Modification 5.2
It was getting late, or early, depending on the perspective, but she was finally done with her prosthesis.
All that was left was to hook everything up.
Taylor unlatched the buckles on her peg leg and set it aside. She would keep it as a backup, and for posterity. It might also end up being easier to use around the workshop, compared to the sturdy metal apparatus in front of her.
It may be heavy, but she was strong. The extra weight was worth it.
A thick steel shaft ran up the middle of two brutal piston arms, powered by a highly torqued spring inside the pressurized chamber on one side of the device. A sturdy lever on the other side would allow her to prime the weapon that would also serve as her prosthetic leg.
The stake driver emanated a violent sense of purpose. It held none of the graceful elegance of her silver sword, or the savage fury of her saw cleaver. It was a device of solid steel and brutal efficiency, and she loved it.
Not quite as much as her Kirkhammer, but she could love two things. Besides, this tool of bloodshed would be strapped to her leg, so she could carry both at the same time.
They would even work well together, in tandem.
Taylor was so excited.
She had made several modifications to the original blueprint in her head, by necessity. The weapon wasn't designed to be a prosthesis, after all.
The biggest change was the spike on the end of the piston rod. She had forged and sharpened a blade for it, but she attached it to a hinged mechanism at the bottom of the heavy cylinder. From there, the bladed spike was hooked into a secondary lever near the top of the device that would allow her to engage the sharpened edge or fold it back and away from the blunt rod itself.
In theory, she would be able to either engage the bladed spike and stab downwards with sharpened steel, or leave it folded backwards and plow the blunted rod directly into the earth instead. Both could be useful, for different reasons, and she didn't want to give up either option if she could help it.
The spike would kill her enemies or slide into the earth to ground and anchor her. The blunt rod would spread out the impact and (hopefully) throw her body into the air.
Maybe. If it worked correctly. She might just shatter her leg, but she had blood vials to fix that.
Speaking of which…
In addition to the adjustable spike, Taylor had added a built-in injector at the top of the prosthesis. Her experience with the peg leg had highlighted just how uncomfortable prosthetics were, and she didn't want to deal with the constant chafing and raw skin.
Especially not with the weight of her stake driver.
To solve the problem, she rigged up a slow drip of her new regeneration solution that would cycle through the chambers of the prosthesis. If it worked the way she intended, the device would constantly and very slowly draw her blood, process it into the regeneration solution, and then cycle it back into her stump to heal any ongoing tissue damage.
She was reasonably sure that the slow blood draw wouldn't affect her. There was a slot in the side of the prosthesis to load an initial regeneration vial that would kick-start the process, and it really didn't take very much. The blood was also technically being injected back into her, so…
She would keep an eye on it. And have Amy check her if she started feeling woozy.
Taylor gripped the heavy steel prosthesis and slid her leg into the waiting receptacle. Once she got herself aligned correctly, she grabbed one of the steel levers and locked it in place with a heavy snap.
Shit, that's unpleasant.
The pain of the prosthesis clamping down into her ruined calf slowly ebbed away as the regeneration solution went to work, healing and rebuilding her flesh around the sturdy metal spikes that anchored the device to her body.
Taylor stood up slowly and swung her leg experimentally.
Fuck yes.
This was going to work perfectly.
…
Taylor bounced restlessly on her toes and springs in the middle of a ruined street a few blocks from her Hospital. It was almost time to meet Amy, but she wanted to test her newest creation first.
It would be embarrassing if she broke her own leg in front of Amy. Especially after refusing her offer of healing.
When the piston rod wasn't locked and loaded, the heavy cylinder could move freely on the spring. The complex mechanism was designed to adjust the tension in response to the amount of force applied to it, so it cushioned her steps and allowed her to walk and run much more easily than an unmoving peg leg.
But that wasn't what she was here to test. She wanted to fly.
Taylor double checked the levers and connection points on the side of her prosthesis.
Blunt impact test first.
She primed the spring, heaving back on the main, vertical lever and locking the release mechanism in place.
Three…
Taylor remembered to bend her knee. She didn't want her leg to snap the wrong way when the weapon fired.
Two…
She looked at the roof of the four story building at the end of the block that was her landing zone.
One…
She held onto her hat, just in case.
