Interlude 8
"Thanks, man. Have a good one, and keep the change, please," Dean smiled as he took the pizza boxes from the delivery driver and handed him a hundred dollar bill.
It was always enjoyable, to see the colors shift in the people around him. Most people just kind of floated along without anything too intense bubbling under the surface, but it was nice to see just a bit of satisfaction, appreciation, a touch of happiness here and there. For some people, it wasn't that, necessarily, so much as it was a slight lightening of the dreary, omnipresent clouds.
Still, he liked to think that he did his best with the hand he got. Nobody liked the idea of having their secrets laid bare, and it wasn't his place to judge them.
He told himself that it was what people actually did that mattered, not what they felt. And that applied as much to him as it did to anyone else.
Dean made his way back across the arcade, fresh pizzas in hand.
Some… specific… people managed to test his resolve, though.
Mostly Amy, until now, but she seemed to have picked up… well, not someone similar, but someone… complementary.
He honestly couldn't tell if it was a good thing or not.
"Pizza's here!" Dean called, setting the boxes down on one of the booths that lined the walls. They normally ran a snack bar here, but Mrs. O'Neil trusted him enough to let him borrow a key. It wasn't like they were going to steal anything.
He was a bit worried about Victoria breaking something by accident, but he would reimburse the owners with interest if she slipped. Again.
He still winced as she wove perilously between the machines towards him.
Her colors didn't look quite like anyone else's. Instead of the flickering lights that showed what she was feeling, he only saw the soft, insistent glow of what her power wanted him to feel.
In this case, adoration. As if he didn't already love her.
Her aura didn't affect anyone unless she wanted it to, and even then, he could always tell what was her and what was him. It was a nice balance. She couldn't change him, and he couldn't manipulate her.
Complementary.
Speaking of which…
Amy and Anne were playing some kind of monster shooter game. He was kind of surprised that those were still around, what with Nilbog. But, apparently, they were winning. Anne didn't seem to do anything in halves.
Amy's girlfriend glanced over at him and her black eyes suddenly pinned him in place. Like he was a bug that she was debating whether to add to her collection or not.
On a normal day, most people managed to exist without anything too startling brewing within them. There were always background pains, worries, little sparks of joy and stress and color. But generally, nothing… all consuming.
Anne was the opposite. She was either a blinding light show or a pitch black void. Radiant stars or a gaping maw of darkness in the world.
He couldn't make heads or tails of it.
It was reassuring, in some ways. She lit up like the stars when Amy touched her, or when she caught her girlfriend's eye. Sometimes, it didn't seem like they had to talk at all. Just smirks and internal fireworks.
But every once in a while, something horrifying would stir in the depths of her soul.
And Dean had no idea what to do with that.
It wasn't always when she looked at him. Sometimes, he would be trying to talk to Victoria, or play an arcade game, and something about whatever Amy and Anne were talking about would trigger the cold and the hungry dark that loomed like a great beast in the night.
It was distracting, to say the least.
Anne refocused on the game and began shooting monsters, and the void retreated until she was a normal, if slightly overenthusiastic, girl again.
"Everything okay?" Vicky asked, floating over to fish out a slice of pepperoni pizza.
"Yeah, I'm good…" Dean said quietly. He honestly wasn't sure how much to say. "Anne's a bit… intense, isn't she?"
Vicky snorted.
"You don't say. Amy's head over heels, and it's awesome, but yeah, the rune, the stare… I think she's good for Amy, though. She actually smiles, now," Vicky said.
Dean nodded absently.
Amy's kaleidoscope was a fair bit more stable than it had been the last time he saw her. Less… grim, overall. Less hopeless. But also more intense as well, in other ways. Like Anne was rubbing off on her, somehow. Everything about her was brighter, from her affections to her anxieties. He had caught a few moments of unusually strong negative emotions, anger and hatred, but nothing that resembled whatever the ravenous void was that occasionally enveloped Anne.
"I know you don't like to talk about it, but do you see anything… off, when you look at her? Anything we need to be worried about?" Vicky whispered.
