Overture 12.3
Colin internally debated whether it would be worth the fallout of administering a blood vial to the Director when she finally succumbed to the rapidly approaching coronary failure.
Probably not.
"Would you care to explain why you decided to wait this long to report your contact with Panacea and Hunter?" Piggot demanded. Her voice was ice cold. It was more threatening than if she'd shouted.
Dennis swallowed audibly and went silent, but Dean was apparently made of sterner stuff.
"It was the best way to avoid further unnecessary conflict at the time, ma'am," Dean said. "We're forbidden from directly engaging Hunter, so-"
"Yes, for a damn good reason. That includes your little girlfriend, Gallant, when you invite her to attend your patrols in spite of my recommendations. Especially due to her apparent difficulty with the concept of keeping her hands to herself," the Director cut him off. "I've looked the other way because I can't exactly stop her from showing up for your patrols, but I draw the line at attacking Class S threats in a civilian area!"
Hunter and her followers hadn't technically been approved as a potential Class S threat yet, but that little detail wasn't going to stop the Director once she built up some momentum.
"Technically, Hunter said she could-" Dennis tried to interject.
"Be quiet. I don't care what our resident mass murderer said. The collateral damage alone would have been lethal if Hunter hadn't foreseen Glory Girl's violent tendencies and prepared accordingly. We will not rely on a villainous gang leader's foresight and restraint to avoid civilian casualties. Am I understood?" Piggot snapped.
"Yes, ma'am," the Wards replied.
"And that's not even scratching the surface of the PR disaster," the Director continued. "Luckily, most of the fallout is currently directed at New Wave, but it weakens our position by association. Congratulations, you both just earned yourselves several hours of Image Retraining."
"But-"
Director Piggot spoke over Dennis like he wasn't there.
"I shouldn't have to explain how it looks when a PRT associated Brute attacks a civilian in a wheelchair! I shouldn't have to explain why you are expected to contact the console immediately if you stumble across a Class S threat sitting at a goddamn coffee shop!"
The inevitable heart failure inched closer. Colin set one of his subroutines to monitor the Director's erratic pulse in the blood vessels standing out on her forehead. The results displayed in the corner of his visor.
"Get out of my sight."
He assumed she was only talking to the Wards.
When they were alone, she finally took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a long moment.
"Please tell me we got something useful out of this mess," the Director said without opening her eyes.
"It depends on your definition of useful. We confirmed that Panacea is alive and well, and she's joined the Hunt on her own initiative. That may be… less than ideal, but it's still preferable to acting on New Wave's word alone. It's technically possible that Hunter is Mastering her, but we haven't found any evidence that Hunter has acquired any Master abilities yet," Colin reported. "Additionally, Panacea told Clockblocker that she will be continuing to attend Endbringer fights, and that she may even return to Brockton General at some point."
"Which means the Chief Director won't let us touch her with a hundred foot pole," Piggot said tiredly.
Colin decided not to comment on that.
"The damaged vehicle belongs to an overseas investment firm that I'm reasonably certain is a shell company, but the trail is far too convoluted for even Dragon to trace it back to the source. Still, we can assume that Hunter has expanded her operation to include more complex functions and assets." Colin said.
"Yes… the… ice cream truck…" Piggot sighed.
Teenagers.
Teenagers with overseas investment companies and Class S abilities.
Colin understood her frustration, even if they took different approaches.
"Either Hunter is extremely proficient at predicting potential problems, or she's picked up a Thinker power somewhere. Possibly precognitive," Colin pondered. He wasn't sure if Taylor had access to a precog or not. It wouldn't surprise him. "We never managed to confirm Tattletale's power, and the rest of the Undersiders have joined the Hunt. She could be operating as support."
"Wonderful," the Director grumbled. "Anything else?"
"Whatever allows Hunter to open her portals isn't an isolated ability. She called an associate to request a door, and then left through a portal that definitely wasn't where she and Panacea arrived at the Boardwalk," Colin said.
"Which means that even if we do catch her, her gang will just break her out immediately. I don't even want to think about where else those damn portals can reach," Piggot said. "Actually, on second thought, under no circumstances can Hunter ever be sent to Baumann."
Colin hadn't even considered that. Could Taylor's doors reach the Birdcage?
"That seems… prudent," he said slowly.
