks smirked.

Last edited: Dec 22, 2020

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ic3shard13

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May 13, 2020

#419

Boston general hospital was close to the HQ, which was quite convenient. Well, the HQ was more convenient compared to the Rig in general.

The course was on emergency protocols. We discovered that all Protectorate members had to take it, but that Wards could do it in advance as well.

We were both miffed and relieved we weren't given special treatment.

Grinder, who was going to graduate in six months, was following it with Slapdash and us.

"And this is how you do casualty lifting. Anybody wants to try?"

Slapdash and we got up from the seat.

The teacher raised an eyebrow. "Can you lift it without a problem?"

"Brute," we stated.

"Right, right," he nodded to himself. "Always remember that your partners usually aren't and that the patient is delicate. Can I ask you, 'Mr. Grinder', why you didn't volunteer?"

He frowned. "I don't want to offend you, but I patrol in my armor. I can't remove it easily. If an accident happened, I would be the last person able to give a hand."

The doctor frowned: "This course is voluntary. If you don't think you need these skills, you can go home."

Barely raising his voice, the tinker said: "I'm following it. I'm studying the material."

"But you don't need to practice," the doctor replied cooly.

We stood awkwardly watching the two. Thank goodness we didn't need to go to school anymore.

The teacher then dismantled the stretcher and put the dummy on the ground.

We carefully moved the body. We opened the scoop stretcher and put it under the dummy.

Slapdash took care of the head while we worked on the legs and the doctor helped by the side.

We settled the patient on the mattress and dislodged the stretcher once again.

It was fast, but it was easy to see how things could have gone wrong. If we underestimated our strength, if the terrain was unstable, if Slapdash accelerated, these were all ifs that risked the life of the injured.

The lesson continued, and we learned a bit more. Eventually, Grinder participated in some demonstrations. He was tense and slow as if he didn't know what to do.

The doctor's face softened as he told him to do it calm and quiet.

After the lesson finished, we gave a goodbye to the doctor and went out.

It was raining. We put up the hood and held back a sigh. It wasn't London, but the fumes of the cars, the falling water...

It was natural for us to make that comparison. We held that place in our skill, in our Mist.

It was so easy to imagine a killer ready to strike, even in the middle of the road, even with all the lights of the cars and the buildings.

There was always a spot hidden in the dark.

"Why are you so gloomy?" Slapdash asked.

"It's weird. We are walking between the hospital and the PRT, and nobody is batting an eye," we lied.

"It's not weird," Grinder replied. "There's a lot of contracts between the PRT and the hospital. Charity, studies of parahumans powers..."

"And the occasional incidents of our profession," Slapdash commented sardonically.

We shook our hood and felt some of the water dripping.

"Yes, let's not forget about that. Fight-or-flight needs a prosthesis and two months of rehab," Grinder grimaced. "If my specialization had been different... whatever."

We stepped away from the uncomfortable conversation. "Tonight there are all the other Wards, right?"

Slapdash nodded: "Like every Friday night. AoE-

"Tentative name," Grinder interjected.

The mover continued: "He usually spends some time with us on the weekends and has his course."

"Why doesn't he patrol?"

"He's a kid, and he's not ready for the crowd. He doesn't even have a full functioning costume," Slapdash commented.

He was nine, around the age Missy entered the program. And she saw more action than most of the Boston Wards.

Brockton truly sucked.

"He's going to ask you a lot of questions. He's a bit of a blabbermouth," Grinder added.

We blinked. Not unexpected, but surely annoying.

As we continued to walk towards our destination, we noticed a woman. She wasn't particularly noticeable, and her clothes were nothing special.

But she was pregnant.

We took a deep breath, as the coldness of the rain and the stench of the road became unbearable.

That wasn't our warm place. That wasn't our mom.

Annette was our mom. She was dead, her bones under two feet of dirt, but she was our mom.

"Are you okay?" Grinder asked.

"We thought she was someone else," we lied.

We didn't check if either of them was convinced and we slightly skipped ahead.

Another five minutes, and we would be inside our room.

And we would have a cup of hot chocolate.

We finally reached the inside of the building, so we shook off a bit of the water clinging to our costume.

We rushed to the elevator and pushed the button.

"Hey, wait!" Slapdash shouted.

We sighed and waited for them.

We stopped. "We just want to head inside and have a shower."

"You think you're the only one? I'm the higher level mover here!"

"If you wanted to headbutt the building," Grinder commented.

She glared at him. "Hey, I have been training!"

"How many pens did you-

She snapped her fingers in his face. "Don't say, you jackass!" she whispered.

We snorted. Her training consisted of twirling a pen as fast as possible without dropping it or breaking it.

She turned to us: "And you suck at being an edgy preteen."

We stopped walking. "What."

"Look at us, swinging creepy knives and glaring at people. I bet you were thinking something dreadful and ominous and horrific and whatever back outside."

"Slaaapdash..." Grinder chided.

She continued contemptuously: "And then you head into your room and you don't even engage in small talk. Or wait a fricking minute for us to come inside."

We grimaced: "We don't even know you. You are always masked around us."

"Duh, we don't trust you! Would you trust a twice probationary Ward that's always in a sour mood? It's not like we need to be BFFs or anything, for example, I absolutely hate Grinder."

"Ohi."

"But only because we didn't give you the arm you should disdain the finger," she finished her ranting. She blinked and nodded to herself.

We sneered. We were just coworkers, at best.

Grinder, for the first time we knew him, shouted: "Enough! You may think of me as a leader in name only, but if you continue I'll report you to Armstrong and I'll make sure you'll stay at the console until my fucking graduation."

His voice had gone from a cry to a whisper, straining itself with each syllable.

The mover, on her part, stuttered: "S-sorry..." She seemed concerned, for him.

It was weird seeing such an aloof guy fired up like that.

All the tension left his body as he lent himself on the elevator's wall.

We stayed silent and kept to ourselves, until we reached our room.

We snarled and punched the cushion on the bed, leaving a wet imprint on his surface.

It would be so easy to get rid of her. They hadn't found a countermeasure for astralization yet.

We unclasped the cap and took out the bandana, took out a change of clothes, and rushed to the bathroom.

It took a moment to find ourselves under the scalding hot water. It wasn't all that different from the rain outside, but it was warm, clean, and the shampoo smelled of cherries and peaches.

With our head clearer, we dried ourselves and dressed in another costume.

We checked the phone, regretting the decision immediately.

"Did something happen between u and Missy? she was surprised I talked with you"

"We argued. the fault was mine."

What a beautiful understatement. Not that we could explain what happened.

We stared at the screen, waiting for a reply to immediately appear. But it wasn't like she always was on the phone.

We sat on the bed and glanced at the cushion. It was still lightly wet, right in the spot were a tiny hand punched.

Childish. But we had learned something else today: how to bring someone to safety.

Attending that course was a good decision.

We twirled a scalpel between our fingers. If Bitchslap trained with one of these...

We chuckled.

Well, they were the sharpest and most delicate knives for a reason. Perfect for a c-section.

At least that baby was safe, as long as their mother...

Yet she was going to the hospital. We hoped that it was only a check-up.

We wanted to stab something. No, dismember someone.

Dis-mem-ber. For such an ugly action, it had a funny name.

We glanced back at the phone. And it confirmed that time didn't pass just because we didn't want to interact with people.

The thought hurt because it confirmed that something that Bitchslap said was true.

We threw the scalpel at Alexandria's plushie and dismissed it before it hit her.

We stepped into the main room and we found ourselves in front of a kid.

"You must be Ghostchild! But you're young, how can you go out in patrol? Do you have super good powers?"

We suppressed a laugh.

He wasn't wearing a costume, except for the common domino mask given by the PRT, and a Dovetail shirt. He had a wide awkward smile that showed one missing tooth and that emphasized a little mole under his lips.

"You're AoE, right?"

He proudly explained: "Yes, that's me. I'm a shaker! I chose the name from the videogames."

Thankfully, Uber and Leet were still in Brockton Bay.

He immediately asked: "I have seen your videos on your power!"

"Really?" we replied skeptically.

Weld explained: "Those on PHO."

"Yeah, like that on the Boardwalk!"

Ouch.

The kid continued: "You are a brute, a mover, a... projector?"

"Striker," Firefly helped. "But she's also a shaker like you." Not.

He turned to us: "How strong is your shaker ability? I'm a six!"

"Don't know."

We weren't particularly interested in how the PRT would fight us.

"You have cool eyes. Even if they are not as cool as Weld's eyes."

Well, our eyes were indeed cool. But they weren't silver like pieces of jewelry.

"How old are you?"

Darn, this kid wasn't giving a break. "Fifteen."

We asked back: "What is your power?"

"I can make the people around me feel how I feel," he mumbled. "Not thoughts, but if I am hurt, or I'm tired, or how strong I am."

All the bubbliness popped up at our question, and for a good reason: he was a master.

Well, depending on how large the area was and how precisely he could use the power, it could be classified as mostly as a shaker effect, but he surely deserved a master sub-rating.

"It's a cool power," we answered confidently.

"R-really? You think so?"

"If you are brave, people are brave like you. If you are afraid of a good reason, people know they are in danger."

If you stayed calm and focused, accidents were unlikely.

Any thug would think twice before beating you.

If you were tired of the extreme, the enemy would lose their cool.

It was a power that requested self-control. No wonder he didn't have a costume yet.

What if he brought a tranquilizer with himself? Would he put everybody in his range asleep?