Fire.
Taylor swung her stake driver down into the pavement and triggered the torque release. In the same moment that the steel rod shot downward with crushing force, she leapt with her good leg and pushed off with her left thigh.
The blunt end of the piston rod shattered the pavement under her and sent her spiraling into the sky.
A month ago, on her very first empowered leap over the graveyard fence, Taylor had resisted the urge to whoop madly into the empty air. This time, she didn't resist. Her joyous laughter echoed over the empty Trainyards.
The cold wind whistled past her as she flew, coat flapping wildly behind her while she tumbled through space. It was a good thing she thought to hold her hat in place, because it definitely would have been lost otherwise.
The roof of her target rapidly approached, but the combination of her own supernatural awareness and Victor's skills let her twist her body and land heavily on her feet, bending her knees to absorb the heavy impact.
Well, land on her foot.
The now unlocked spring did an excellent job of absorbing the excess force. The roof might be slightly worse for wear from the impact of the stake driver hitting it at high velocity, but that was fine. It was falling apart anyway.
She would be more careful when landing on important buildings, like Amy's hospital. And her workshop.
Speaking of which, Amy was waiting.
Taylor took off across the rooftops, every other step echoing through the evening air.
…
"What the fuck have you done to yourself now?" Amy exclaimed, leaning down to examine the metal monstrosity that Hunter had welded to her leg.
"Isn't it awesome? When it's primed, the torqued piston drives the rod into the ground and I can fly. Well, not really fly… But fall with style!" Taylor said, looking at her eagerly from under her signature hat.
Amy had no idea what to make of this… development.
Taylor continued to be an enigma.
First, she killed a stupid amount of people, even if they were Nazis.
Then, it turned out she was fighting a villain with a Birdcage sentence and rescuing fucking puppies, of all things, losing her foot in the process.
Then, she refused the obvious offer of healing with the whole over-dramatic 'I've earned my scars' bullshit.
And now, she shows up with an insane metal jackhammer fused to her leg, looking like something halfway between a horror movie victim and a Bonesaw creation.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
"This… is your solution to getting your foot cut off?" Amy said, the sound of her own voice seeming strangely distant as she stared at the thing her friend had attached to her body.
"It didn't so much get 'cut off' as it was blended into a flesh smoothie, but yeah. I call it the stake driver," Taylor said.
Flesh smoothie. What the fuck, Taylor.
"Is it… safe?" Amy asked. She couldn't think of anything better to say. This was ridiculous.
"Yup! I have it hooked up to the regeneration solution so that it constantly heals the contact points between the prosthesis and my leg," Taylor said. "Do you want to see what it looks like on the inside?"
Taylor took off a glove and held out her bare hand. Amy just stared at her.
The idea that Taylor was still willing to touch her after everything was… insane. Self-destructive. Borderline suicidal.
Amy had told her that she could alter her body and mind. She had been very clear about that fact. She had told her that it was difficult to resist the temptation not to.
And Taylor just didn't care.
Not even in an 'oh, I know you would never do anything evil, you're such a good person, Amy,' kind of way. She had threatened to melt Taylor's organs, and Taylor told her to do it. Taylor asked her to change and warp her body, give her claws and reinforced bones and enhanced senses and-
Well, technically she had only asked about the claws. But the point was still valid.
Maybe Taylor was suicidal. That would certainly explain some things.
Regardless, Taylor was definitely insane.
That should probably bother her more than it actually did.
Amy stood up and took her hand.
The swirling starlight that was Taylor's biology lit up in her biosenses like a maelstrom. Amy gasped involuntarily and was briefly overwhelmed by the spiraling storm.
Taylor's biochemistry had somehow changed even further since Amy's visit to the workshop. Her blood sang and twisted in the same way that the blood vials did, although still fundamentally different. Taylor was alive, so Amy could still potentially change her in ways that she couldn't influence the stagnant concoctions.
"Wow…" Amy whispered without meaning to.
"It's pretty cool, right?" Taylor said with a smile.
She hadn't even gotten around to looking at the prosthetic connection yet.
Amy tried to focus on the specific area in question. It was a bit like staring at the sun. If the sun were made of unholy demon blood.
