Interlude 1
January 3rd, 2011.
"Wonder where the little shit fucked off to?"
Emma added the dressing to her salad before closing the container and shaking it to coat the lettuce evenly. Her parents certainly never forced her to endure Winslow cafeteria food.
Sophia was irritated at the loss of their usual entertainment. She got bored pretty easily.
"Probably hiding in a bathroom, as usual. So gross," Emma said. "Imagine eating on the toilet like that every day."
She shouldn't care where Taylor was. She didn't care.
"She wasn't in class this morning, either," Madison said from the other side of the table.
Emma speared a crouton with unnecessary force.
She felt like she was missing… something.
"Maybe she finally got the hint that nobody wanted her around, and dropped out or something" Emma said.
"Maybe the syphilis finally caught up with her," Madison snickered.
"Maybe she finally killed herself," Emma said, even though something in her gut twisted at the idea.
Taylor doesn't matter. Get over yourself.
"Whatever," Sophia said. "Good riddance, I guess."
Sophia stalked away to toss her empty cafeteria tray in the garbage.
"Yeah… good riddance," Emma said, even though Sophia was out of earshot.
Why did something about that set her pulse racing?
It doesn't matter.
…
January 6th, 2011.
Taylor was dead.
The police cordoned off the section of hallway, but Emma recognized the familiar dark curls. She knew which locker that was.
Students gathered as close as they were allowed to the gruesome spectacle, despite the warnings shouted by the teachers.
Her body was barely recognizable.
And the smell. Oh, God.
I did that.
Why hadn't anyone noticed that Taylor was still in the locker?
Why hadn't she told anyone?
It's just fucking Taylor. It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter.
So why was there salt water tracing lines down her cheeks?
I did that.
Taylor was weak. So weak that she went and fucking died from a stupid prank.
It wasn't Emma's fault that Taylor was pathetic.
Right?
A hand gripped her shoulder like a vice and Emma almost jumped out of her skin.
"Your house. Tonight," Sophia growled in her ear. "We need to talk. Get Madison on board."
Emma just stared at her friend for a long moment before nodding.
"And pull yourself together, Survivor," Sophia said lowly, leaning forward so no one else would hear. "It's just Hebert. Who gives a shit?"
Who, indeed?
"They'll expect me to be emotional," Emma justified automatically.
Sophia regarded her through narrowed eyes.
"Sure, I guess. Just keep the walls up, and we'll talk more tonight," Sophia said.
Her friend turned and slipped away through the crowd.
Just keep the walls up.
But she could feel the cracks, even if she didn't want to look.
I killed Taylor.
Emma walked away from the crime scene. Shards sliced at her veins with every heartbeat.
I killed my best friend.
…
"What do we do?" Madison asked, wringing her hands in front of her like a nervous kid who got caught in a lie.
Emma and Madison sat on Emma's bed, the door to the bedroom closed and locked tight. She even put a bunched-up blanket on the floor to cover the gap under the door, to keep any sounds from escaping.
Her parents hadn't questioned Madison or Sophia's presence. It was perfectly understandable, to want company after what happened.
Emma resisted the urge to huddle up under the blankets with her stuffed animals. Sophia said they were stupid, but she kept them anyway. She wasn't sure why.
Sophia paced back and forth in front of them.
"We don't do shit," Sophia said, although Emma could tell that she was worried, under the bravado. "We had nothing to do with it, as far as anyone else is concerned. There's no evidence, and they won't question us too hard."
Sophia caught Emma's eye. She knew that her friend would be feeding the PRT a heavily doctored version of events.
"What if they do ask questions?" Madison said.
She could be a bit stupid, sometimes. Still, it wasn't entirely her fault. Madison was soft. She hadn't been hardened by the world like Emma and Sophia.
"Same as when they were sniffing around yesterday. We never saw her. She didn't come to school, as far as we know. Keep the story simple, and consistent," Sophia said. She was being pretty patient with Madison, all things considered.
"But-"
"No fucking 'buts'!" Sophia snapped, turning on them. "This was a weird, tragic accident, nothing else. I'm not going to fucking prison because you couldn't keep your shit together."
Madison finally nodded. Slowly.
"Are we going to have any problems from your folks, Emma?" Sophia asked. "They know Hebert's family, right?"
