Armory 4.1
The cacophony echoed eerily in the empty hospital, the mechanical roaring bouncing down the abandoned hallways and through the ruined waiting rooms until it became a strange sort of wail.
In Taylor's workshop, the candles flickered and cast dancing shadows on the comparatively clean walls. A wide matrix of glass instruments, beakers, and flasks dominated one of the epoxy resin tabletops, and a homemade forge hooked up to a large propane tank sat in one corner. It was currently dark and cold.
Taylor herself monitored the progress of her centrifuge in the candlelight. She had switched to using candles and the forge for light and heat to minimize her generator requirements. The HVAC system and her more advanced lab equipment used enough electricity as it was.
On the other side of the forge, one of the lab tables was covered in a mess of blankets and pillows.
Taylor took a moment to wind the mechanical watch she picked up on one of her nighttime pilfering expeditions.
It had been almost a week since the tragic demise of her father's house. Taylor's daily routine had fallen into a strange sort of schedule. It would be bizarre to anyone else, but it was satisfying to her.
She woke up around sundown and dressed in her 'undercover' outfit. It wasn't quite a civilian identity, since she was still very much dead. It was ironic that Amy had called her a vampire, since she had essentially become nocturnal.
She made her daily trip to Kurt and Lacey's, checked for surveillance or any suspicious activity, and then snuck inside to shower and grab some clean clothes and actual food.
Then she would retreat to the Hospital, taking random and often circuitous routes to avoid being followed.
She tinkered for a while and planned her nightly haunting.
And when the moon rose, she donned her hat and went for a walk.
Most of her walks took her to the Brockton General hospital roof to say hello to Amy before moving on to more nefarious ends. It was always the highlight of her evening.
After Amy went home to sleep like a normal person, Taylor would begin her nightly shopping trips.
She hadn't gone on any more hunts, yet. There was more than enough to do even without fresh blood to work with.
Part of her craved it, but she set that voice aside for now. She needed to restore her workshop.
And restore it, she had.
Taylor was privately proud of her current setup. Amy might insist that the Hospital was "creepy" and "so cliche it's physically painful", but Taylor liked it. It was her domain, her workshop, her lair. Besides, Amy hadn't even been there yet. What did she know?
She had stolen the basic necessities first. A generator, propane tanks, and generic materials. Then she stole new tools, taking hand tools whenever possible to cut down on the electricity requirements.
And candles. For light, heat, and atmosphere.
It took a few days to recreate her glass lab equipment, but soon her titration and distillation apparatuses were up and running once again. They were currently hard at work concentrating and processing Sophia's blood.
Taylor had also harvested more of her own blood to be turned into basic blood vials and quicksilver bullets. Her stockpile wasn't as robust as she would like, but she wasn't at risk of running out again.
Not unless she was forced to burn this lab down, as well, that is.
She turned her focus back to the centrifuge and hit 'stop', letting the rapidly spinning test tubes slow before turning off the generator.
It was quiet again, in the workshop.
Taylor peered into the test tube that had previously contained a concentrated dose of Victor's remaining blood.
Now, it contained only a clear fluid, and a single, solid crystal at the bottom.
Blood Stone.
The pale red lattice was beautiful, in a way. Delicate. But despite its appearance, the remnant of parahuman ichor was harder than steel and carried significantly more conceptual weight.
It would enhance her weapons to a degree that mere mundane metal could never reach.
Taylor glanced at the far wall, over the forge.
The only question was… which one to upgrade?
Her saw cleaver was familiar, and vaguely comforting in her hand, but she had been eager to use her new forge and belt grinder. The designs in her head called to her.
So she had made more tools of violence, along with her blood tinkering.
A hunter's axe with a brutal blade that could extend to a long, two handed haft.
The bladed cane that could be unleashed as a savage whip, threaded with flexible wire to allow its edge to become many.