"I'll try to get a Kill Order approved, but I'm not optimistic," Piggot said. "Not that we even possess a concrete method of killing her at the moment. Not with Panacea in her corner."
Colin decided to take a chance. It would be useful to have the Director operating in his best interests.
"She does act as an excellent deterrent. Given her actions against the other gangs, she won't take kindly to any other villains encroaching on her territory," Colin said.
"I'm aware. I'm sure that will be the Chief Director's rationale, too," the Director spat. "And when Hunter and her pet healer accidentally release a plague, or a self-replicating invasive species, or some other abominable monstrosity, I'll take great pleasure in being proven right before we all die."
Colin decided not to comment on that, either.
"Did you have any luck with facial recognition? I highly doubt that she's attached to her civilian identity, but there might be some leverage there," the Director continued after a long moment of ominous silence.
"Anne Callahan. Eighteen, registered as a student at BBU but doesn't seem to actually attend any classes. No living relatives. Parents died in a house fire a couple years ago. Could be a trigger event, but there's no way to know for sure. Some crisis points aren't obvious."
He didn't report that Anne Callahan was a false identity. It was a very good fake, but a fake, nonetheless. If it ever got out that he lied… well, it would be overshadowed by the fact that he was working with Hunter under the table in the first place.
"Friends? Confidants? Pets? Anything?"
"...I checked the Brockton General security cameras. She met with Panacea multiple times over the past few weeks," Colin said.
Teenagers.
"Of course she did," Piggot sighed again.
…
Amy couldn't sleep.
Usually, the low light of the Workshop and Taylor's slow, even breaths were more than sufficient to slow the churning spiral.
Not tonight, apparently.
The rune on the wall loomed behind the few remaining candles. The flickering flames of the chalice altar never went out, even when they turned off the rest of the lights.
She rolled over and tried to find a comfortable position, but it was useless.
Taylor twitched in her sleep.
Amy just watched her, for a while. There was nothing better to do, and her thoughts wouldn't shut the fuck up.
Despite always falling asleep with her long, lanky limbs stretched out, it didn't take long for Taylor to curl up once she drifted away. She looked… smaller, like this, folded up on her side under the blankets in their nest. Her dark hair tumbled free across the pillow and Amy could smell the ever-present scent of smoke and iron leftover from the forge.
What the fuck am I doing?
The spiral continued, no matter how much she tried to make everything make sense.
The house of cards had long since collapsed and burned, and Amy felt… lost.
What was the point, anymore?
Taylor had plans. Maybe. It was hard to tell if she actually planned anything, or just made it up as she went.
Her and her creepy precog, who were trying to outmaneuver the Simurgh.
It was easier to just… not think about that, but Amy's brain didn't want to stick to the program, for some reason.
She was free of her old life, the bullshit, the gray fog and the constant expectations, but…
It didn't fix everything. Being free just introduced new, different problems.
What was the difference between being free and being lost?
Amy groaned internally and extricated herself carefully from the blankets. Lying here and spiraling wasn't doing her any favors.
She needed a cigarette.
Part of her missed the hospital roof. She hadn't expected to.
Well, this Hospital has a roof, too.
Amy grabbed the lantern and her current pack of cigarettes from the workbench and wandered into the Labyrinth.
Her steps echoed off the endless halls.
It felt strange, to wander without Taylor.
She didn't go to the roof.
Amy stared at the door in front of her, outlined in flickering white flames.
This is so fucked. I should leave. Go smoke, or…
She opened the door, but didn't exit the Labyrinth.
Just stood and looked at the familiar room, so close and yet so distant at the same time.
Victoria didn't curl up in her sleep. She sprawled across her bed like she owned it, twisted at an odd angle with her arms and legs splayed.
She was perfect, and Amy's ribs grew jagged spikes that stabbed deep and ripped her apart from the inside.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Amy pressed her back against the Labyrinth wall and slid down until she sat on the cracked floor, hugging her knees against her chest.
The spiral slowed as she listened to Victoria's slow breathing.
It was better that she left, better for Victoria, better for everyone. Everything would have broken eventually and there was nothing else she could have done to stop it, but…
She missed this so fucking much.
Missed her.
Why am I like this?
It was easier to focus on her new projects. Easier to pretend that everything was fine, that she was happy and carefree now that the weight was lifted.