Emma shook her head.
"It's just her dad, now, and he's pathetic, too. They'll probably want to go to the funeral, but I think I can talk them out of it. I'm too distraught, or whatever," Emma said.
"Do you think it would raise more suspicion if you don't go?" Sophia said.
"I doubt it. Besides I don't… want to," Emma said.
She wasn't sure why.
Sophia stared at her suspiciously for a long moment before shrugging.
"Sure, whatever," she sighed and flopped down on the bed between them. "Just… don't make this shit any worse. Leave it to fucking Hebert to die in the least convenient way possible."
Emma laughed at that. It wasn't even forced, or hysterical.
It wasn't.
…
Sophia Hess resisted the urge to cross her arms as she sat across from the deputy director.
It was funny, in a way. Armsmaster didn't want to deal with the Wards, so he passed the buck to Piggy. Piggy didn't feel like handling every little thing personally, so she tossed it down to Renick.
They were all pathetic. At least Armsmaster could be a badass, when he wanted to, but he spent too much time posturing and parading around for the media and polishing his beard.
"You don't remember anything unusual in the affected area?" Renick asked again.
"I already told you. I don't take attendance for every little shi… for every student, in the school," Sophia ground out. "One of the teachers asked me yesterday if I knew where Hebert was. Something about her father reporting her missing. I didn't, obviously, and I told them so. How was I supposed to know she got stuck in her locker and died?"
"I just want to make sure. It seems strange that no one noticed any sounds or smells," Renick said as he typed away at his asinine report.
"Maybe she was unconscious, I don't know," Sophia said. "And Winslow always smells like shit. Nothing out of the ordinary."
Sophia clenched her jaw. She needed to shut the fuck up. Everyone knew that talking was the worst thing you could do when getting questioned.
The deputy director pursed his lips.
"The inside of the locker and the autopsy report showed signs of significant distress," Renick said.
Sophia just shrugged.
The office was silent save for the ongoing clicking of computer keys.
"Alright. I appreciate you coming down to talk in person, Shadow Stalker," Renick finally said. "I've sent you an email to confirm your statement regarding the events. If you want to make any changes, just let me know."
More paperwork. Joy.
"Sure," Sophia said.
She stood and left the office as quickly as she could without arousing any suspicions.
Fucking Hebert.
…
January 25th, 2011.
"...just let us know if there's anything else you need," the nice officer said as he turned to walk down the front walkway.
She could tell that they didn't really believe her. At least the nice one pretended to care. His partner didn't even bother.
Emma wasn't imagining things. She wasn't.
She shuddered at the memory of the mysterious figure staring at her under the moonlight.
Nose… eye… mouth…
No. No, she was safe, here. She had to be.
So why was she still shivering?
Her family had been kind, even if they probably didn't believe her either. She kept herself wrapped up tightly in the offered blanket, and the hot chocolate helped to warm her shaking fingers.
Her father sat next to her on the couch, obviously unsure about what else he could do.
At least he tried.
It had to be a cape, right? No one else could peek into her second story window like that, and disappear before anyone else caught a glimpse of them. A flyer, or at least some kind of Mover.
Sophia would know what to do. Emma had already sent her a text, even if she hadn't opened it yet. Stalker wasn't on patrol tonight.
Emma's shivering intensified, despite her best efforts.
She hadn't told her parents what else she saw.
Hadn't told the police, either. They definitely wouldn't have believed her, if she had.
Because it was impossible.
But she would recognize those eyes anywhere. It didn't matter if they were wet with tears or hard and sharp with fury.
Those curls, as pitch black in the moonlight as they had been fanned across her bedsheets while Taylor laughed.
But Taylor was dead, rotted and gone forever. Emma would never hear her laugh or cry again.
I did that.
Then who was wandering the night, with Taylor's eyes?
Eat it, then pick.
She wasn't safe. Here, or anywhere.
…
"Do I have permission to heal you?"
Amy Dallon, known to the rest of the world as the miracle healer Panacea, barely bothered to listen to the response.
It was always the same. She had heard every response on the spectrum.
Presumption. Expectation. Like they were owed her magic touch.
Extreme gratitude. As if she could live with herself if she just stood by and let them die. As if she ever had a choice.