Versatility was key. Taylor didn't want to become limited to a single strategy, not when her enemies threatened to outpace her. She wasn't as innately powerful as someone like Lung or Kaiser, but she could prepare and out-maneuver them. Tinkers were tricky to fight if given time to prepare, and she wouldn't squander it.
Still, she didn't want to try to integrate the blood stone into any of them. She wanted something new.
Idly pondering the blueprints that floated in her mind's eye, Taylor sat on the stool in front of the forge and ran her fingers over the twisting helix of the blood stone.
Versatility.
A weapon of both deadly grace and brutal force, when each was necessary.
A powerhouse to challenge her enemies, while also slipping between the plates of their armor.
The perfect weapon flitted through her mind, her fingers itching to grasp the hilt.
Taylor smiled.
Amy was going to make fun of her, but she didn't care.
It was time to make a sword.
…
Sweat ran in rivers down her forehead and her hair was damp against the back of her neck when Taylor took a break.
The sword was definitely a step up from her previous projects. Just bolting a bunch of saw blades together and grinding in some teeth wouldn't cut it for this design. It required metaphorical finesse as well as physical. The metal must be heated and hammered and cut and folded before hammering again. In each layer, she added more and more of her own blood to fuel the fire. Rinse and repeat.
Even with her strength, it was tiring work. The Hospital rang with the hammerblows.
She stretched the aches from her bones and walked over to the complex lattice of glass instruments.
In the center, the finished blood vial called to her.
The blood inside looked the same as any of her other vials, but she could tell that it held an unknowable potential. Something that sang to her, itched in the back of her mind like a dream she had already forgotten.
Taylor took it and loaded it into her injector.
We are born, of the blood.
Some part of her protested at the idea of having anything from Sophia inside her, becoming one with her. Like she would be sullying herself with her tormentor's malice.
But she would persevere, nonetheless.
Undone, by the blood.
Taylor stared into the bubbling concoction and felt the presence of the moon far overhead, just now nearing its first quarter. Still, the silver light called to her, blood leaking into its radiance with every heartbeat.
Do not fear the Old Blood.
Taylor slammed the injector into her thigh with violent intensity, gasping as the contents of the vial were forced into her veins.
Just as it had been with Victor, Sophia's blood flowed through her and her mind screamed as it was enhanced.
Taylor screamed along with it, her voice echoing through the empty exam rooms of her domain.
Something akin to radio static crackled in the back of her brain and for a moment, the candles in her workshop burned a ghostly white.
And then her vision returned to normal, and her heartbeat slowly stopped ringing in her ears.
Taylor placed the empty vial and her injector on the tabletop in front of her and worked to calm her breathing.
She had taken the very power that allowed Sophia to torment her, and made it her own.
She would never be so helpless again.
Just as she could feel the strange skills that remained of Victor, she could now feel a latent echo of Shadow Stalker's power. Just a memory of a memory, a dream of a dream.
But it was far better than nothing.
Taylor focused on the area by her forge and pushed, both with her legs and her mind.
It was disorienting, to put it lightly.
She felt her body turn to smoke, to shadow, to ash, and then reform from nothing a split second later.
For the briefest of moments, she became nothing at all. A ghost with no shell. It was both terrifying and invigorating.
Taylor smiled widely.
She did it again.
And again.
And again.
She couldn't go all that far, just a rough lunge forward, maybe seven or eight feet.
But it was fast, and it was exciting.
If she paid attention, if she was quick enough, she could use this to avoid attacks like Victor's sniper shots and Shadow Stalker's bolts.
Taylor panted for breath, despite her manic grin.
The quickstepping took quite a lot out of her, but it was an excellent addition to her toolkit.
A final, unwilling gift from Sophia. Taylor hoped that it infuriated her, if she could somehow see from the beyond.
It couldn't exactly make her roll over in her grave, because, well…
Taylor glanced at the jars along the far workbench.
No movement from what remained of Sophia.
Taylor pursed her lips thoughtfully and eyed the empty stretch of wall beside the table.
Sophia could go through walls and objects in her shadow state. Could Taylor quickstep through walls, too?
Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
Taylor walked over and lunged forward, becoming nothing as she sought to reappear-
She hit the concrete headfirst with a dull thud and stumbled backwards, almost crashing through her forge as the pain momentarily blinded her.
Fuck.
Taylor quickly injected herself with a normal blood vial to heal her fractured skull.
Right. Can't quickstep through walls. Good to know.
…
She barely heard the screams over the roar of the forge and the drumbeat of her hammer.
For a moment, Taylor thought that they were just the bouncing echoes of the hospital hallways.
But no, faintly, in the distance, she heard shrill screams of distress.
She put down the hammer and the white hot metal and considered.
It wasn't ideal to get involved with anything so close to her workshop. If she were discovered, or left any evidence, it could draw the heroes or the gangs right to her, and she hadn't had time to set up any significant defenses.
Another cry bounced down the endless corridors.
Taylor stood and brushed the ash from her clothes.
She wouldn't be like everyone that walked past her metal coffin. She refused to sit idly by, when she had the opportunity to act. She was not one of the monsters, for all that she committed monstrous deeds.
She would be better.
Surely, if she helped those that she could when the opportunity arose, she could avoid sinking to their level.
But she would need to be quiet about it. No gunshots, and no evidence.
Taylor grabbed her hat and her cane, and went for a walk.
…
She didn't have to go far to find the beasts in human skin.
Between the rusted and run down cars that lined the lawns of her Hospital, she saw them.
Drunk, or high, or some combination thereof, they dragged and pawed at the screaming woman who they hoped to make their own prey.
Taylor felt nothing but cold fury at their expense. Their blood would not leave a stain on her soul.
They never even saw her coming.
Taylor landed lightly on the frame of the car above them, coat flaring from her leap.
She didn't want to spill too much of their blood onto the ground or their victim, so her bladed cane found the back of the first monster's neck and cut deep into the base of his skull, severing the nerves and leaving him to collapse in a limp pile of limbs.
For the second, she flicked the cane up into a forehand grip and drove the blunted tip deftly through his left eye and into his brain. She gave it a quick twirl to make sure the lights went out.
She quickstepped down from her metal perch and flowed easily around a wild punch from the third, catching her bloody cane in the crook of her arm so that she could reach out with both hands and twist his head a hundred and eighty degrees with a sickening snap.
Unfortunately, the final member of their pack was smarter than the rest. He drew a knife and pointed it not at her, but the half-dressed woman screaming in the dirt.
He reached for his victim, trying to get ahold of a human shield to ward off his inevitable death.
Taylor grabbed the handle of her cane, flipped it into a backhand grip, and released the lock.
With a controlled twist, the blade became segmented and whipped out in a lightning fast lash, wrapping around his reaching arm several times in quick succession. The threaded cane sliced into his flesh like a chainsaw loaded with barbed wire. Taylor wrenched the whip taught and his screams joined those of his victim as his arm was torn to bloody pieces. Crimson rain splattered over the woman while she floundered against the rusted metal.
Whoops.
Taylor retracted the cane and ended his suffering with a quick jab.
So, that was messier than she intended. She got a bit carried away.
Hopefully the blood would soak into the grass by morning.
Taylor eyed the cloudy sky overhead. Maybe she would get lucky and it would rain.
Twelve Nazis, four rapists, and one Ward.
The woman was still screaming.
Taylor stood still and silent, waiting for her to get it out of her system.
Eventually, the woman ran out of breath and subsided into gasping sobs.
She looked up at Taylor with wide, terrified eyes.
It was a bit unfortunate that she couldn't enjoy altruistic heroism. Part of her wanted to comfort this victim of circumstance, to reassure her that everything would be alright.
But she wasn't a hero, and she never would be. It didn't matter. She was a Hunter, and in this case the woman's fear would work in her favor.
"Go. And tell no one of what happened here," Taylor hissed, channeling the same cold anger she felt when faced with Emma's pitiable horror and longing.