"Yes, I was already told something like that," he stated. "But it doesn't seem too useful."

Firefly exclaimed: "So what! I burned myself many many many many many..."

AoE wasn't impressed by his repetition. But Firefly continued for so long, that the absurdity eventually made the kid giggle.

Who said we did as well deserved a stab.

"It's a power that leads to understanding," Hunch commented with his deep voice.

Bitchslap groaned. "You aren't cut for making old sage comments, Hunchie."

He rotated the wheelchair to look directly in her eyes. "Really? I am the team Thinker, after all."

"Int ain't Wis," AoE commented.

Thankfully, Uber and Leet were far far away.

"Cheeky brat," Hunch replied.

We envied Weld, who was listening to music on his special couch.

We moved to the fridge and took out the milk.

"What are you doing?"

"Hot chocolate."

"Can you make one for me as well?"

"And me."

"Idem."

"If you please..."

We looked at Slapdash. She rolled her eyes. "I'm lactose intolerant. And I don't like chocolate."

She was evil, as we presumed.

We settled the pot full of the motherly drink on the fire and took out the chocolate powder.

Now we just had to wait.

"Does anyone want to play Monopoly?"

Firefly, Slapdash and we joined AoE's game, as Hunch commented on the match, Grinder refused on principle, and Weld continued to idly listen to music.

And thanks to the board game, we learned that Boston had a children's museum.

We wanted to go there.

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ic3shard13

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ic3shard13

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May 19, 2020

#427

The woman caressed her belly in fear, as the lights of the lamps and the cars lost color.

The once clear road was darkened by a thick fog that on one hand robbed the sense of sound and sight, on the other smelled of sulfur and other vile fumes.

Were she a hunter, she wouldn't notice the traces of the predator.

Were she a prostitute, she wouldn't have been able to sell her body without selling her life.

We didn't know who she was, but we followed her as those quite and obtrusive whispers that told you something was wrong.

She ran, and we ran after her until she was cornered.

And in the corner, a dirty dead-end with a half-filled dumpster, she was shot.

We dropped our knives and scuttled closer to her. We couldn't do anything, the shot had been clean and she was dead.

Was it our fault that she died? Did we always bring the fog?

Or was it a punishment?

We were the Ripper, after all. How many were hurt by us?

The fog thickened and thickened, so we rushed back to our knives.

We coughed three times and fell.

We shouted and punched and threw the fog away. It made a thud as it fell on the floor.

It was our cushion, with a drolled bite mark that showed the fluffy interiors.

So that was a dream.

We didn't need Freud to understand what it meant.

The door slammed and Miss Militia rushed inside with an assault rifle.

After a brief assessment of the situation, she pointed the weapon down and turned on the lights.

"It was a bad dream," we succinctly explained.

We dissolved the cloak that had appeared during our sleep, got down the bed, and took the cushion.

"Are you going back to sleep?"

We looked at the clock. It was still very early.

"Not now. Maybe a bit later."

We started to settle the cushion back on the bed when Hannah stopped me. "You can take mine."

"But..."

"I won't use it, and it's only a cushion."

We looked back at the poor thing. "Ok."

"Are you going to join me in the living room?"

"No, we... prefer to stay here."

"Ok, I'll come back in a bit."

When she closed the door, we sighed and sniffed.

"Darn, that was embarrassing."

We turned on the phone. No new message from Ashley yet. We wondered how much Missy told her.

Scrolling through our apps, our finger landed on Google.

We were going back to the hospital again. We didn't want to have that 'spell' again.

We searched for our 'targets'. Quickly, thousand of pictures revealed themselves.

So many, of all ages. Photos of so many people.

Some weren't visible unless we accepted certain terms.

Hell no. Darn, we wanted to chop limbs.

We felt envy and a sense of loss, and this was surely an emotion from our 'Wide Self' if we had to use that old distinction.

But on the other hand, our 'Big Self' was a bit apathetic. It was a fact of life. It wasn't like you remembered being born.

In a certain sense, being still here was a miracle.

We summoned a knife and imagined ourselves stabbing these women.

We dropped the cell on the bed, and recalled all our weapons.

We struck and struck our imaginary opponent. A limb here, another there.

We giggled, it was a fun game.

But it was like stealing the candy from a baby. A defenseless victim struck down. With one action, we took out two lives.

We grimaced and dismissed our arsenal. We jumped back on the bed.

Stupid morals, right and wrong.

We took back the phone and scrolled through the images.

We scratched our head. It would be so easier if we could de-knify.

And that was when Hannah knocked at the door.

"Come in."

The heroine in civilian clothes entered with a cushion and a cup of milk.

She handed us the cup.

"Thanks, you didn't need to..."

"It wasn't a problem. I didn't think you'd go back to sleep immediately," she said, probably out of her experience.

We sipped. It was very sweet!

"Did you add sugar?"

"Honey."

Suddenly, Miss Militia's weapon changed shape after shape.

We glanced at our hands. The phone was still on those pages.

We took another gulp while Hannah switched the cushions.

"Does it have to do with Maria the Ripper?" she asked with a restrained voice.

We winced. "How do you know?"

Did she have another dream?

"The reports showed that your attack always hit the womb of the pigs, regardless of distance or where your first strike landed," she explained with detached professionalism.

Knowing this, they still wanted to make a hero out of us?

"It's training," we muttered. "Our abilities are tailored to kill women."

Hannah didn't seem particularly surprised, so we continued.

"We don't want to do that," we exclaimed.

The Red Poster had been a senseless murderer, no different from Jack the Ripper. We hated the Poster, he was someone we would have no problem killing, like Coil.

We didn't believe that the Jack summoned in the locker was the same as the self-indulgent 'legendary' serial killer who taunted Scotland Yard.

A Jack the Ripper, but not the Jack the Ripper.

We weren't ashamed about being a Jack the Ripper, but it didn't mean we had to act like one against innocents.

We had at least fifteen years of experience to know what was wrong.

"So, you searched that kind of image to practice self-restraint?" our legal guardian asked in an amusedly suspicious tone.

We nodded. "We don't want to be a hero, but we don't want to be a villain."

The blaster sighed. "Can I ask what is a hero for you?"

"Someone who does the right thing," we said, immediately regretting the answer.

It was too simplified and childish!

"And you don't want to do the right thing?"

"It isn't easy," we answered.

She crossed her arms. "Never said that. But don't you have anything you would fight for?"

"Living." The easiest answer in our 'life'.

"And what sort of life?"

Jack never had to ask themselves that question. Living was going back to before being discarded, back to zero.

But throwing away what we had now?

Never. It wasn't what our parents would have wanted of Taylor.

"And being a doctor doesn't factor in that?"

"Who would take us seriously? There's discrimination against female doctors, and we are a child."

"And wouldn't that be a reason to work for the Protectorate?"

"We aren't cut to be a hero."

Hannah's baton changed into a military knife, and she started twirling it.

"It's a job."

We tilted our head.

"Being a Ward or being part of the Protectorate is a job. It isn't easy, it requires sacrifices, but it's a job. Some choose it as a vocation, others put of necessity. What would be of the case 53s without the Protectorate?"

"It isn't fair."

Her eyes wrinkled in tired amusement. "Didn't you already know that?"

We hummed and astralized the knife. "Miss Militia said being a hero is only a job. That would be a hell of a headline."

She snorted. "Being a firefighter, a soldier or a doctor is 'only' a job."

"Not every Joe gets his action figure. We didn't ask to be a celebrity."

"After you are done with the Wards, you can be transferred to a small town," she proposed.

Damned her and her reasonable suggestions.

"But let's return to the first topic. Are you feeling like attacking anybody? Does seeing those kinds of pictures help you?"

"We don't think so. We don't want to hurt innocents, and the pictures do nothing."

The difference between an image and the real deal was still big.

We summoned a scalpel, twirled it one, then stopped.

We dismissed it and clenched our hands. We were safe here, so why did it...

Hannah interrupted our musings: "Tomorrow I was planning to go out and explore the city. See some sights..."

"Uhu."

"Do you want to come as well?"

"Rea- It's fine."

We didn't think about that. Tomorrow would be our first day off the Wards.

But not off the leash. Miss Militia started wearing gloves, after all.

But she didn't need to be here with us, after all.

"Can we make a question as well?"

"Sure, go on."

"Why did you take us in?"

"Didn't we already talk about this?"

"Yes. But we would like to know why you accepted."

Her knife morphed into a gun, then she settled it in her holster.

"There are many reasons. Boston is a peaceful city, compared to Brockton. I have more free time. I discussed with the Director, and we think it's better if you stay with someone you know, albeit superficially. And I have the seal."

"It would be safer for you to stay away from us, especially since you have the seal," we rebutted, using Yamada's argument.

Only because a Master and a Servant were supposed to work together, it didn't mean they had to.

"In the short term, maybe. But not in the long term. Especially if we continued to work together."

"We tried to kill Vista."

"You did. But we all know what happened next."

"We wanted to live. We gave you the seal to continue living."

Even if it wasn't the kind of life we wanted... But wasn't the same for the so-called monster capes?

We could move around, wearing a light disguise. At most, our verbal tick would raise an eyebrow.

Weld, who didn't need a name, would be recognized.

Hunch didn't have the means of doing things on his own.

"Did you like having to resort to that?"

"We don't want to hurt innocents," we stated once again.

"But you would, again, if you think your life is on the line."

"Yes."

An unsettling silence filled the room.

We scraped the honey at the bottom of the cup with the spoon. It was so sweet, better than the milk, honestly.