Actually, the junction between Taylor's leg and the prosthesis was even worse, somehow. Or better, depending on the perspective.
Amy still hadn't decided.
She could see the blood cocktail entering and interacting with Taylor's biology. She had never actually watched the action happen, so to speak.
It was mesmerizing.
The ethereal stem cells constantly warped and changed within Taylor's body, becoming part of her and yet also twisting her simultaneously. And, because Taylor's blood was being siphoned into the device, Amy could see it flow through the chambers and change from being part of Taylor into something other, then back into Taylor again.
It was bizarre. It was horrifying. It was beautiful.
"You okay there, Amy?"
Amy blinked and stared up at Taylor's face, both with her eyes and her biosenses.
How long had she been standing here gaping like an idiot?
From the concerned look on Taylor's face… probably a while.
"I'm not sure…" Amy said dazedly before refocusing. She took a moment to figure out how to phrase her question. "Taylor… have you been… modifying yourself, somehow? And I don't mean the prosthetic leg. I mean… your blood is strange… different. Heavier, somehow, than it was on Friday. Not literally, but… And even then, it was different than it was when I first healed you."
Taylor's black eyes stared through her for a long moment. Obsidian shards, hard and jagged in the dark.
When did she stop wearing her scarf?
Amy hadn't realized why she could see Taylor's smiles until now.
"Yes," Taylor said lowly.
Amy couldn't look away, from her face or from the entrancing stars that danced in time with Taylor's heartbeat.
"Will you tell me?" Amy asked quietly.
It was quiet, for a while.
"I am able to condense and consolidate aspects of parahuman blood. I can create unique blood vials that permanently enhance my mind and body when I imbibe them. It allows me to gain a shadow of the parahuman's power, twisted by my own blood and soul," Taylor said.
It took Amy a moment to process the depth of that revelation.
Her heart rate quickened further, and she could see the look of awe and horror on her face, reflected in Taylor's eyes.
"You… you are… you're like the Faerie Queen, except…" Amy whispered. "You… that's why you need… that's… Shadow Stalker, and Cricket…"
Taylor nodded.
"And Victor, before that. From the first night," Taylor said.
Amy was at a loss for words. This was… too much, for her to process. Too much for anyone to process.
Taylor's biology still sang for her.
Amy should end her, here and now. Twist and destroy her unholy existence at its core before she evolved into something inhuman and monstrous. Before she consumed anyone else, before she became so powerful that no one could stop her from drowning the world in a sea of crimson deep.
Her dreams flashed before her eyes, the endless, serene lake of blood, bathed in moonlight.
She just… couldn't… do it.
"Do you…" Amy's words caught in her throat. "Do you have to kill them?"
Taylor blinked.
"I don't know."
Amy laughed. She couldn't help it. It was a mad, manic cackle that sounded strange on her lips. Like it was coming from someone else.
Taylor looked concerned.
"You are… you have this insane power… you can copy other capes' abilities permanently, and you didn't even think that you might have willing donations?" Amy said, half laughing and half screaming.
Taylor bit her lip thoughtfully. She was entirely too calm about this. It was absurd.
"I need a lot, to make it work. At least… 6 pints? Ish? I still have some of Sophia's blood. And Cricket's. I used the leftovers from Victor to empower my sword," Taylor said.
That was a fairly large amount to gather from one person. The random tidbits from her basic hospital training flashed in Amy's mind, despite her current distractions. One pint per donation session, one session every two weeks.
Within three months, Taylor could have had half the powers in the Protectorate, if she weren't so fucking stubborn.
And murderous. The heroes tended to disapprove of killing, even if it was villains. Although they may look the other way, if they got a knock off Glaistig Uaine in exchange.
Why had she stopped including herself with the heroes?
She still couldn't look away from the onyx stars.
She knew why.
And just as she couldn't bring herself to kill Taylor, she couldn't bring herself to stop, either.
Did Taylor want her blood?
Amy clamped down on that thought. She was not giving her villainous friend any kind of biokinesis, even if she might not be a real hero anymore. The number of people who could do what she could was already too damn high.
One was more than enough. She often wondered if she would be better off dead, or in the Cage.
Well, she wouldn't be better off. But the world might be.