Maybe, if she pretended for long enough, it would be true.
She wasn't even sure how much of it was a lie. For better or worse, the experiments did take the pressure off. There was a freedom in just saying 'fuck it', making giant hands and beating hearts and strange creatures. How long had she held herself to her ironclad rules, just for them all to break under the strain of the world?
But if there were no rules, what was the point?
If she wasn't a good person, why shouldn't she just do whatever she wanted?
"That's the only reason anyone does anything. They just pretend otherwise because it's easier."
Maybe, there were never any rules. She could always do what she wanted, everyone could, but…
There were things that she wanted, that she didn't really want. Not when it came down to it.
"It sounds like you don't really know what you want, maybe. That's probably something to figure out."
Maybe, it could be that simple.
She could decide what she actually wanted, what she thought was right, and trust herself. Even if there weren't any rules.
Especially because there weren't any rules. Not really.
There never were.
Amy stood and stared down at the girl in the bed.
Her sister.
The realization hit her suddenly, unbidden and unexpected.
Victoria doesn't know me.
Not really.
Amy had always kept her true self hidden, because she was horrifying. Underneath the skin that pretended to be a hero and pretended to be good, she was a twisted mess of a person.
Maybe a bit less so now, but still.
Even if Vicky suddenly fell in love with her, she would be loving a lie. A lie that Amy had told to both herself and her sister every day for years, with no chance of seeing the truth because Amy didn't let her. How much time and energy had she wasted creating an imperfect curtain of delusions?
It felt so… useless, now. What was the point of trying to pretend for so long, when all it meant was that nothing was real?
She'd spent so much effort crafting and improving her facade, she'd never even tried to fix the broken shell underneath.
Maybe… It was time to start working on that. For real.
Even if there were no rules, anymore.
Amy closed the door and walked away.
This time, she actually went to the roof.
The old, rusted access door creaked as she pushed her way through and out onto the Hospital roof.
There was a strange sense of deja vu. It was similar to her hospital, but half destroyed and decayed, like everything else here.
The stars were bright, and there was no moon to be seen.
Amy lit a cigarette.
Cool wind blew gently across the desolate Trainyards. The Hospital was one of the taller buildings left standing, so she had an unobstructed view all the way to the Docks, and then the lights of Downtown further behind that.
She took a long drag and let the warm smoke fill her before she set it free, the silver mist coiling around her in the lantern light.
Out of curiosity, Amy raised the lantern high.
It was a strange feeling, the alien lights that danced in her mind. An unknowable representation of the bonds between the people who had taken communion.
In some ways, just by holding the lantern, she knew them.
She could see the distant lights of Taylor's father and Emma's grudging spark that didn't want to go out, no matter how much Taylor wished it would.
Brian's sister, and Victoria.
She could see the former Undersiders' connections to each other, more tenuous but still strong, Lisa and Emily and Rachel…
Rachel's spark was extremely close, actually. Almost like she was right…
Amy suddenly realized she wasn't alone on the roof.
"Shit!" she exclaimed in surprise, spinning around to see Rachel looking at her from the doorway with an unreadable expression. "What the fuck?"
"Dogs woke up," Rachel shrugged. "Didn't know who was stomping around."
Rude. She didn't fucking stomp.
"Well, you didn't have to sneak up on me like that. It's fucking creepy."
Amy was well aware that she was a hypocrite, given her very recent spying, but she didn't care.
Rachel didn't answer right away. She just stared for another long moment before wandering out onto the roof.
Amy still didn't know what to make of Taylor's gruff lieutenant. Taylor seemed to read her with no difficulties, but Amy had no idea how to talk to her.
"Doesn't look as shit, from up here," Rachel said eventually.
Amy took another long pull from her cigarette to give her time to figure out how to reply.
It didn't work.
"No… I guess it doesn't," Amy said.
Rachel's duster blew in the wind and she crossed her arms.
"Still a lot of assholes," Rachel muttered.
Amy snorted.
"Yeah. Never a shortage of those."
It was quiet for a while. Amy took another drag of her cigarette.
"That shit taste good?" Rachel asked.
Amy almost laughed. She wasn't sure what the hell this conversation was, but it wasn't awful.
"Yeah, actually. I like it, anyway."
Rachel nodded like that was all the answer she needed.
Weird.