"It's fair. I fought my number of fights, and I had to leave people behind. It was never an easy decision. But I wasn't alone."

"You can't expect us to trust the PRT or the Protectorate. Shadow Stalker, the Poster... if you didn't have the seal, we would be out of here."

"Where?"

We turned off the phone. "We would like to sleep."

She took the cup, and her fingers left a lingering warmth.

We waited for her to close the door, then we curled back in the bed.

We turned off the lights and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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ic3shard13

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Jun 23, 2020

#435

Exploring the city with Miss Militia... was strangely normal.

Scratch that, going around with Hannah was oddly relaxing.

Sure, we didn't miss how she checked every place we entered with the experience of a soldier, looking for ways to escape, cover, and things like that.

But it was nice seeing her out of her job, and out of her house. Another face of the person who held our seal.

Considering how messed up magi were from our scattered memories, we had lucked out.

As we entered the tea shop, painted with calm and creamy colors and decorated with soft and minimalist pieces of furniture, we moved closer to some dispensers of teas and tisanes.

We passed time sniffing the scents and looking at our phone. Ashley hadn't answered yet.

"Would that be all?" the shopkeeper asked.

"Yes, thanks," our Master replied, calmly checking her coffee.

The shopkeeper addressed us: "Hey kiddo, I like what you did with your hair."

"Uh, thanks," we muttered.

We left the elegant shop with a small spring on our step.

"There's no need to rush," Hannah said from behind us.

"We- I know. It's the hair."

"That comment? You shouldn't let it get to you."

Our hand scratched our scar.

"It doesn't feel enough."

"If you want to, you can buy a wig."

The idea of covering our hair offended us on a deep level.

"That's a no, then."

We groaned: "Seriously, is that obvious?"

"It is. It's not necessarily bad."

Yeah, no. Emma knew when she was 'winning' because old Taylor showed her emotions, even if we never wanted to.

Being stoic or stabbing our problems didn't seem like a long term solution, though.

"Are you liking this place?"

"It's fine," we mumbled. "It's clean."

"Clean?"

"No tags or anything like that."

Not every place in the Bay had blatant gang signs, but there was often something, even in the Lord's Market or the Boardwalk.

Here there weren't even posters on the walls, and the advertising was little to none.

And it was very clean, not even cigarette butts or chewing gums on the ground.

She sighed: "Well, it isn't too surprising."

"Why?"

"Accord, before becoming a villain, used to work in Watchdog, but also proposed projects to the city as an architect," she explained.

We tilted our head: "Do you mean he would retaliate if people trashed this place?"

Well-mannered villains, that was a new one.

Hannah snorted: "No, he doesn't act like that. He would prefer to pay cleaners and 'encourage the police to do its job'."

We blinked. "How..."

"One of his subordinates uses social media," she said with dry amusement.

"And it works?"

"He's somewhat respected by the city. But make no mistake: he remains a villain because he has no qualms in getting rid of whoever bothers him."

We glared: "Like a stranger that messes with his plans?"

Seriously, if we had to deal with another assassination!

"No, because you are working with us."

We crossed our arms.

With a slightly lower voice, she explained: "He hates unpredictable elements, we are old news for him. He hasn't killed an innocent civilian for two years, and he keeps a tight leash on his Ambassadors."

If what she said was true, this might be another reason why we were sent here.

If we escaped, we met the wrath of Accord. Miss Militia wouldn't even need to use the seal.

We were at the edge of summoning a knife, so we squashed that thought, threw it in a bin, and decided to mull over it later with a cup of tea.

"So that's why he retaliated so heavily on the Teeth," we commented.

She smiled with a hint of... pride?

"Exactly. The Teeth are a group specialized in hit and run tactics. They frequently move between cities so it's hard to pin them down."

We wondered what Accord's project the Teeth threatened so he had to pay for the ransom, and if the Butcher was okay with the death of Gorged.

Not that we were going to shed a tear for him.

We checked our cellphone again.

Ashley was rambling about the new season of Capes of our Lives.

We shut the infernal device off.

We passed in front of a pharmacy when Hannah asked: "How are your studies going?"

"Fine."

The walk continued in silence. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, but there was a bit of that awkwardness typical of those that were more than acquaintances but didn't know a lot about each other.

We passed in front of a shop of cape memorabilia, and in one corner was a poster about the new action figure of Ghostchild.

We imagined a Jack the Ripper action figure for a moment, with pants.

It wouldn't be too out of place since they had an unofficial cardboard game about the Boston Games, with a big miniature of Blasto's creation.

"Do you want to enter?" she asked with some amusement.

"No," we bluntly denied.

Making sure we weren't heard, we asked: "Do you have an action figure of yourself?"

"I did. It was part of one of the first series. Unfortunately, it broke."

From the way she ended the statement, we assumed there was a story.

"It wouldn't be too hard to find one of yours," she suggested.

"No. Playing with a toy that looked like yourself sounds weird."

She gave us a weird look, but she didn't comment.

After buying some groceries for dinner, we returned to our car.

We turned on the radio and quickly found a catchy pop song.

It started to rain, but it was relaxing, a quiet tap tap that cleaned the roads and the air.

Well, and we were inside, so we weren't getting drenched.

"Can we go again?"

"Out?"

We nodded slowly.

"Can't you go out with the Wards?"

"We don't know. They have school..."

They hadn't unmasked yet. Well, if one didn't count Weld and Hunch, but going out with them was like throwing away all the secret identity thing to the wind.

For all of the good that it did us.

Speaking of the devil, our other cellphone buzzed with messages from the Wards' group.

We took it out, read them, and sighed.

"There's a new cape, Bubblegum. He's making a live show on his channel."

"I see," Hannah said.

"He robbed a candy shop."

She moved her left hand from the steering wheel to her forehead.

We glared at her: "Pay attention to the road!"

She glanced at us.

We stated: "You can lament your job later if you are alive."

She dared to leave a laugh.

"What?" Our cheeks were burning.

"It was nothing."

We looked away and turned off the cellphone.

We hummed quietly the song on the radio.

"As easy as taking candy from a baby!" the fifteen-year-old sounding guy punned, as he 'ransacked' the store.

After filling a bag, the villain used his power and a bluish transparent bubble covered him.

Slapdash raised her hand. Grinder stopped the video.

"From outside, nobody could see inside the ball," the speedster said.

Firefly took note of that on the blackboard.

Grinder clicked the remote, and the video started once again.

It was disorienting.

The camera was on top of the head of the villain, so when the ball started rolling with the cape following the motion as if gravity wasn't a concern, the footage seemed almost like out of an amusement park for the screams of some of the bystanders, the laughs of the villain himself and the absurdity of the act.

When he made a sharp turn and went on the main road, we flinched.

"So close to being stepped on, but I made a sweet turn, didn't I?"

So many stabbing tools to choose from...

"Well, time to candy it up!"

He jumped, and the ball started to go up.

But he broke the bag, and all the candy fell down

"Son of a gum!" He shouted. "My masterplan! My gumball failed the odds!"

Arteries, eyes, legs, limbs...

With a steady pace, as he went up, the ball stopped rolling, leaving a view of Boston.

"Well, it seems my plan didn't pop off, it was un-kinder-ly ruined by a cheap bag. Life is hard and sourball, not sugary at all. Well, there will always be a next time. Goodbye, folks!"

The video finished, and we knew that nobody in the room enjoyed it.

Weld, wanting to move on, said: "Mover and shaker, that's for sure. Do we know how strong that ball was?"

"It never crashed into anything," Firefly said.

Slapdash stated: "That doesn't sound right. He was going too fast, and as we saw, he should have gone like a pinball."

"Maybe he knew the road ahead," Grinder suggested unconvincingly.

"But he wouldn't have known about the traffic or the lights," we repeated.

Firefly wrote 'Thinker?' on the blackboard.

"Anything else?" Grinder asked.

Hunch answered: "The candy bag, he broke it on purpose."

"To make more puns?" we guessed. "He's an attention seeker, but we knew that already. Does he have a site or something?"

Grinder said: "Yes, but he doesn't accept donations."

Firefly asked: "Donations? Are you serious?"

"Uber and Leet do," we stated. "They are a joke for a reason."

"So we have an attention and or thrill-seeker at hand, who's a mover and shaker with a subset in thinker," Slapdash summarised. "What joy."

Weld crossed his arms: "It could be worse. If he's a joke villain, he won't go too far."

We snorted. "Uber and Leet beat up prostitutes, you know."

Firefly made a face: "Yes, but they are shitty joke villains."

"The Bay is shitty," Bitchslap stated. "They have nazis and Asian nazis. Of all the capes that live there, only one of them is a rogue."

We wanted to retort that at least we weren't visited by a violent villain that possessed people after death and made them crazy, but we refrained.

We totally didn't count though: we were a Ward, in Boston, and we didn't possess anyone.

"Well, this will be all. The meeting is adjourned!" Grinder shouted.

Firefly squinted at him: "Adjourned, really?"

"It's a word," Grinder stated.

"It's a word you aren't fit to use."

"And for that, you hand the report to Armstrong."

Firefly huffed. "Fine. Homework is homework, I guess."

He turned to us: "You're lucky. Usually, this is work for newbies."

We rolled our eyes. "This newbie has real homework to do."

Hunch chuckled: "Worried for your performance of tomorrow?"

We sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

The PR guy had been slightly better than Chambers.

We still wanted to gut him.

"And remember, you can take candies from this Stranger," Weld said flatly.