"What can you… do, now?" Amy asked. Anything to distract herself, anything to drive away the knives.
"From Victor, I gained a number of useful skills that he had absorbed from others over his life. Fighting styles, tactics, engineering, fancy cooking," Taylor grinned at her. "From Sophia, I gained quickening, quickstepping. I can very briefly turn to shadow and move faster than my physical body would normally allow. It's tiring, but it let me stall Hookwolf long enough to escape."
Amy nodded mutely, still not quite up to speaking again if she didn't have to.
"And from Cricket, last night, I gained the ability to imbue my voice with my fury, turning my bloodlust and anger into a physical and mental effect to harm my enemies. I haven't actually tested it, yet."
"That's… Taylor, that's amazing, but it's also insane. I can't…" Amy trailed off again. Where did she even start?
Taylor nodded. Finally, some acknowledgment that Taylor knew her power was crazy.
"It's more than that, even. When I inject the parahuman vials… my own Tinker power expands. I unlock more designs, more concepts that I didn't understand before. Things that I couldn't see, in the fog. I didn't know how to make my stake driver, until I consumed Cricket's essence. I didn't know how to make my sword before I imbibed Victor's blood."
"That's…" Amy closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She could still see Taylor's incandescent biology in her biosenses, but it was almost soothing. A cascade of circulating light, to keep her from thinking too hard about anything.
"That's why you hunt," Amy whispered. "You said your powers want to be used. You need to consume more blood, more… essence… more quickly than it could be donated."
"Yes. A Hunter must hunt."
Amy opened her eyes.
"Where did you hear that?" Amy asked. It had the ring of something Taylor had heard before, not just something she had come up with herself.
"A dream, I think," Taylor said. "I told you about those. Are you still having them, too?"
Amy nodded.
She still hadn't let go of Taylor's hand.
"Do you know what they mean?" Amy said softly, into the cold night.
How long had they been standing here? The aura of solitude was stronger than ever. She had forgotten they were on the hospital roof. She was probably supposed to be downstairs healing people right now.
"No," Taylor answered. "I think I have to keep going to find out, though. The deeper I go, the clearer it will get. Hopefully."
Amy swallowed. Her throat was weirdly dry.
"What if you're wrong? What if everything just gets darker, the further you fall?" Amy whispered.
Taylor stared into her, her eyes somehow ice cold and burning at the same time.
"In that case, I don't think it will matter anymore," Taylor finally said.
Maybe Taylor couldn't quite bring herself to stop, either.
Taylor looked down at their hands as if she had forgotten they were still touching.
She gave Amy's hand a gentle squeeze, and it was like a jolt of lightning through her nervous system, driving away the heavy haze that seemed to hang over them.
"But! In the meantime, I've got ideas," Taylor said, letting go of Amy's hand and forcing her usual upbeat attitude back into her tone. "I think I found a way to protect the Hospital, but I'm not entirely sure it will work the way I'm hoping."
The spiraling galaxy of cursed blood dissipated. Amy took a deep breath and did her best to force away the… everything.
Everything with Taylor was somehow terrible and wonderful simultaneously. It was driving her crazy.
Well, crazier.
Maybe literally, with the dreams.
"Really? You're not sure? I thought your powers 'just worked'?" Amy said, letting a bit of her usual acid leak into her tone even though her lips curved up under her hood.
"Ha. Funny. Look, it's not really designed for protecting a place like this, but I think I can bend the rules enough to get the outcome I want. Either that, or I'll end up lost in the Labyrinth for the foreseeable future," Taylor shrugged.
That was… concerning.
"Well, if you do get lost, make sure to call and let me know," Amy said. "I've become accustomed to our nighttime chats. Healing is boring. I'm also out of cigarettes, did you bring more?"
Taylor looked legitimately aghast.
"I forgot! Sorry, I got excited about the prosthesis and didn't remember to stop on the way!"
Amy laughed at her expression. Of all the things for her to worry about…
"See? You can't get lost in the Labyrinth, or whatever bullshit you're going to dive into, because I can't go back to asking random cashiers to break the law to support their miracle healer's illegal habit," Amy smirked.
"Obviously," Taylor agreed seriously. "I couldn't imagine inflicting such an indignity on you."