"You holdin' up okay?" Rachel asked awkwardly, turning to look down at her from across the roof.
"That's none of your fucking business," Amy bristled. Two minutes of talking on a roof didn't give the villain any right to judge her.
"Fuck off. Only askin' for her." Rachel snapped. "'Cause she gives a hell of a lot more than she takes."
Like Amy didn't already know that Taylor deserved better.
"I know," Amy whispered.
"Good," Rachel grunted, turning to leave the roof. "Don't fucking forget."
Then Amy was alone, again.
She finished her cigarette.
At some point, faint rays of morning light started to peak over the horizon.
Taylor would probably be awake soon.
The spiral slowed, even if it hadn't completely stopped.
Amy considered smoking another cigarette.
But she didn't.
Instead, she walked across the roof, down the stairs, and went back to bed.
As she worked her way under the covers, Taylor's arms unfurled to drag her gently but inexorably across the mattress until she was tucked against her girlfriend's side.
"You okay?" Taylor murmured sleepily above her.
Amy finally let herself relax in the steel embrace, breathing in the iron and smoke.
"Yeah."
Taylor hummed contentedly deep in her chest.
This was enough.
More than enough.
It was everything.
And she could live with that.
At some point, between the warmth and the comforting cage, Amy must have slipped away.
Instead of Taylor's arms, she was once again cradled in the endless calm sea of crimson deep. She knew she was dreaming, because the full moon hung low overhead. There was no moon in the actual sky right now.
This Dream wasn't quite as comfortable as Taylor's, but it wasn't terrible, either.
…
Taylor eyed the two billets before her critically in the dim orange fire-light of her forge. She had spent most of yesterday folding and quenching two separate steel bars until they were ready for the final consolidation and shaping.
One, the high carbon, high nickel blood-steel she'd refined from Armsmaster's materials. Harder but more brittle than any metal she'd created before, even when forging her silver sword.
The other, a low carbon steel she'd saved from when she made the Chikage. Softer, and pliable.
She could see her new weapon in her head, the design aching to be realized. Beautiful, and deadly.
The Rakuyo.
It combined the best of both worlds, in both blades. Temperamental star-steel, for an edge that would channel her eyes and eldritch insight. Forged and tempered in blood, to become a vessel for her own cursed ichor and hunger for righteous violence.
Unyielding along the sides, and flexible in the middle. A twinblade with a soft heart, and a keen edge.
She would still have the option to fuel it with her own blood like she had the Chikage, but it wouldn't consume her. She knew better, now.
Taylor brought the forge up to temperature and prepped her new power hammer.
She pondered, while she worked.
How did anyone prepare for an Endbringer, let alone the Simurgh?
If she tried to find a way for people to evacuate, would the angel just descend faster?
Was there even a point in trying to prepare, when precognitive abilities were in play?
At the very least, she could fine tune her arsenal. Sedatives, to protect the mind from frenzied impulses. As many doors as she could offer, to stay mobile and avoid being in the fallen angel's range for too long.
Taylor pulled the high carbon steel into a wide layer that would serve as a jacket, then carefully folded it over the softer steel billet.
The soft, flexible steel in the core would help the blade weather harsh impacts, while the hard, brittle metal at the edges would cut with unparalleled efficiency. Her silver sword may cut regular steel like hard cheese, but against Endbringer flesh… she needed every advantage she could get.
After reheating the combined bar in her forge, Taylor cut it in half and began to draw out the first of the two blades.
What else could she do?
She needed to be able to see. If the Simurgh managed to hide from them, she could do untold damage while they floundered in the dark.
First things first. She would finish her network of doorways, so she and her hunters could truly strike anywhere, anytime.
She would stockpile as many blood vials as she could, so Amy wouldn't be the only one healing.
Could anything counter the Simurgh's precognition, aside from another precog? There wasn't really anything obvious. Anything she did could be predicted.
Although… Dinah's music box gave her an idea.
"I know exactly how many turns will give me the desired duration."
It was possible that, just as Dinah couldn't see the Simurgh, the angel was blinded by her in return.
And, if that were true, what Taylor didn't know couldn't hurt her.
It might be a vain hope, but it was better than nothing.
"Abandon your humanity, and ascend…"
"Remain blind, and awaken from your Dream…"
Taylor didn't intend to do either.