It didn't fucking matter.
She hated them so fucking much, sometimes.
Just another night of putting broken puzzles back together.
"Do I have permission to heal you?"
Would they let her touch them, if they knew the truth? If they knew how tempting it was to take all those little, fragile connections and just twist-
Don't think about it.
Amy let her mind wander and tried to distract herself from the mindless task of putting the car accident victim's bones back inside their body.
An image of long curls and sparkling eyes, shadowed under the brim of that stupid hat in the moonlight. Long coat and scarf flowing in the cold breeze as she stood confident and unafraid on the high railing.
Well… it was better than dreaming of mutilation. For the most part.
Amy didn't know what to make of the stranger on the roof. Hunter.
"I could give you cancer, you know."
"Do it, coward."
It took an… unusual kind of person, to brush that kind of threat off. Not only because Amy could actually do it, but also because she believed her, for some reason. The dark woman truly didn't care if Amy violated her. She got the feeling that she would "prefer if she didn't", but nothing seemed to phase her.
There was something about her that itched in the back of Amy's mind. Obsidian eyes grinning at her from the shadows.
She didn't know why she decided to grab the supplies for the stranger. Temporary insanity. A moment of weakness, without truly terrible consequences.
The world just felt so gray and monotonous, sometimes. An endless parade of broken bodies with no end in sight.
"Do I have permission to heal you?"
Despite what she said, there was a part of her that wanted to see the mysterious woman again, even though she shouldn't. She had taken to spending even more of her breaks on the roof, just in case.
Not that she would admit that to anyone, let alone Hunter.
But so far, no one had seen any trace of the elusive hat girl.
Amy had also tried to listen more attentively to Carol's updates on cape activities, but her adoptive mother had made no mention of a new cape with a penchant for stealing medical supplies.
A Tinker, maybe? Or maybe she just knew somebody who was hurt, but couldn't come to the hospital for some reason. She was definitely a Mover of some kind, the way she ran and jumped from the roof without hesitation.
"See you around, Panacea."
Hopefully, she would.
Because Amy wanted answers.
No other reason.
…
In both timelines, Thomas Calvert allowed himself a tight smile as he scrolled through the information displayed on the computer screen.
In one, he sat in his comfortable office at the PRT headquarters. He even had his own window.
In the other, he sat in his base of operations under the guise of the supervillain, Coil.
There was a new Tinker in town.
They were careful, and they hadn't given the PRT much to work with, but they were there. Splitting up their purchases, paying in cash, changing clothes, parking outside of easy surveillance. No electronics purchases. But, they had bought enough wholesale materials and tools to show up if one knew where to look.
No one else had noticed, so far. And none of the official alerts had been tripped.
In fact, without the combination of his criminal contacts and PRT resources, he may not have noticed, either.
But he could have both simultaneously, thanks to his power, so he did.
In one timeline, he sent the information gathered by the PRT to his private databases before deleting it from the government system. He had long since compromised the local security to allow himself the necessary privileges.
In the other, he manually typed the relevant information into a new file in his lair computer. He wasn't sure which timeline he would keep today, so it was better to double up.
Thinker powers were highly underrated. Humanity hadn't become the planet's dominant species by being faster or stronger than their adversaries.
It didn't take long to locate his target. He didn't even have to call his Tattletale.
He still would, of course, before actually reaching out to his new potential asset. Whether or not she remembered the conversation would be irrelevant.
Daniel Hebert.
Old, for a new trigger. A hiring manager at a local union. He had taken some time off in the coinciding timeframe. Nothing that would draw attention, if one didn't hold all the cards.
His daughter had recently passed away in an unfortunate accident.
Even that was suspicious. Anyone with more than two functioning brain cells would see that the school was covering something up.
Regardless, there were significantly less traumatic events that had the potential to trigger new capes. It was more than plausible.
A man, angry at the system that failed his daughter. A man, who had worked for so many long years for the betterment of a failing city with very little to show for it. A man, now alone and possibly aching for direction, even if he didn't know it.
Thomas could definitely work with this. He may not even need to employ any… uncivilized… means of coercion.
He would make sure to keep those in his back pocket, of course. Just in case.
Coil reviewed the litany of purchases made by Mr. Hebert in the last week.
What are you up to, Daniel?
…