The woman scrambled to all fours and crawled a few steps before stumbling to her feet and sprinting off into the night.
Taylor looked around at the new sources of blood to drain.
The cleanup wasn't necessarily fun, but it was worth it. Her lair had been lacking something in ambiance since she had finished with Sophia.
And she could never have enough blood.
…
Before the final fold of her steel, Taylor added the blood stone.
It didn't behave like any earthly metal. The crystalized remains of Victor's life melted and bonded with the brilliant yellow-orange steel. She couldn't see it now, with the metal still so hot from the forge, but she knew that it would cool into a shining silver finish.
Having so much extra blood to quench it helped, too. She had been worried about getting enough from herself to actually quench the sword.
Taylor glanced at the bodies hanging in the corner.
That wasn't really a problem anymore. She had more than enough to restock her blood vials and quicksilver bullets while still keeping enough for her forging.
She hummed while she worked, finishing the final fold and drawing out the blade with every strike of her hammer.
Maybe it was time to invite Amy to visit?
…
After a decent day's sleep, Taylor made her normal evening run to Kurt and Lacey's.
As she did every time, she carefully circled the block before approaching the house.
It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you.
She worked her way carefully through alleys and backyards, staying out of sight and looking for anything out of place.
A nondescript, dark green sedan circled the block.
Then it circled it again, although in a slightly different pattern.
Taylor waited, crouched in a tree at the back of Kurt's neighbor's property.
The same sedan passed the house again.
Gotcha.
Someone was monitoring her father.
The only question was who?
Was it one of the gangs?
The PRT?
What did they have to gain by watching him? What had they guessed?
It occurred to her that they could feasibly think that he was a parahuman.
Whoops.
What to do about that, then?
She could just kidnap them for a chat to see what they knew. But that would risk tipping off their employer.
She could do nothing, and just stop coming here for supplies. That idea grated on her, though. She was enjoying this newfound level of comfort between her and her father.
She could dig a tunnel under the backyard so she could sneak into the house undetected.
That was… a silly idea.
Taylor waited for the car to pass, then raced for the back door.
Kurt and her father looked up in surprise at her sudden entry.
"You've got company, unfortunately," Taylor said. "Someone's watching the house."
Kurt's eyebrows raised further but Danny just sighed.
"It's always something," he said. "How do you want to play this?"
"I'm not sure. I want to figure out who they work for, but I don't want to tip our hand," Taylor flopped down on the couch across from them.
"Short of trying to follow them home, I don't know how to do that. Do you have any… tricks that might work?" Her father asked, glancing at Kurt.
Kurt made a show of pointedly looking away and twiddling his thumbs.
"I don't know," Taylor said again in frustration. "It's not really my area of expertise. I'll see what I can cook up, though."
"In the meantime, we don't have to make it easy for them," Danny said, slapping his thighs and standing up. "I've got nothing better to do on a Thursday night. You want to go to that new driving range out past Captain's Hill, Kurt? We'll take the scenic route and see how well these hangers-on can stick with us."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Kurt grinned. "I've been wanting to put the new truck through its paces anyway."
Taylor couldn't help but laugh.
"Thanks, Dad," she said. "Sorry for all the trouble."
"No worries, Little Owl," he gave her a hug on the way past. "I'm just happy you're sticking around."
"No running away," she said jokingly.
"No calling the PRT," he gave her a mock salute.
Kurt just shook his head in confusion.
…
Taylor, once again clad in her Hunter uniform, pushed the bloodstained bills across the counter.
"Cigarettes," she said, staring through the nervous boy behind the register. "Please."
"Um. Okay. Uh, what kind?" He stammered, glancing down at the money.
"Whatever's fine," Taylor said. She had no idea what the difference between the various brands were.
"It doesn't… Um… usually work like that," the cashier said.
Taylor furiously tried to remember what the pack looked like the first time Amy took one out to smoke.
"Those ones. The blue box," she said. Was it this hard for everyone?
"American Spirit?"