Amy's chest tightened. She felt oddly warm, heat radiating off her face under her hood. She looked up into Taylor's black eyes and saw the mirth dancing there, under her faux stern expression.
It wasn't fair.
"Take what you want, and make no apologies."
Could she?
Amy knew exactly what she wanted, right this second. And it terrified her.
"I should go," she said instead. "I've been up here way too long. They'll probably send out search parties for me if I don't come back soon."
"Probably worried that you've been kidnapped by some dastardly villain," Taylor smiled at her.
The knot in her stomach tightened. It wasn't unpleasant at all, even though it probably should be.
"They're not exactly wrong, are they?" Amy said.
"Let me get my defenses set up before I have the Triumvirate hunting me for stealing their miracle healer," Taylor's smile turned crooked. Amy legitimately couldn't tell if she was joking or not.
She didn't know if she wanted her to be, either.
Liar.
Shut up.
"Okay," she said.
"Good," Taylor said.
The moon stared down at them in silence for a long time.
She really did need to leave, though.
"Goodnight, Taylor," Amy said.
"Goodnight, Amy," Taylor replied.
Amy turned towards the roof access doorway, looking back as Taylor took off across the rooftop. She didn't know how she moved that fast, with that metal monstrosity fused to her leg.
It worked for her, though. Somehow. Just like everything else.
Amy sighed. There were people that needed healing.
But everything seemed a bit more gray, without her.
…
Taylor arrived back at her workshop with a bundle of supplies under her arm.
And a pack of cigarettes. So she wouldn't forget again.
She re-lit and replaced the candles that had burned low in her absence.
Grabbing her axe from the wall, Taylor swung it a few times to get a feel for the weight.
She reached up and unhooked Cricket's body from the rack where she had hung it to drain.
The body was a bit difficult to maneuver across the shop, but she made it work.
Taylor positioned Cricket's head and shoulders over her anvil. It would do the job, as a headsman's block.
"Sorry about this, Cricket. But, I need your skull. And it's not like you're really using it anymore," Taylor said idly, to the corpse.
The corpse didn't answer, as usual.
"I did promise your boss I would drink some Nazi blood," Taylor continued. "Since I didn't get his, I guess yours will have to suffice."
She brought the heavy axe blade down, and Cricket's head rolled free across the workshop floor.
Taylor walked over and picked it up by the hair.
Her phone rang.
It was a strange contrast. Standing in her candle-lit workshop, holding the drained and decapitated head of her enemy, fumbling in her pocket while the upbeat tune echoed in the empty halls.
Taylor answered the phone.
"Hunter," she said, idly swinging Cricket's head while she paced between the tables.
"Coil gave every indication of believing our explanation of events," the flat voice of one of her Mastered mercenaries said. "Do you have any further orders, Hunter?"
Good help was always appreciated. Even if it was unwilling.
"Continue to monitor his organization while remaining discreet. I need to know everything there is to know about him and his gang," Taylor said.
"It is understood by the contracted mercenaries that Coil has capes in his employ who are not publicly known to be under his umbrella. I am not currently aware of their identities," he said.
"Try to find them. And if you can find out Coil's true identity, do so and relay the information as soon as you safely can," Taylor said.
Coil didn't play by the rules, so why should she?
"Yes, Hunter."
Taylor closed the phone with a snap and held up Cricket's wayward head, watching as it slowly rotated before her.
I'm a monster.
She could live with that, if she hunted those who were even worse.
…
Taylor stared into the hollow eyes of her fell creation.
I wonder if anyone ever actually drank from the skulls of their enemies, or if Hollywood made it up?
She didn't have access to Google anymore, so she couldn't even check easily.
Her chalice was as disturbing as it was powerful. She could feel the untapped potential in the gilded bone.
It had taken a few hours, to strip and prepare Cricket's skull. Another to attach it to the blood quenched metal neck of her cup, carved with spiraling runes. A long night's work to create the monstrosity that now sat on the altar before her.
It would be worth it, if it worked.
Her power was a bit vague on the details of how the cursed chalices functioned. It would open the door to the Labyrinth, a place of endless, ever-changing pathways that both existed and did not, simultaneously. A dream that wasn't a dream, a nightmare made real by blood and death.