Anne's eyes snapped unerringly to his, as if she had somehow heard them.
But that wasn't possible. The arcade had a fair amount of background noise, and she was easily a hundred feet away.
The hungry dark consumed her again, and he could almost swear that something was watching him, from within her. Like there was too much of her for her flesh to contain. A monster pretending to be human, just waiting to be let off the leash.
Is she a parahuman?
Surely, Amy would know if she was. And none of the other capes he had seen looked like that.
If Anne was a parahuman, and she could hear him, then this was absolutely not the time to bring it up. Both her and Amy's feelings seemed genuine, so either Amy didn't know, and Anne wanted to keep it that way, or Amy did know, and was also keeping her secret.
Or it was nothing at all. She might just be a weirdly intense teenager, and his powers were overreacting or throwing a false positive or something.
Of course, if she was a parahuman, and could hear them, then Vicky's question might have just outed him. Which was… less than ideal.
Although, if Amy was in on it, she may have already told her.
"I don't… think so," he said carefully. "You know that reading people can be tricky. I'd rather give her the benefit of the doubt."
Vicky nodded and took another bite of pizza.
The eyes in the dark regarded him for another long moment, then Anne looked away and the storm of roiling black death dissipated. Dean's breath came a bit easier, and the lights in the arcade seemed brighter.
"That's kinda where I'm at, too," Vicky said. "Like, she buys Amy cigarettes, and she won't let her heal her, but… like I said, Amy's head over heels, and Anne seems nice enough, if a bit prickly."
A bit prickly didn't quite do the murderous void justice, but it wasn't necessarily a bad description of how she actually acted.
Maybe he should stick to his own rules, and keep her actions in mind rather than her feelings.
Even if he had no idea what the hell those feelings were, aside from Bad with a capital B. Although, again, that may just be his power's interpretation of something that wasn't nearly as bad as it looked.
Maybe if he had the opportunity to ask Amy…
"Do you think I should check with Amy? Just in case?" Dean asked uncertainly. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.
"I mean, at your own peril," Vicky smirked at him. "She hates your guts, and she's not subtle about it."
That was his assessment as well, although Amy's emotions were inconsistent and frequently confusing when she was around him.
A bit less so, with Anne in the picture. Or that might just be because he kept getting distracted by the sudden feeling of being a mouse under a hungry cat's claw. It was hard to tell.
It was kind of nice, though, how Amy's colors shifted anytime Anne touched her. Reassuring, compared to what else lurked within her.
Within both of them, honestly.
"Yeah, you're right," Dean said. "We'll just have to… see how it goes."
He would wait and see, before he reported anything. If Anne was a cape, then it would be a gross violation of the rules to out her against her wishes. Even if she was a villain, she seemed to legitimately care for Amy, so he doubted Anne was trying to kidnap her or hurt her.
As crazy as it sounded, this was exactly the reason that the rules existed. If villains didn't have to be villains 24/7, then a lot of them weren't. Sometimes, they spent the afternoon at the arcade, instead of stealing stuff or plotting to take over the world. It was a net positive, even if it made catching them more difficult.
And, if Anne wasn't a cape, he would just be causing all kinds of major problems unnecessarily.
Dean nodded to himself.
If he did decide to bring anything to Armsmaster, he would definitely talk to Amy, first. It wouldn't be fair to blindside her with something like that, whether she was in the loop or not.
…
In addition to his ambition, Colin prided himself on his efficiency. And he certainly had no patience for weekends or off days.
Principal Blackwell wasn't happy to be called into school on a Sunday, but she didn't have the option of obstructing a Protectorate investigation.
The Winslow computer network was awful, but that also made it easy for him to sift through. Additionally, Blackwell wasn't especially good at hiding things.
There was quite a lot that he hadn't been aware of regarding Sophia Hess. Maybe, if he had been paying closer attention, a great many awful things could have been avoided.
Taylor Hebert might still be alive.
Although, he had a sneaking suspicion that she was, despite his former Ward's best efforts.