A plan started to form in the back of her mind, and her smile grew in the dim forge-light.
With the blades now drawn into the rough outline she needed, Taylor quenched the hot metal and moved over to the belt grinder to begin the final shaping and sharpening. Sparks flew as she slowly formed the blades, a long saber and a heavy dagger of folded star-steel.
No matter what Colin believed, she didn't think she could actually destroy an Endbringer…
But maybe, just maybe, she could drag one with her into the dark, and then leave her there.
…
Amy ran her hands over the smooth surface of her first and greatest abomination.
From this single tendril of flesh that extended into the Workshop, she could see everything.
The Heart of the Labyrinth had grown significantly in size and function ever since she had come to live in the Workshop permanently. There wasn't much else to do all day besides watch Taylor work.
Not that that wasn't enjoyable, but still.
Figuring out how to provide the necessities of life hadn't been too difficult, but at least it had kept her occupied for a while. There were now entire rooms dedicated to holding thick, fat lined vats of water, heated by several chambers that catalyzed an aqueous solution of hydroquinones and hydrogen peroxide. The reaction rapidly boiled the solution, and the resulting gas and liquid were recycled to restart the process again in the next series of chambers.
Taylor had rigged up the shower head and drain in one of the infinite hospital suites, since having a flesh shower head was a bit… off putting, even to them.
Amy had also extended the Heart's tendrils out of their northern Labyrinth entrance in the mountains and sent its roots deep underground, pulling more nutrients and minerals from the soil to facilitate the monstrosity's continued existence and her… other projects.
Like the little… thing… in front of her.
She wasn't sure what to call it.
For right now, it was just an extension of the heart itself. A thin protrusion of pale flesh, boneless and held upright by a series of pressurized vessels that ran through it. She had given it a mouth so she could feed it and the Heart itself if she needed more material to work with. Its empty eye sockets stared blankly up at her.
She wasn't sure why she hadn't given it eyes. Her powers worked strangely and instinctively, sometimes. Just like she didn't actually understand how every organ functioned on the level required to do what she did. Her power just… filled in the gaps.
With… unusual results, sometimes.
The Heart's nervous system was becoming more and more complex, and with every addition it became closer and closer to the decentralized consciousness of other invertebrates.
There were never any rules.
Amy let her power sink deep into the Heart's nervous system, and began to work.
First, she recreated the nerve clusters she had experimented with the day before.
Then, when the intricate network of neurons and chemical fireworks started to spread, she brought it up and into the head of the… creature.
Her little Messenger, to communicate with the Heart itself, as she expanded its capabilities further.
Amy carefully gave it eyes, and continued her work on its brain.
There wasn't really another word for it. She could call it a nerve cluster if she wanted to pretend otherwise, but it was a nascent brain and a living consciousness she was now tweaking and facilitating.
The Messenger reached out with spindly, grasping fingers.
She hadn't made it do that. It… they… moved on their own initiative as the neural connections took root.
Amy cautiously raised the hand that wasn't touching the main vessel and let the Messenger wrap their tiny hands around one of her fingers.
They were an ugly little thing, objectively, but…
Something in Amy's chest felt strangely warm.
I did that.
She had actually created something. Someone?
Part of her knew that she should be horrified, but instead she felt amazing.
So she made another Messenger.
And another.
And another.
Soon, the entire surface of the vessel in front of her teemed with the eight-inch tall creatures, just thin little torsos growing out of the vein with bulging heads to hold the complex new neural clusters.
They were all connected, in a way. All part of the Heart, and yet also not.
They reached for her, and she raised both hands to let them grip and caress her fingers with countless tiny digits of their own.
"Taylor," Amy called.
"What's- oh," Taylor paused behind her as she approached. "That's… new."
"They're alive," Amy whispered. She wasn't sure whether to be horrified or nervous or excited. Maybe all of the above. She felt a little bit drunk. "My little Messengers."
Taylor walked forward slowly and reached out with one hand. The crowd of pale creatures stretched to grasp at Taylor's thin steel fingers, and she ran a gentle fingertip over their stretched and warped skin.
"They're… actually really fucking cute," Taylor said in surprise. "Your powers are so cool."