Only those who had partaken in the ritual could unlock the seals. And only when the seals were unlocked could the Labyrinth be opened.
If she forced the Labyrinth into her Hospital, would she create an unassailable fortress, or an endless prison?
If she died in here, would she reappear at her grave outside, or become doomed to forever wander the infinite corridors with no means of escape?
Her immortality could so easily become a curse. A dream turned into a nightmare by her own hubris.
Taylor could feel the moon singing to her.
Do not fear the Old Blood.
She had come too far to second guess herself now.
Taylor set the chalice down and checked the progress of the ritual components themselves.
The most basic was an altered form of parahuman blood. She had the remainder of Sophia and Cricket's blood running through the distillation apparatus until it reached the desired consistency and purity.
She checked a sample with the spectrophotometer to ensure that the ritual blood was the correct quality, ruby light bouncing through the advanced machine.
It was perfect.
Taylor took the rest of the incoagulable ritual blood and added it to the chalice.
She placed the gruesome cup on the altar she had situated on an unused workbench, pushed up against the far wall of the workshop.
She lit three candles of varying heights on either side.
Taylor stared up at the bloodstained rune she had carved into the concrete.
A dangling, upside down rune. The symbol of a Hunter.
It mirrored the mark branded into her mind and her flesh.
Hopefully, the ritual would take her desires into account. Hopefully, she would place her workshop at the center of a Labyrinth that only she could navigate. Hopefully, the entrance would be sealed to all who hadn't partaken in unholy communion.
Hopefully.
If not, she may be lost.
Taylor stood before the altar, and began her fell ritual.
With her silver blade, she sliced open her palm and let her own blood drip into the chalice, melding with the ritual blood of her tormentor and her enemy. The palm wasn't the best place to draw blood, lots of little nerves and ligaments, but it was symbolic.
"Let the chalice reveal the tomb of the gods," Taylor intoned. Her voice echoed strangely in the eerie space.
The candles burned a ghostly white in her vision. She didn't know if it was real or not. It didn't matter.
"Let blood be the Hunter's nourishment."
Taylor picked up the chalice, the skull of her enemy, and held it high before the stained wine-dark rune.
"And let ye partake in communion."
Taylor drank, and the Hunter's Mark ignited with eldritch white light, both on the wall and on her forehead.
The blood was sweeter than she imagined. Before she knew it, the chalice was empty.
Her mind sang and screamed simultaneously as doors that were never meant to be opened were unsealed.
The world twisted around her.
Her perception of reality became strange, and unknowable. The world felt stretched, thin enough that the fabric of existence became almost translucent, like trying to peer through a frosted window.
From the shadows, the eyes stared at her.
And then reality reformed, and the world was solid, once again. The candles burned orange and the rune on the wall was red with dried blood.
The sweet taste of the ritual ichor lingered, though.
Taylor licked her lips, and felt a drop run down her chin.
She replaced the chalice and slowly backed away from the altar.
Once she got to her main workbench, she injected a normal blood vial to heal her hand.
Please let it work.
Taylor grabbed her gun and her sword, just in case.
She opened the door to the Hospital proper.
The hallways looked just as she remembered, which may or may not be a good sign.
She made her way towards the entrance.
The place felt… surreal, but then again, it always had. It was an abandoned hospital, after all.
When she made it to the front entrance, Taylor smiled.
At the threshold of the front door, a low barrier of white flame flickered in the moonlight.
Taylor reached out and let it grasp at the ends of her fingers.
She knew then, instinctively, what she had done.
The seal would not block entry. Only she could see the ghostly flame. Anyone could enter and explore the infinite corridors of her Hospital at their leisure.
But none would find her Workshop. Not without first taking communion.
They could wander forever in the now endless empty waiting rooms, the broken operating suites.
But they would never find what they were looking for, lost in the Labyrinth.
Not until she went to find them, anyway.
Taylor couldn't help it. She began to laugh.
Let them come. Let them try to take what is mine.
Her dream would be hidden away, a safe haven for her and her alone.
And Amy.
And her father.
And possibly Rachel.
Taylor looked back towards her workshop and pursed her lips.
She had to get a hold of more parahuman blood first, though.
And convince them to drink it.
Easy, right?
…