He wanted proof, though. His assumptions had been wrong before, and he wasn't sure if he wanted this one to be misplaced or not.
Sophia's interview regarding the death of her classmate had been suspicious. Why hadn't she noticed that someone locked that girl in her locker for days?
Unless she had done it herself, and the administration had covered it up to save face, like they had with the multitude of harassment complaints.
The recordings of the PRT interviews with Emma Barnes following Shadow Stalker's disappearance also made more sense, when viewed through that lens. She wouldn't want to risk being exposed for her role in the tragedy.
Colin hadn't noticed, the first time, that Alan Barnes called the mundane police on the evening of January 25, reporting a stranger looking in his daughter's window.
Someone wearing a flat brimmed hat and scarf, looking through a second story window.
The call was never officially reported to the PRT. The mundane police often resented their involvement.
From the school yearbook pictures, Taylor Hebert's hair matched. The skin tone matched, from what Colin could tell.
He could put together a timeline fairly easily. It was almost obvious, in hindsight.
Taylor Hebert didn't die in that locker. She triggered, and somehow left her body behind. Stranger things had happened during trigger events.
Three weeks later, Emma Barnes saw someone who looked a lot like Hunter.
Then Sophia Hess disappeared.
What actually happened to Shadow Stalker was the missing piece, and, hopefully, he would find his answers here.
Colin picked his way carefully through the wreckage of the ruined house. He remembered reading the report of the bombing, thinking it was targeted at Daniel Hebert.
What if it wasn't?
The main floor and the top floor were basically gone, caved in on what was left of the basement or expelled by the force of the blast.
He didn't need to pick through it all by hand, though. Colin was only looking for one thing, and there was no point in being inefficient.
He programmed his visor to scan for the unique and identifiable molecular bonds within a standard deviation of the tests he had performed on Shadow Stalker's Breaker state. He had already used the data at her original trial, and this was not nearly so stringent a requirement. He could afford to broaden the spectrum, slightly, just in case.
As it turned out, he didn't need to. A spot in the rubble, roughly the shape of a crossbow bolt, lit up like Christmas lights in his visor.
He carefully extricated the area in question from the rubble.
Sure enough, lodged in the leg of a broken and burned workbench, a familiar broadhead crossbow bolt was fused into the wood at a molecular level.
Just to be sure, he ran another scan. This time, he aimed to isolate the anomalous effects he had identified surrounding Hunter's bullets.
A spot on the far wall lit up, but Colin didn't bother to check closer. He didn't need to.
Taylor Hebert was the Hunter.
And she had undoubtedly killed Sophia Hess.
…
In one timeline, Thomas Calvert went through his standard routines at the PRT headquarters.
In the other, he sat in his office in his underground bunker and reviewed his ongoing projects.
On the average day, it made sense to only actually do things in one timeline. Things that he intended to keep, anyway. The other timeline was reserved for gathering information or for running tests that would only be kept if they were unexpectedly fruitful.
For the most part, his alternate timelines were fairly boring. Even things like torturing Tattletale or his other, less annoying informants weren't all that exciting.
Of all the things that he expected to be exciting, reviewing the security footage of the Undersiders base was not it.
He usually watched the recordings at thirty-two-times speed, almost entirely due to Jean-Paul's… activities.
Thomas could only imagine how much progress would be made if Hijack put that kind of effort into his job.
However, even at that speed he didn't miss the brief time period where the cameras and microphones went unexpectedly black.
Mr. Laborn had used his power in the base?
And Ms. Lindt was absent when the darkness faded. Strange.
He rewound the footage and reset the video and audio speed to standard.
"-can't have a mass murderer on the team. It's just too risky. We all have things we don't want the PRT digging up, and they'll be all over us after this."
Mr. Laborn was as inflexible as ever. Inconvenient.
"That's how it is, then?"
"We'll vote on it, but-"
"Don't fuckin' bother. I'm out. You can keep robbin' fucking convenient stores or whatever."
Well. Ms. Lindt was certainly more willing to abandon her team than he had expected. That was… unfortunate, especially since she was currently his strongest connection to Taylor Hebert.