We looked at the ground.

"She needs to say that?" Slapdash asked with pity.

"Poor thing," the Tinker commented.

We glared at Weld: "You're lucky you aren't very stabbable!"

"I have a meme because I said I'm a brute."

Right. Ashley and Clockblocker used it.

We looked at the time. "We need to be at the console."

"And Grinder and I need to go patrolling," Slapdash said nonchalantly. "Did you memorize the code?"

"Yes, mommy." Stab worthy mommy at least.

Sheesh, we wouldn't want to be her child.

We headed to the console room with our book and sat on the recliner seat.

They hadn't unmasked to us, but at least it wasn't as awkward as before.

It was worrying. We weren't used to peace for long periods.

We were sure that the new cape was going to be a problem. We didn't know if he was the kind of idiot who would attack a PR conference, but it wouldn't be too strange.

At least we didn't have to worry about Dad this time. We were given a report last week, and he was stable. Was he even feeling anything?

Hannah. She worked in a team and was good at her job. But luck wasn't always at your side, and we had terrible luck so far.

We glanced at our book and opened it. Patrol hadn't started yet, we had time for a brief study session, and it would be a waste to not use it.

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ic3shard13

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Jul 2, 2020

#447

We adjusted our cap. Ready to go, right?

"And so, I'm glad to present you Ghostchild!"

That was the signal, so we left our Concealment and appeared in the middle of the stage.

"Hi," we said.

Step one complete, the public was surprised. Now, we needed to remember we had to speak.

"I'm happy to have joined the Wards, and I will give my best!"

We felt dirty.

"Can you tell the public what you can do?" Armstrong asked.

We asked 'worriedly': "Is that alright? You don't want to frighten them, right?"

"It won't be a problem," he said smiling.

Dirtier. We were so close to using Identity Erasure.

We scrunched our face and called a dagger.

Wow, much power.

"You can show more of them, right?" Armstrong encouraged us.

We nodded and called another one. Then another one. In the end, we summoned our holster while we twirled some scalpels between our fingers.

We let the blades fall, and we dematerialized them before they touched the ground.

Couldn't they have shown the video of us gutting pigs, and start the conference like that?

"Of course, that's not all. You can read my profile on PHO, and there are lots of videos of what w- I can do."

A quiet clap followed. Nobody was exactly impressed, but that wasn't the point.

The point of this conference was to make us look unthreatening and approachable.

We wouldn't be fielded all that much until AoE was ready.

Armstrong took the word back: "Do you have any questions for our new Ward?"

Thankfully, the journalists were approved by the PRT.

"Aren't knives dangerous for a child?" a man with an improbable haircut asked.

We blinked. "When do you eat, aren't you using a knife? And it's not a game: kids at home, don't imitate me, right?"

Eugh. As if we ever got cut using them.

A young woman with bleached air questioned: "Do you like your team?"

"They are fun."

Bleah. It wasn't like we disliked them, but people wanted simple answers.

"Why did you transfer?"

"Family matters," we replied curtly.

A partially true answer, one that didn't lead to a follow-up question.

Secret identities were secret.

Ah.

"Do you have any favorite hero?"

"Miss Militia," we stated. And it was true, of all the Protectorate members we faced, she was our favorite. "We both have similar powers and wear bandanas. But knives are cooler than guns."

Why didn't we look like a fifteen-year-old?

Nope, we looked 'cute' and had to answer cutely, because it was a ridiculous question.

Fortunately, the others were much more generic and easy.

Favorite color?

Black.

Favorite food?

Rare meat and sweets.

Favorite hobby?

Killing bullies, ahem, reading.

How was Boston treating you?

What do you miss of Brockton Bay?

What can you do for the Wards?

Eventually, everybody finished asking.

We gave the microphone back and returned to the rest of the team, not exactly out of the stage, but in a corner where we could speak quietly.

"Say anything and you're dead," we threatened.

They didn't comment, unfortunately. We needed the stress relief.

In the meanwhile, Armstrong had passed the microphone to the other transfer, Miss Militia.

Her presence here wasn't surprising: Protectorate members tended to transfer between regions.

But it wasn't exactly common, either.

So she gave an excuse as well: "I'm currently training with the Boston team in new restraining techniques and I'm studying to take a new operational role on the field."

There, a whole lot of nothing in a few words.

"But aren't you already one of the most experienced heroes to date?" the same journalist asked.

I knew she was doing her eye thing when she replied: "There's always more to learn."

"Are you related to Ghostchild?"

We frowned, summoned a knife, and watched each of our teammates in the eyes.

Slapdash opened her mouth.

We made a step in her direction.

She closed it.

"We aren't blood-related, but I value her presence as a co-worker and as a person."

We moved to stab Slapdash anyway because red was such a pretty color.

The mover glared mockingly making a no-no gesture with her index finger, and even our eyes had trouble keeping up with its speed.

"Cut it, both of you," Grinder chided.

We astralized the knife and turned back.

"Seriously, do we look related in any way?" we commented.

"You don't exactly look as you did before," Firefly commented.

We wanted to retort, but we glanced back at Weld, who wore a blank expression.

Hunch wasn't even here because of how he looked and of how difficult everyday actions were to him.

Considering we came back from the dead, we were already luckier than most.

"It's celebrity drama: of course, people want to know. The fact we have a secret identity gives freedom to more speculations and conspiracies," Slapdash stated.

"We know," we said.

There were cape families, though rare, like New Wave. And Miss Militia was famous. Some idiot was going to ask, out of boredom or curiosity, so it was better to ask that now, when the PRT held the cards.

Thankfully, she eventually handled the microphone back to Armstrong, who started talking about a new charity program.

We had to be there as well, right?

our Master asked.

We agreed.

Something fell on Weld, and we wouldn't even have noticed if it weren't from the metallic sound.

It was a gumball.

We looked up, and we saw a little blue ball high in the sky.

"Crap," Firefly said. "What do we do now?"

"Can we even do anything?" Slapdash asked. "It's not easy to catch a villain in midair, and we don't know what would happen if we popped his bubble. A splattered body on the ground is significantly worse than a few pieces of candy raining from the sky."

Grinder muttered: "The people are noticing, though, and it's dangerous."

Weld looked skeptically at the candy: "Is it tinker tech?"

"No, but you heard the story of the piece of coin from the Empire State Building, right?" the Tinker said.

Consolle chirped: "Wards, the Protectorate fliers are dealing with this. Stand by and follow the schedule."

Firefly sighed smoking: "Well, this is out of our hands. Dirty business, isn't it?"

Slapdash slapped him in the back, and the cigarette disappeared.

Oh, it was one of his fire constructs made between his fingers.

"Don't encourage the Paparazzi with a scandal!" the Mover whisper-cried.

The Striker rolled his eyes. "They aren't watching us. And it isn't smoking without smoke."

"Do you want some smog," we innocently asked.

He blinked and shrugged.

Grinder gritted: "Get ready, all of you. It's time to return on the main stage."

We all calmed down and followed him.

Smile number 2 on. We practiced it.

Our number 1 was reserved for special occasions. The PR team called it the Slasher smile.

Eheh.

"I am sorry for the inconvenience, but the Protectorate is already chasing Gumball. I am quite sure they'll be able to handle this 'menace'," he commented sardonically, causing some laughter.

He clapped his hands: "Now, as promised, the Wards will have a meet-and-greet. Remember to comply with the rules and have fun!"

Each of us assigned a boot, where some merchandise and iconographies were displayed.

That awful joke Clockblocker saddled us was well visible on the cardboard cut-out of a cartoony version of us, advertising our limited edition of gummy ghosts.

Unsurprisingly, most of our fans were younger than our teammates'.

A glaring exception was the first man in the row, he was at least in his mid-twenties.

"Can I have your autograph?" he asked without missing a beat.

We were quite sure we had seen him somewhere.

He was the robbed moron!

"Do you have a name?"

Great, Jackie, what kind of question was that?

"Joel."

We firmed with a flourish. Uh, that wasn't quite our handwriting. Or was it?

"Thank you," he said.

We replied uncertainly: "It was nothing."

Geeze, it was awkward.

The next one was a nine-year-old kid wearing a Campanile t-shirt.

His mother encouraged him: "Cmon, Fred, you can ask."

"Can I have a photo?"

"Sure."

A click later, a goodbye, and then they were gone.

We would lie if we said we remembered all the faces, but we did some.

The little girl that asked us if Slapdash was our best friend. We didn't miss the Mover's smirk from her booth.

The young man who had a notebook with almost a hundred autographs of capes, with some villains included.

The dad who ate three gummies with the most bored face we had ever seen while his son asked how to be a hero. Later the other Wards would tell us he always made that question, and always stomped off when he didn't get his answer.

A kid who was too cocky for his own good. Why the heck did AoE approach us unmasked? The team needed to have a discussion with him, secret identities mattered.

All in all, it had been tiring and tedious, but it hadn't been all that bad.

We fidgeted. Yamada was as calm as always, and we didn't know what else to say.

"So it wasn't bad."

We answered: "The latter part wasn't. Meeting people feels better than being on stage. Less fake."

"Can you elaborate?"

"It's not simply about putting up a persona: it's hard to trust in heroes if we act like jerks, we understand that. We can smile and be friendly. But we aren't Ghostchild, we know, we mean we all know this. We are afraid that something bad will happen, and this house of cards will fall."

"Why do you believe that?"