"Yeah."
He grabbed the box and punched it into the cash register.
"Do you have… um… ID? It makes me put in a birthday," he said shakily.
She handed him one of the dead men's driver's licenses.
"You're… Anthony?" He asked, eyes flicking up to her scarf-covered face.
"I go by Tony," Taylor deadpanned.
"Right. um… sure. Okay. And you're… thirty-seven?"
"I drink a lot of water."
He gave her the cigarettes, and some change.
There. She didn't even have to steal them this time. Amy would probably like that.
…
"How's it going, Carpenter?"
"I hate you," Taylor whined.
Amy was annoyingly smug about it.
"I told you. I fucking told you that the PRT would come up with something stupid unless you picked an available name and left a calling card or something," Amy said snidely.
"I really thought they would do better than… Carpenter."
"Because of the saw-"
"Yes. Yes, I get it, thank you," Taylor glared up at where Amy sat on an air-conditioning unit jutting out of the roof, kicking her feet under her robe. "I don't want to talk about it."
Taylor fished the pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and hopped up to sit next to her.
"Oh shit, you even got the right brand this time," Amy said, her lips curling upwards ever so slightly. Amy never seemed to smile on purpose; it was more like she just forgot to frown for a while. It was nice, every single time.
"I didn't know that it mattered," Taylor said honestly. Last time, she just ran in, jumped the counter, grabbed a box and ran away.
"It's not the end of the world, but I like these ones. They hit different," Amy said, lighting one and taking a long drag.
Something about it suited her, the silver mist swirling around her red and white hood and chocolate curls.
Taylor smiled behind her scarf and they sat in companionable silence for a while.
"Do you want to come see my lab, later?" Taylor asked eventually.
"You're back in business?" Amy raised her eyebrows.
"More than that. It's been pretty great, since I got the basics set up again. The forge is awesome," Taylor grinned.
"You have a forge? Like, an actual blacksmith or something?" Amy asked.
"Yeah, that's one of the reasons I wanted a professional grade HVAC system. Gets a bit smoky otherwise," Taylor said. "I told you that I was making weapons. You made fun of my cane."
"It's still ridiculous. The cane, the hat, the forge," Amy shook her head.
"I'm nothing if not consistent," Taylor said.
"Consistently ridiculous."
"Whatever," Taylor glanced over at her. "Still, you want to come visit?"
Amy chewed her lip.
"What about tomorrow? That way I don't have to drag myself out of bed for school at six in the morning afterwards."
"Honestly, I forgot that you still go to school," Taylor said without thinking.
"Speaking of which, how do you not go to school?" Amy said, poking her in the arm. "You can't be much older than me."
"I'll be sixteen in June. And it's a long story," Taylor said, staring out over the skyline.
"Holy shit, you're younger than me! That's not fair at all," Amy said, glancing over at her as she exhaled gray smoke. "Also, you have a lot of long stories."
"I could say the same about you."
It was quiet for a while.
"Do you want to trade? One long story each, dealer's choice," Amy said. "Since we're already dramatically smoking on a rooftop, being all melancholic and shit.
Taylor didn't want to. Not really. She also didn't point out that Amy was the only one smoking.
But she did want to get a glimpse into Amy's tangled mess of scars. The healer still carried around a conflicting storm of pain and sadness behind her eyes, and it never really went away.
"Sure. You first, though," Taylor said.
"Fine, be that way," Amy snarked at her before taking a deep breath. "Okay, fine. My mom, my adopted mother, hates me."
"That sucks," Taylor said. "Isn't New Wave a whole…"
"Yeah, that's just the icing on the fucking cake. We have this whole public family of heroes team thing going, and she can barely pretend to tolerate me in public. Because I'm their miracle healer," Amy spat bitterly.
Shit. For all of Dad's faults, at least he never actively tore her down. Even at his worst, he was just… empty.