"I need a door."
Thomas' blood ran cold and involuntary goosebumps rose on the back of his neck.
What?
How? That was… impossible. Inconceivable. The was simply no feasible way that Rachel Lindt could have possibly-
"Nice place. Love what you've done with it. Stale pizza isn't exactly my first choice in home decor, but it definitely lends a certain 'teenage rebellion' chic."
Thomas blinked.
The footage cut out. White noise filled his empty office.
In both timelines, Thomas Calvert began to laugh. It was not a pleasant sound.
Maybe, just maybe, he would focus on other projects for the time being.
There was a new potential trigger at Arcadia Middle School. The Mayor's niece. Thomas had already rerouted the routine anomaly flags so that the PRT didn't interfere.
Perhaps, he would start using his spare timelines on that, instead of wasting them on Taylor Hebert. For the sake of his sanity, if nothing else.
…
Kenta sat alone at the bar, brooding.
This was not how he preferred to spend his precious time, but it was undoubtedly necessary, on occasion. Time must be set aside to think.
And it was best done with saké.
Especially good saké.
Brockton Bay didn't exactly have a wide selection, but the best was reserved for Lung.
The owners of this bar were more than happy to empty it at his pleasure. Such were the benefits of being feared.
Kenta very much enjoyed the cultivation of fear. It, too, was much like saké.
Good saké could afford to be served chilled, to highlight its quality.
Shit saké had to be served warm, to hide its inadequacies.
And so it was with fear. The right kind of fear, in the right quantities, could be useful.
The wrong kind, at the wrong time, would cause people to break in unpredictable, illogical, and self-destructive ways.
The owners of the lovely bar obeyed because they feared him just enough, but not too much.
Kenta smiled and sipped his drink.
Chilled, and delicious.
Kaiser had broken. The fear had soaked into him like the spoiled little shit he was and he had grown hot and agitated when he should have remained cold.
Kenta doubted that the metal man had even admitted it to himself, in the end. He likely believed in his heart that it was anger he felt, righteous fury at what the Hunter had taken from him.
Kaiser was mistaken. It was fear that drove him to sacrifice his Empire, all to silence the voices inside. The whispers, that told him he wasn't enough.
Everyone heard them, and yet most chose not to listen. It was easier, that way. To pretend that they would not, could not, fall short.
Some overcompensated, and listened with far too much conviction, sliding into despair at the hands of their own inadequacies.
Kenta knew that he was not immune to either fallacy, but awareness was the first step to enlightenment.
He knew what he feared.
Her.
Kenta took another sip of his saké.
It was not a fear that could be lied to. It was not irrational, or unjustified. It grounded him, an absolute criterion to measure the worth of all other things that could potentially do him harm.
And, despite the similarities, the Hunter was not her.
She may have slaughtered the Empire with impressive impunity, but she was still a person like any other. She had wants, and needs. She could be predicted, and, if necessary, avoided.
If Kenta set his considerable might against hers, it would be because he chose to. And right now, he had no reason to do so.
Let her hunt his pawns. He cared not for their insignificant lives, and some would inevitably relish the opportunity to try their hand against a worthy foe.
They would die, of course. Men who were both weak and stupid were a liability, and it would be beneficial to let them throw their lives away against the Hunter's blade.
Kenta was not weak. And he was not stupid.
If the Hunter proved herself to be weak, he would simply kill her. After that, crushing the snake beneath his boot would be child's play, and he would expand his dominion to hold the Bay in his fist.
If she proved herself to be strong, but uninteresting, he would leave. He had done so before, against the troublesome mage in Chicago. Only a fool would so easily sacrifice their freedom in a battle that was not worth experiencing.
Kenta was not a fool.
But, if she proved herself to be both strong, and interesting…
Kenta finished his saké and left an exorbitant amount of money on the bar as he stalked out into the warm night.
Then, perhaps, he could be persuaded to truly pit his claws and fire against her blade and stars, and see who was the first monster to die.
…