"Because shit, sorry, stuff happens all the time. We saved that man's life, but it was bloody and messy. We were lucky there weren't bystanders with phones ready. There are villains out there we would eventually fight, but our costume is white, and we fight with daggers."

She retorted: "Saving someone's life doesn't raise a scandal. And everybody knows that capes fight."

She continued to smile, but she wasn't happy saying that. After a while, she continued: "You don't need to be a face of the Wards or the Protectorate. There's more than big cities."

"It's true, but we don't know if it's possible. Can we stay that far from Miss Militia?"

She pursed her lips. "That's something you need to discuss with her and it's outside my expertise. I can help you plan what you want to say to her."

"No," we denied. "We'd like to think this on our own."

She nodded. "Anything else?"

"This is the last time we see each other, right?"

"Yes, we rotate every three weeks," she answered neutrally.

Which was stupid. We didn't look forward to opening up to a stranger again.

"Nothing else on our mind," we replied.

We read the Bay was getting worse, and that Purity returned in the E88 wings, but we couldn't do anything about it.

Ashley told us that Missy was upset, and since none of the other Wards called, we avoided them as well.

"Then I think our session is finished. Goodbye, Taylor."

"Goodbye, Yamada."

We chewed our pen as we looked at the problem we refused to believe we would need it in everyday life.

Thankfully, we already knew the solution because we did something similar last week.

There, done.

We took out a gummy ghost to celebrate our victory.

Unfortunately, now we were thirsty.

We entered the lounge, and we saw Slapdash slumped on the couch.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Firefly was changing the channel on TV with an annoyed face.

Hunch was, well, hunching, but he wasn't particularly happy either.

"The talk didn't go well?" we assumed.

"Nah, the kid wants to know why he can't go heroing yet."

We frowned: "Is there a reason why he can't put a costume and go to PR events?"

"His parents."

Well, that explained everything and nothing.

"They are afraid he will become a child soldier or something like that," Slapdash said.

That was fair, but we doubted the kid would see it that way.

We opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water.

"Kids shouldn't trigger," Firefly stated.

We rolled our eyes. "It's like saying kids shouldn't have problems."

Society sucked, so people suffered, so they retaliated.

Kids usually didn't have the means to do the last step, unless they gained superpowers or became a ghost hellbent on revenge.

"That's whataboutism," he replied.

"No. You can't deny what happened wishing it didn't." No Holy Grail here. "Is it worse because he has parahuman powers? Or is it better?"

Firefly grumbled: "He has it worse. Power is a responsibility."

His line of logic was irritating, even if he had a point. "It's also a privilege, like many things in life."

Normal people suffered every day. Heck, our abilities, our Noble Phantasms were based on curses, death, and pollution.

"She has a point," Slapdash added. "For example, becoming a Ward helped me find the job I needed."

"Cmon, you can't say you wouldn't have found a job."

She glared at him. He shut up.

We blinked. It seemed Firefly touched a painful spot, though she brought up the topic.

Like usual, wasn't it? We truly lived in a world where teenagers got powers. Yikes.

"What are you giggling?"

We glared at the Mover. "We aren't giggling."

"You are."

We huffed. "How is he taking it anyway?"

"Not well. He thinks his parents don't believe or understand him," the Striker answered.

"I guess he blames them for what happened to him," Hunch added. "It was nasty."

They all made a face.

"Was it public?" we asked.

"Nobody knows he triggered, but it happened in a public setting."

Right, we were told to not bring up sports club when he was here.

The alarm trilled.

"We have a tour," Hunch drawled.

Joy.

Last edited: Jul 3, 2020

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ic3shard13

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Jul 15, 2020

#454

"Absolutely not."

"I refuse," Weld agreed.

The PR guy tried to explain: "It's just a photo."

"No," we denied for the third time. "We don't want to ride on Weld's shoulders."

The metallic brute helped us, pointing at the van: "We have patrol in ten minutes, and you heard the lady."

The assistant relented: "Fine. But I need some promotional material."

He stormed off and closed the door.

"Thanks," we said to Weld.

"No problem. In my second photoshoot, he wanted me to look like a robot."

We shook our head: "Would people even like it?"

He smirked: "Apparently. Just after a few weeks, the Machine Army happened, so..."

"Talk about timing," we commented.

The atmosphere sobered up. S-class threats weren't great jokes.

We quickly joined the rest of the team.

"PR, eh?" Slapdash asked sardonically.

"PR," we replied. "What's the catch today?"

"We are going to patrol near the shop where Gumball pulled up his first stunt," Grinder answered, patting his armor.

It was a big and bulky thing, silver and white.

The helm was round and featureless, except for the blue visor. A big shell on the back held the batteries and the engine. The gauntlets looked more like heads of maces, and the legs had powerful thrusters.

It wasn't elegant, but it looked effective: we didn't find obvious weak points, not even in the joint.

If we had to fight it, we would use one of our two Noble Phantasms, hypothetically speaking.

Firefly snorted: "Talk about excessive force."

The tinker joined the laugh: "I know, but hey, Betty here look the part. Speaking of which, I need to get inside it."

After pushing a button on his costume, the shell opened with a hiss. It didn't look comfortable or livable, but it was approved, so we didn't need to worry about that.

Once we reached our destination, we separated into two groups: Weld and Grinder were on the main street while the other three of us acted as fast responders.

It was our first patrol of only Wards, but it was a PR stunt first and foremost.

For about fifteen minutes, it was boring, which was good.

Unfortunately, we eventually heard a crash accompanied by a burst of 'villainous' laughter coming from the alley on our right.

A blue ball headed towards us at high speed. We threw one scalpel, but the sphere flew over it.

We ducked, pressing ourselves to the wall.

"Get the gummy out, midget!"

We summoned our weapons and rushed after him, but he was flying again.

"Met Gumball. He's heading towards the East Road," we relied on the comms.

"Slapdash, Firefly, chase him. Ghostchild, stay close to Grinder and Weld."

Grinder added: "Don't use your Stranger power yet."

"Roger," we grumbled. We knew he wasn't a 'serious' villain, but this was holding back a lot.

We ran towards the two brutes.

"He must be a Thinker! Nothing I throw at him hits!" Firefly complained.

"He's making a fool of us!" Slapdash added.

We gritted our teeth.

The first Boston villain we faced was a bully, how unexpected.

Weld was calming some of the bystanders, hurrying them out of the way.

Grinder put himself at a crossroad, coordinating with the cops to close the road.

Why wasn't she using the comms? Nevermind, we had a job to do.

After vanishing our daggers, we joined Weld in his efforts.

"Gumball is heading your way!" Slapdash informed.

Unfortunately, we had to deal with another nuisance: it was hard to dissect the hands of the cape addict in front of us.

"Please ma'am, could you please leave the road?" we asked kindly and reasonably.

"My daughter wanted an autograph," she stated firmly.

We smiled, took out a pen, and firmed the damned thing.

She faltered, nodded to herself, and walked out of the way.

There was something that didn't match.

All the cars were parked and the road was blocked, practically everyone was already inside a shop or out of the way, but we were hearing the sound of screeching tires and the rumble of a motor coming closer.

We heard a crash. The annoying woman dropped on the sidewalk like a ragdoll, dirtying it with her blood.

A car fizzled in and out of view like a bad special effect from a sci-fi film, until the cloaking device failed.

The vehicle was ugly, made of mish-mashed parts, gruesomely decorated with human bones and parts, blades, and spikes.

In the middle of the hood, a demented skull whose teeth looked like shelled pistachio nuts was nailed down like a macabre trademark of the gang.

Whatever tinker-tech failed, it didn't stop the car.

We rushed towards the injured and yelled to the mic: "The Teeth are here, Grinder, they are coming towards you."

We checked the woman and sighed. She was alive, but out of commission. We took her between our arms, not an easy feat when she was at least 18'' taller than us, and brought her inside a shop.

We started checking her wounds, but she had a concussion, and we weren't confident we could do anything about that.

"I'm a nurse," a gel haired man inside said. "I can take care of her."

We dwelled about it, but a second crashing sound made our decision.

We left him our emergency kit and got out.

Grinder was near the vehicle, swatting an irritating blue ball that abruptly changed direction towards us.

We watched it disappear in the sky and cursed its existence.

Slapdash stopped zigzagging beside our team leader, Firefly was keeping watch from the sky and Weld was coming as well.

We entered Concealment.

One of the back doors was opened, and she came out.

She was a tall and elegant woman, wearing an Asian looking costume trimmed with razor-sharp blades.

On her back, she had strapped a massive composite bow, that united her original power, space-bending perfect accuracy within her range, and her inherited superstrength in a deadly mix.

Stabbing her from behind sounded appealing, but immensely stupid. She was a brute and she had a form of danger-sense, anything less than lethal was useless.

Lethal was worse.

She said just one word: "Move."

We could feel Grinder's fear and hesitation behind his armor, which again didn't protect him from her ability to inflict pain.

We quickly closed the distance and watched inside the car.

Hemorragia was on the driver seat rubbing her head, and behind her was a gagged sobbing woman.

Her clothes were dirty and thrashed, her make-up completely ruined. On her left arm were some puncture marks, and she looked completely drugged out of her mind.

We told the rest of the team: "There are Hemorragia and a hostage."

We hurried our Master.

A heavily modified voice answered the Butcher's request: "Release the hostage."

Butcher closed her eyes and crossed her arms, mulling over it.

"No."

She pointed her hand at our team leader. He started screaming.

Weld moved to tackle her, but she teleported away. We turned towards the explosion.