"But it's just… it's always something, you know? I'll never, ever be enough for her. It doesn't matter how hard I try. I really don't know why I bother," Amy sighed. "It doesn't matter whether it's healing; I'm always doing too much or not enough. Or school, or whatever. It's everything. I'm either staying in too often or going out too much, even though Victoria is the only one I ever go anywhere with. Trying too hard or not trying hard enough. It drives me crazy. I can't win."
Taylor just nodded along and hummed encouragingly in what she hoped were the right places.
"And it fucking sucks, because I know that I can't win. The only way I win is if she decides to start giving a fuck about me, and I know that she could do that anytime she felt like it, if she wanted to. It's not like it actually matters what I do… but I still end up trying anyway."
Amy trailed off and stared out over the city with her.
Taylor didn't know what to say. She wasn't any good at this kind of thing. It's not like she ever got a chance to practice, what with Emma and everything.
"It doesn't really compare, but… My mom was amazing. She was wonderful, and she loved me. And then she died," Taylor said quietly. "That's not my long story, there are lots of parents out there that shouldn't be dead, but… it still sucks."
"Yeah. Shit fucking sucks," Amy said.
"My long story…" Taylor tried to decide which one to start with. She remembered Emma's face, caught somewhere between terror and horror and worship. Beautiful, in the moonlight, even though she hated her so fucking much.
Hated that part of her still loved her. Maybe she should have pulled the trigger.
"My best friend, my favorite person in the world… she was perfect, and amazing, and I loved her… and she turned on me, out of nowhere. One day, I went to see her, and it was like there was a stranger staring at me out of her eyes. Her face was the same, but the expressions were twisted. Her voice was just like I remembered, but she was nothing but cruel and horrible," Taylor whispered.
Amy took another drag of her cigarette.
"And I still don't even know why. I don't know if it matters. She turned into a monster… and she, and Sophia, Shadow Stalker, made my life a living hell for a year and a half. Until I triggered."
"Shit," Amy said quietly.
"Yeah."
"And you… killed Shadow Stalker. Did you kill your… friend… too?" Amy asked.
"No. I put my gun to her head but I… couldn't. Wouldn't. I don't know," Taylor said.
"That's… good, I think," Amy said slowly.
Taylor shrugged.
"I don't know what I'd do if Vicky turned on me like that. I don't think I'd survive," Amy whispered. "I don't think I'd want to."
Taylor just nodded. There were some days that she didn't want to, either.
Less, now, though.
They sat in silence under the stars for a while longer.
"So, mad scientist lab, tomorrow?" Taylor asked.
"Sure," Amy said, pushing the heavy silence behind them. She bit her lip in thought for a moment. "Okay, this might be an awful idea, but hear me out."
"I love awful ideas," Taylor grinned.
"If I sneak out after my parents go to bed, then there's a not-zero chance that I get murdered by Brandish in the morning," Amy said ruefully. "But, if we get Vicky on board, then there's a much lower chance of getting caught. And if we do get caught, Vicky can vouch for me and make sure that I only get murdered for sneaking out with my friend 'Anne', rather than the wanted murderer."
"And by 'get Vicky on board,' you mean…" Taylor raised her eyebrows.
"I mean, she tells Carol that I'm out with her for the evening, but she knows that I'm actually going to see you. Well, 'Anne', at least," Amy said.
"I see zero ways that this could backfire horribly," Taylor said sarcastically.
"I said it was an awful idea! But I wouldn't put it past Carol to randomly check to see if I'm still in my room at night," Amy said.
"Yes, but you're not the one who might get ripped into little tiny pieces by Glory Girl if we're discovered," Taylor said.
Actually, that probably made it a better idea. Better that she end up on the receiving end of the Brute punishment than Amy. She could always come back, and she was already a villain anyway.
"Look, it was just a random thought, we don't have to-"
"Let's do it," Taylor grinned behind her scarf.
Amy narrowed her eyes at her.
"I'm suddenly even less sure about this," she said.
"No, it will be fun. Let's go for it. Undercover spy shit," Taylor said.
"I regret it already."
…