She was already drawing the bow, we had to act fast. We didn't know how strong Grinder's armor was.

We threw some scalpels, but she dodged them easily.

She pointed her weapon at us, but a fireball soared her in the back.

"Leave the kid alone!" Firefly shouted.

The Butcher leaped at him and struck him with pain.

A smokeless flame engulfed him for a second before he managed to escape from her range.

His skin looked sweaty and irritated.

The villain was hardly singed.

"Go the fuck away or I'll off her!" Hemorragia shouted.

The hostage had a gash on her cheek, and the blood leaking out took the form of a thin but razor-sharp blade over her neck.

If we still had Concealment, we could have done some stunt, but we didn't have it.

The Butcher would read any weird move. Using the Mist against her was detrimental, she could see the veins and arteries of people regardless.

we asked.

Butcher's bow was drawn tight.

We blinked.

The Empire and the ABB were fighting their little 'Cold War'. Bay was shitty for real.

"I'm not kidding! Get the fuck out of the way, kids!" Hemorragia threatened, using the blood blade to slash the other cheek of the victim.

we cried.

She could make me act as she wanted, though.

"How do we know you aren't going to screw us around?" Firefly asked. "Your boss already sent one of ours to the hospital."

"Enough talk," the boss in question said.

Damnit, Hannah was right, we were as much of hostages as the drugged tinker.

But... oh, oh!

"Ghostchild, why are you smiling?" Grinder asked worriedly on the comms.

We told her.

"Get rid of her," Butcher ordered.

Hemorragia looked at her bewildered.

"We don't need her."

Grinder shouted in the comms: "Plan eightball!"

Hemorragia got shot with a dart.

Slapdash blurred forward to catch the tinker, who was as thin as a skeleton.

Firefly shot another fireball at the Butcher, who shot her arrow.

Weld intercepted the shot rushing in front of the Striker, getting impaled as a result.

Grinder fought with Hemorragia, keeping her occupied. For once, he was the one being careful with his punches.

"My battery is almost finished," Grinder advised.

It didn't matter. In the rush, nobody looked at us, so we entered Concealment.

The Butcher teleported and drew her arrow again.

We cut the string and dematerialized.

We didn't like doing so, it made us feel vulnerable.

It was the weakest state a Servant would be in. We told our worry to the Protectorate and got tested.

Shaker effect and Striker effect could hurt us heavily. But the Butcher only had the pain surge, and it attacked the nerves of the target.

Hard to have nerves if you didn't have a body.

We reappeared a few feet away.

Grinder shouted: "Go away peacefully, and we'll do so as well."

Hemorragia, who was under his weight, wasn't as confident as our glorious leader.

The Butcher mulled over it, probably listening to the other voices.

"We'll remember this."

She calmly walked towards the car, Grinder stepped out of the way.

The gang leader took her subordinate from her collar and threw her inside.

She got on the driver seat, the car started, and she was away.

The team report was long and tedious.

We were saved by staying on console for twenty months because having seven Wards at the same time was useless.

We had to agree to the PR photo shoot.

"Did we really do it?" Grinder asked himself.

"Go away peacefully, and we'll do so as well," Weld thundered behind him.

"Ahah," the tinker laughed monotone. "I was shitting my pants."

"Me too," Slapdash said. "And I was the first to get out."

"But you didn't get hurt, nor the hostage got hurt," Firefly pointed.

"The practice paid," she smirked. "We one-upped the freaking Teeth!"

"Because you had a sniper, not exactly cape stuff," Hunch commented.

"The Teeth don't play by Cape stuff," we said. "We so wanted to stab him."

Weld raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow: "What are you saying?"

"That Gumball!"

"Motion approved, he caused the incident," Grinder said.

"Aye, aye."

"I'm surrounded by assholes," Hunch drawled.

We glared at him.

"What, never seen Spaceballs?"

"Spacewhat?"

Slapdash punched the table. "That's a most serious offense. What do you say, captain? We need to make her see the truth."

"You're right," Grinder said. "Tonight is film night."

Firefly commented: "Fitting. We stopped because our old comrade fell, and now that Ghostchild has proven worthy to the occasion..."

Slapdash slapped his fake cigarette. "It's not funny."

Weld added his two cents: "I'm all for it."

We grumbled: "Fine."

"Stop being grumpy, Taylor," Slapdash bitched.

We looked at her. "You never called us with our name."

"Sasha it's mine."

We were doing this?

She removed her mask. "Keeping it up all the time is annoying."

Grinder followed her in the act: "Have to agree. I'm Thomas."

Firefly fidgeted. "Call me Rob."

Hunch continued: "This is so cliché, you know?"

"Shut up," Sasha retorted.

He rolled his eyes.

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ic3shard13

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Aug 23, 2020

#464

"So," Hannah asked. "Do you want to explain where you got the idea to fight the Butcher alone?"

We sipped our tea, then retorted: "We weren't alone. And what we did wasn't our plan, but the team's plan."

Eightball: we harassed the enemy, Firefly provided covering fire, Slapdash helped to secure the bystanders, Grinder and Weld were the brutes and shields.

The team had made a dozen or so of simple tactics like those.

"The Wards knew what you were planning," she insisted.

We continued to drink.

She continued her argument. "You know that when we are on the field, I report what you tell me. Or did you expect that your plan would work without your teammates?"

We pouted. "Were we supposed to let the Butcher escape with a prisoner?"

"Squealer was part of the defunct Merchants, not an innocent bystander. She and Skidmark escaped Brockton Bay and tried to join the Teeth."

Well, at least knowing that scummy group was gone was good news.

We argued: "And what's different from us? We look like a cute little kid, so it's fine that we joined the Wards? Do we deserve special treatment because someone attempted to kill us inside your institution, and we attached ourselves to you?"

"It wasn't your job to make that decision," she stated, ignoring my questions. "When you signed yourself to be a Ward, you knew there was supervision."

We tapped our empty cup. "It seems to exist only to screw us."

"What would have happened if someone killed the Butcher?"

We closed our mouth.

"The Butcher isn't stupid: she's always with all of her gang. You found her in a particularly weak position. Or what if she killed one of you? The Teeth play fast and loose with the unspoken rules. And the worst of all, you left an injured civilian alone without being sure she was taken care of."

"He said he was a nurse," we mumbled.

"He is a nurse, but you didn't know," she ended her argument.

Treating the civilian would have been tedious, the team was in danger, and she should have entered a building immediately without asking for a freaking autograph.

On the matter, why the heck did she traverse the road? Was she reaching for her car?

But we acted recklessly. That woman had a family and was a mother.

She deserved to die less than Squealer, that's for sure.

"You may be right," we answered. "But it doesn't explain the leeway we have."

"The circumstances matter," she said. "I don't want to treat you like a kid, I'm your guardian, but I'm not your parent."

We deflated slightly. "Then, was it a lie? Visiting the city, our talks?"

A flash of something passed between her eyes. "Let me reword it: you can't expect me to act against my duty to please you. And for duty, I mean my guardian duty as well."

We pursed our lips: "What's the difference between a well-meaning parent and a good guardian? You are adopted."

"I report to my higher-ups," she clarified. "I have to talk about our relationship with a counselor. I don't spill my beans on everything, like the talk we are having, but guardianship can be revoked much easier from me than a blood-related parent. I'm trusted, but there are reserves, especially if you continue to act on your own."

We flinched. "You're supposed to discipline ourselves."

"And take care of yourself. As a Protectorate member, that means on the field as well."

So that's why she contacted us telepathically.

"Ok, we screwed up," we admitted, reluctantly.

It was a cool screw-up, though. Not worth the risk at all, but a plus on our book.

In the end, the one who got the better deal was Gumball. Another video with thousands of views, at the modicum price of the dignity of our team.

"Do the PRT has a plan for that flying menace?" we asked.

"We figured out his power."

We raised an eyebrow.

"He isn't a thinker, but a master/stranger."

A proverbial light turned on in our head. "People don't want to hit him?"

We had thrown the scalpels, and they moved faster than him. His power made us miss.

She asked sardonically: "Do you think Hemorragia would have steered the other way?"

The name was more clever than we thought. Noone wanted a bubble made of gum to pop in their face.

Or we were giving him too much credit, and he took the name for the puns.

"On topic, he announced a challenge on his channel," she added humorously.

We raised an eyebrow.

"He's going to steal one of your sweets," she answered neutrally.

"From my pouch? Is he serious?"

"He's a show-off and takes cape business as a game: types like him usually wise up fast or don't last for long."

"Uber and Leet have been doing this for years," we commented.

"The two never harassed the Wards as much. Gumball instead showed himself for the patrol you made to answer his stunts, and let's not forget his appearance at the conference."

"Are we going to lay him a trap?" we asked.

If we announced something, he'd show up, but he wasn't a total idiot: he kept his distance at the conference.

Miss Militia nodded.

A bolt of green and black danced between her fingers until it morphed into a grenade launcher.

"I think containment foam is going to help," she commented, caressing her weapon.

We smiled.

Then we heard an alarm.

Hannah's and our cellphone started ringing crazily.

Miss Militia got up, and we followed her.

We munched another gummy, leaning on the wall.

It was quiet.

All of us Wards were on base, except for Weld, who volunteered to go, and AoE, who was at home with his family.

Miss Militia was coordinating with the few Protectorate heroes who chose to remain.

We didn't think Militia had a choice. A Master under the control of the Endbringer Master was dangerous, even with just one command seal.

Naturally, we had Maria the Ripper, but we knew it wouldn't work: the chant was too long, the range too small, the Endbringers never attacked at night, and maybe the Simurgh didn't count as a female being.

Our best defense against the monster was Mental Pollution, which was more than a double-edged sword than anything else.

"It's not your fault, you know," Hunch drawled.

"What?"

"To feel impotent."

We called a knife, and he looked away.

We asked: "Is this supposed to be sympathy?"

"Hardly. I just want you to stop sulking," Hunch sarcastically said.

We dismissed the blade. "We are good at sulking. Never heard of a ghost without some form of regrets, or they would have passed on."

"Should I start quoting 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'?" he retorted.

We rolled our eyes.

Grinder came back from the console room. "There's been a report of a case 53 on the loose. If anybody wants to come, feel free."

Slapdash raised an eyebrow. "Aren't we supposed to be off duty? I know my parents don't want me to go."

Hunch commented: "I don't think a case 53 ever appeared during an Endbringer attack."

Not surprisingly, he was informed about the subject.

"Well, I'm in," Firefly said. "Staying at the base while people are fighting out there, it sucks."

We nodded. "So are we."

Grinder mused: "My suit is still out of commission, but I have a weapon or two for self-defense."

Slapdash snorted: "Self-defense? You have an exploding hammer and a gun that shoots chains like bolas."

"Excuse me if I'm not like the toy tinker from Washington," our glorious leader rebutted. "Anyway, you coming or not, Dash?"

"Coming, coming," she replied, annoyed.

We clipped the bandanna and adjusted the cap.

Two police officers were on the scene and looked justifiably nervous.

The streets were empty. We told ourselves it wasn't unusual during an Endbringer attack.

People went to sudden family gatherings, partied, went to church, or got drunk at the bar. Nobody was working, and even the lowest criminals knew better than cause trouble.

The senior officer eyed all of us wearily, before turning to Militia.

"My partner and I were patrolling when we were called. Initially, I thought it was a normal burglary, so we entered following normal procedure."

As he continued talking, he guided us inside the butcher shop, until we were in front of what used to be the door of the cold room.

The steel had been ripped apart.

"After I saw that, I guessed it wasn't a normal burglary," he commented sardonically. "Initially, I was grateful there was nobody inside, but the cape returned soon after. He was naked, and his body was deformed."

"Deformed how?"

"The head was just a bit too little, his eyes were blood-red. I'm no doctor, but his limbs bent wrong. I thought he was a 'monster' cape, so I told my partner to stay quiet and let him pass."

We glanced at the 'partner'. He hadn't spoken a word since we arrived.

Was he trying to play some sort of stereotype?

The senior officer continued: "He noticed we were there, and he suddenly moved to attack. We dropped to the ground and I readied to shoot. His legs turned into that of a goat, like a satyr, and he jumped away. I barely had time to watch his arms transform as well, and he literally galloped away, with bags full of meat on his shoulder."

"Seems a sort of changer, brute, with a mover subrating," Poise said. "Dovetail alone should be able to face him."

The mentioned heroine added: "Theoretically."

Miss Militia suggested: "Let's make a quick patrol around the area."

After thanking the police, we all moved out.

Dovetail and Firefly took the sky, while we followed Poise to the roofs.

His power didn't seem much, but walking on walls as if gravity wasn't a concern looked funny.

For about ten minutes, it was uneventful, until a naked man started running towards Miss Militia and Grinder.

He looked like a normal person, except he was naked.

He cried: "Please help me! The warehouse at the-

He exploded soundlessly in a sludge.

"The fuck?" Slapdash summarised.

"Language," Grinder weakly said, removing the safety from his chain gun.

The Protectorate capes glanced between each other.

"Should we call the Ambassadors?" Poise offered.

Dovetail flowed in front of him and glared, which, in a different situation, would have been comical considering the man was standing on a wall and she was floating.

"It was just a suggestion," the hero said, before jumping down, allowing gravity to do his work.

we asked Militia, who looked at her colleagues with bemusement.

The fliers took their position in the sky, while the movers, aka us, Slapdash and Poise, were taking the sides.

Differently from Brockton Bay, Boston wasn't scattered with warehouses consumed by time and sea salt.

They all looked like official businesses, but one stood to attention.

The garage door was smashed, there were signs of scorched ground, and most of the windows were broken either by stuff thrown from inside or outside.

In short, there had been a fight. It was strange nobody told the PRT there had been one though.

It either happened after the workers went home, so about an hour ago, or the night before.

While Dovetail told the troopers to come closer, we gave a peep inside.

We bit back a curse: that abominable car was there. Now it was doubly weird, the Teeth weren't exactly subtle.

From a staircase that led to somewhere underground, we heard more running.

It was another naked man.

"Let's move in," Poise said from outside.

The man exploded immediately.

The troopers and the Protectorate members entered, while we skipped out.

We dropped the concealment as inconspicuously as possible.

"Psst, what's going on?" Firefly asked.

We stared and crossed our arms. "We have no idea what you are talking about."

Slapdash cooed. "What a cute little act! Spill!"

What a stabbable person. "The Teeth were there, or at least the Butcher."

"Shit. And they leave us out?" the flyer asked. "That doesn't make sense."

Grinder said: "Yes, I see no reason why they aren't letting in the Wards against the Butcher."

Slapdash said: "So what's going on, the gang recruited new capes?"

We told them about the other man.

"Why the hell didn't you tell them?" Grinder asked.

We replied: "Why aren't you?"

He looked to the side. It was then that we realized we were just a bunch of teenagers.

"It feels like Spree," Firefly said.

"Spree clones don't last seconds."

"Just saying!"

Something exploded.

"What the fuck!" Slapdash said.

It was calm again.

We rushed inside, without letting the other teammates hear me.

People started ascending from the staircase. Some were deformed, others less so. They moved with a strange coherency as if they knew what the other would do. It wasn't perfect, more like a drilled coordination than a Thinker power.

We wanted to tell the other Wards to escape, but we couldn't. We had been ordered to kill her, but her who?

We received no answer.

There wasn't room to go down, so we jumped over the naked procession, moving between limbs and over their heads.

The underground facility was bigger than expected.

Here the signs of a fight were much more prominent. Caved walls, burnt floor, blood, and a dead body.

Following where the naked people came from, we found ourselves in a big room.

We immediately knew the creature in front of us was our target. A mass of flesh with multiple animal heads, limbs, and other fleshy bits, and a canal from where the naked people were birthed.

We tried hard to not think about it.

We summoned our lantern. "The Mist: Darkened Misty Metropolis."

The beast heads started coughing, and the newborns fell to the ground.

Even if Master wasn't here, even if it was wrong to do so, we smiled.

"Hell is starting. We are flames, rain, power... Let there be a slaughter..."

We wanted to kill it and make it feel our grudge. How dared this abominable mother create so many monsters!

"Maria the Ripper!"

And just like that, we fulfilled the order.

For a moment, we feared we would disappear, but it wasn't true. Something still connected us to Militia.

Most of the naked people were dead, but two of them rushed out.

One boomed towards us. We astralized, and once he landed, we stabbed her in the neck.

The other screamed, and we fell on the floor, but again we managed to roll out of his punches and kill him.

Unfortunately, there was a third enemy we didn't account for.

"Wasn't two thirds and a command seal not enough?" we asked ourselves.

We got enveloped by the flesh, and it was dark and warm.

"This wasn't the way we wanted our wish, uh." we wondered with no voice.

We fell asleep and woke up to a familiar sight.

The White Chapel. A man was leering and kicking a prostitute down.

We killed him.

"Is this some sort of joke? It isn't funny!" we shouted with thousands of voices.

We started walking. The surroundings changed from London to Brockton, to Boston. It only showed the worse of them, though: Winslow and the locker, the tunnel between the PRT and the Wards, that bathroom, the funeral.

It felt like something wanted to show us our worst memories and make us feel them, but we trudged on.

Most of them were already in our knives and our cloak, and the others were damning for just a single soul.

After some time, we found the edge. It was like all the landscape we visited rested on a single pillar made of crystal, which reflected and shifted in colors strange to describe.

There was a bridge that connected it to another crystal-like being that shifted with sparks of green and black.

Uncertain of what to do, we started walking.

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ic3shard13

ic3shard13

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Sep 23, 2020

#484

It was further than we imagined.

We looked back: our world, our memories, were just like the tip of an iceberg of another crystal formation.

There wasn't any sound or any smell, and even what we sensed with our touch and eyes was too strange to be true. Did it mean all those dreams we had happened here?

It was very lonely, and for a moment, we felt that stupid desire to jump down, the one people tended to have when on the edge of a precipice.

We continued walking until suddenly we were on the green and black formation. It was clear it had to do with Miss Militia: facets of the being glowed like her power, and there was a connection between our world and this.

The thing was huge, and it was alive in a way we didn't understand, similar to a growing stalagmite.

We could see farther bridges that extended to other lights in the distance, but the connections were much less defined, like threads of a spider web.

What looked like stars in the sky must have been other crystals, and so the big cluster that shined like the sun.

Suddenly, the plane shifted downwards like a funnel, and the slope became so slippery we had to use our knives like pegs to prevent our fall.

The place we stabbed twitched and shook, but we held on.

A green and black bolt of energy hit us in our back, but we endured.

We watched down and held back a sob.

If this place was purgatory, what waited for us down below was hell: a growing and malformed hub of crystals that broke and collided in smaller shards, before mixing like a sludge. It stunk of death, and it was the closest place where different souls existed.

If the other crystals were life, what was there was a tumor that threatened to grow and overwhelm the surrounding space.

Adding salt to the wound, the green and black place I was on was shifting towards that dead abomination. We wouldn't have been surprised if our little, comfy hell was falling as well.

A bolt struck us again, followed by one, then another. We gritted our teeth and bit back the pain, but we eventually lost.

As we fell, we saw our world fall as well.

We crashed, and it crashed without a sound. From that giant crystal, a shard budded off, destroying a carriage, streetlamps, and some uncaring people of that Victorian time.

We felt lesser, and we ran back to it.

As we moved, we regarded our surroundings.

There were lots of souls here but like the rest of this sickly hub, most of them were wrong: angry, full of hatred, and multiplying like ants.

They were naked and translucent, reflecting the strange lights of the abomination, and they seemed to mutter curses, pieces of advice, and wishes.

A few were frightened and lost, and their pleads sounded like prayers.

All of them were anchored to the ground, as the crystal slowly grew to cover them.

They weren't a lot, a hundred at most, and seeing how large everything was, it wasn't a coincidence we fell here.

We felt the ground try to engulf our feet.

We struggled to fight it off, and like needles, crystals pierced our skin, as if they were drifting our souls apart.

We had no choice, but to use that power. We mastered the twisted delicious wraiths to come to us, and we fed.

We held back a laugh. We never felt better. If everything else hadn't been oh so damn scary, we would have a field day in this place.

As more and more self-loathing and bitter souls came forward, we noticed that the abomination seemed to calm down, as if it was breathing in his sleep, until we managed to break free.

Our place looked safer.

In other words, eating souls was, if not a solution, at least a temporary relief.

We hoped it helped outside as well.

We started examining the souls around us.

A man that looked like Poise.

One of the cops at the crime scene.

A pretty girl, somewhat familiar.

One of the guys we killed in the mother's chamber.

And finally, Hannah. Her face was in deep thought, as she muttered words we couldn't hear.

We wanted to hug her: we felt so alone. But her wisp was so fragile.

There wasn't a choice. We broke Hannah out and guided her back to her crystal.

Like before, we reached that place as if following the logic of a dream, a change of scene in which distance and time didn't matter.

We willed an icecream cone into existence, and when we failed, we pinched our cheek.

Were we the ones dreaming?

We shook our head and gently landed Hannah in her place. She disappeared in motes of green and black lightning.

Something told us she was going to be ok.

We walked back to the other souls, who were already multiplying, even if at a much slower rate.

We killed those just born, already filled with hatred.

We freed the others and sent those back to our world, where they fell asleep.

We explored the land until we found the center point. It was something akin to a homunculus, but its body wasn't made of flesh, but the same blood-red crystal substance of this plane.

Whatever the circumstances led to her creation, she was perfectly sculpted, and her upper body looked exactly like the mother, no, the monster that engulfed us.

She was lying on a makeshift altar, like a corpse ready to be dissected.

We summoned two scalpels, the blades looming over her rib cage.

We dismissed them. We were being mastered, and it wasn't the command seal. This place didn't make sense at all, yet something was making us understand.

What was the point of all these metaphorical images?

We bit our lips until we drew blood, we closed our eyes and walked back.

We opened our eyes, and we found ourselves in front of the altar.

The sun in the sky shined stronger than ever, and the urge to act came back stronger than ever.

It eerily felt like right after the locker, somebody that wasn't yet us acting against the wishes of our whole.

But the souls in our world were asleep: we ordered them so.

The girl looked so peaceful, around the age our old Big Self would have been if Jack's summoning didn't happen.

Around the altar were thirteen faces sculped on it, whispering words nobody could hear.

She was the new Butcher: it was the only thing that made some sense.

But she must have been monstrous even before becoming the next Butcher. This place felt diseased.

The golden light shone much brighter, and we covered our eyes.

It was hypocrite, but leaving her to this fate sounded worse than death.

We stabbed and took her soul.

The body stood still like a statue.

We walked back to our world and let the girl rest on the ground with the others.

From the top of the White Chapel, we saw a ray of sun hit the abomination.

We woke up in the middle of a park.

The world was chaos. People were screaming and running with their lives.

A patch of grass burned in a reddish fire that smelled like sulfur, an inhuman howl filled the air, a tree trunk sailed over us, a giant bubble blocked a pair of troopers, before the rapid strafe of a machine gun popped it, letting them out.

We turned towards the shooter. Miss Militia, she was safe.

And she was pointing her weapon at us, before lowering it.

"Ghostchild."

We adjusted our bandanna. Darn, it stunk. "Miss Militia."

We saw a child appear behind her, and we rushed. We summoned all of our knives, but one was missing.

Miss Militia shot, and warm blood spilled on me from behind.

We threw three scalpels, and a naked man that looked like Poise took the figure in his arms: the scalpels bounced on him without leaving a scratch.

Militia turned and used a flamethrower.

The man died amidst flames without even blinking.

"Ghostchild!"

It was Grinder. His hammer was bloody, and his costume had his fair amount of scratches, but he looked alright.

He fired his gun, shooting a mix of nails and junk that splattered the figure, rendering it an unrecognizable mess of flesh.

Another huge howl shook the air, and I turned to its origin.

The new Butcher didn't resemble anything human, as it thrashed on the ground. Its flesh was twisting and churning, releasing more and more unfinished bodies, missing limbs, organs, or having animal parts.

A girl missing her right arm and part of her head stumbled forward before exploding in a fire.

A woman without skin released bubbles shields as she breathed shallowly.

A man without eyes added heaps of dirt upon heaps of dirt. He teleported himself on the pile, but he quickly fell down and cracked his head.

A girl started muttering words we couldn't remember.

The Butcher teleported in an explosion behind us, we moved to shoot it, but Grinder stopped us. "It has Butcher's danger sense."

We held back: "Where are the others?"

"Slapdash is doing search and rescue. Accord is using Firefly and his team to keep the threat contained."

We blinked. "Accord?"

"He knew of Echidna, but he didn't know she became the Butcher. He says she cloned a stranger," he continued explaining as we ran to the perimeter.

We grimaced.

Thankfully, we encountered little resistance from the clones.

Miss Militia and we weren't exactly in our best shape, and Grinder was struggling to keep up.

He swore, clicked a button, and threw the hammer in the ground. Like a piston, the head ignited and emitted a volley of fire, scorching the ground around it.

"Accord said to give no quarter," he explained.

Militia didn't buy it. "Ghostchild, carry him."

He protested: "What? No!"

It didn't take too much to catch him.

"Let me go! This is ridiculous!"

We giggled.

"There's nothing to laugh about," No-fun Grinder said.

We heard another roar in the distance.

A man with a goat head suddenly appeared in front of us.

Grinder pulped him with his gun.

Miss Militia looked surprised. It wasn't easy to be faster than her with weapons.

He shrugged.

A volley of fire rained from the sky.

"What the fuck are you doing in a princess carry, leader?" our team flyer asked.

"Fuck you, Firefly," Grinder shouted back. "How's Slapdash?"

"Resting. She broke an arm while evacuating a civvie," he briefly explained as he flew away.

It didn't take long to find the 'perimeter.' It was a hastily constructed wall made of pieces of junk, trees, cars, a bus, streetlamps, and furniture, all burning.

"Alt!"

Grinder shouted: "L-M 601!"

The troopers lowered their weapons.

We were assigned to healing duties. Hours spent in blood and disgusting smells, but it didn't matter. The medical course showed its worth.

A part of us hated doctors. We remembered being torn apart from the warm and the cold scalpels cutting flesh.

But as long as it made us and those close to us live, it was worth the painful memories.

"Scion killed the Butcher," the words spread, with a mix of awe and fear.

He didn't show to Canberra, after all, even if it was a 'victory'.

The burning and half-melted angel statue in the barricade seemed to mock us.

The Teeth were gone, and so were many minor players in the game, like freaking Gumball.

Of the Travellers, the lone survivors were a crippled girl and a boy with a slight changer power.

People argued for the Birdcage.

Once everything finished, Miss Militia took our hands and guided the two of us back home.

"What happened?" Hannah asked.

"You won't believe us."

"We are the only ones the Butcher threw out," she stated, with her ever-annoying calm no-nonsense tone.

"You are not our Master anymore!" we shouted. "You said we would be safe in the Wards! We want an out!"

"Probation-

"It doesn't matter. Kill us if you want to try, but if we have to fight like that again, we want an out. Tell the PRT to throw us in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and we'll play the little good child!" we argued.

Somehow, we were in flesh again, but our hair was only white. We wanted to shave it all.

"Okay."

"Okay?" we mumbled.

"I'll ask. There's a summer camp for Wards, you know. You can hear the experience of 'bumfuck no-where' heroes."

Those cheeky films didn't lie?

"And what are you going to do?" we asked.

She explained in two words: "The same. This work never ends."

We rested our head on the table.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

We took a moment to find the right words to not be sent to the asylum. "Some Master effect, an illusion that first seemed like our place, then powers."

"Powers?" she wondered.

We continued to look at the wood of the table. "Crystals, huge crystals. We found you and other people on a cluster of them that was wrong: it broke and shatter in pieces, but was held together like with glue. We brought you to your power, and you disappeared. We took the other people to our world, then we found the latest Butcher, this Noelle girl, and killed her."

We waited for a response, a denial, a laugh, but nothing came. We looked up.

She looked lost for words.

Last edited: Oct 18, 2020

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