One of the Messengers poked curiously at the vessel beneath them, and Amy felt the adaptive neurons fire as the little creature slowly sunk back into the vein. She could feel the neural cluster move along the Heart's nervous system to the atrium, where the Messenger reappeared from the surface of the massive organ with a pleased stretch.
They turned back to her and waved, even though they couldn't actually see her.
Although, they could see out of all of their eyes, so maybe they could.
Amy couldn't help but smile and wave back.
"Yeah. Yeah, they are," she breathed.
…
"I have a present for you," Taylor said.
"I'm scared already," Amy replied sardonically as Taylor strode back into the Workshop.
"It's not a top hat, this time. I promise," Taylor grinned.
She handed Amy the box that she just picked up from Lisa.
"What's…" Amy opened it and trailed off.
"I just… Everyone else got new costumes, and I thought… well, your old robes don't quite fit anymore, right? But… you're one of us, even if you aren't going hunting," Taylor said with a bit of trepidation. She wasn't entirely sure what Amy would think of her new outfit. It was a bit of a touchy subject.
Amy pulled the robes from the box and shook the creases out of them.
The long black coat was open in the front and split up the back like Taylor's, but it was looser and trimmed in deep crimson, similar to her old Panacea robes. The shawl and cowl created a short cape that fell over her shoulders and halfway down her arms in the front and back.
In place of her original red cross, the Hunter's Mark stood out starkly in matching blood red on the hood and on her chest, under the outer robes.
Amy's expression was unreadable as she pulled the robe over her shoulders and slid her arms down the loose sleeves.
She pulled the hood up, shadowing her eyes and just leaving her slow smile exposed.
"What do you think?" Taylor asked.
"I love it," Amy said quietly. Her voice was a bit choked, actually. "I… Thank you."
"Are you going to pick a new name? Everyone else kept their old villain names, but I know it's not the same," Taylor said.
"I'll think about it," Amy said.
Taylor smiled and pushed her girlfriend's new hood back and cupped her chin, drinking in the beautiful perfection.
It was a small, selfish allowance, but she'd purposefully excluded a scarf or other face covering from Amy's costume so she could always see her smile.
And for other reasons.
Taylor leaned down and kissed her, reveling in the sensation of Amy's lips moving against hers.
And she would never, ever get enough.
…
The Hunt assembled in the atrium, under the ever-beating Heart.
"We'll use two teams of two, to cover our backs just in case the heroes decide to pull a fast one on us," Taylor addressed the group. "I doubt they'll be willing to rely on Vista so heavily, but you never know. Brian and Alec, you'll be responsible for covering the Docks, the Boardwalk, and the Trainyards. Rachel and Emily, work your way through Downtown, the Commercial District, and the Downtown Coast areas. Lisa and her mercenaries will be stationed with undercover vehicles spread across the city to provide additional support and pickup for any bodies or captives."
Fully outfitted and prepared, the Hunt was undoubtedly intimidating.
Alec was as ridiculous as ever, his threaded cane and pistol holstered in thin loops of leather at his waist. He wore a crisp white button down and a black vest to match his silly top hat. He idly fiddled with his smiling theatre mask.
The whole ensemble became less silly when one considered his body count. He had taken to the Hunt's lack of restraint with… enthusiasm, to say the least.
Brian kept his original aesthetic alive, even though he had retired the motorcycle helmet. His heavy leather coat and cowl let him melt into his own darkness visually even when he wasn't doing so literally, and his face was entirely invisible in the black mist under the hood. Combined with the blue-white lightning crackling around his arsenal of Tonitrus devices, it was an objectively terrifying effect.
Emily stood more confidently now that she had a couple actual cape conflicts under her belt, and a few days with the team had done her good. She wore a full face gas mask, her hair tightly braided down her back under the straps to keep it out of the line of fire. Her dark, fireproof jacket and pants were overshadowed by the mounted hoses and brackets connecting her mask to the sizable flamesprayer barrels clamped to her forearms.
Rachel hadn't changed her outfit from the very beginning, her duster and rugged clothes sliding over metal flesh. She carried her brutal axe and blunderbuss, strapped under the coat Taylor had bought for her after the Empire debacle. Her Changer form left no need for a mask, her face transformed into the sneering iron visage of her beasts.
"Amy and I will be available at a moment's notice if you need support. I'll be following along with the lantern to expand the network of doors, and Amy will be watching everything from here and extending the living Labyrinth's reach. Pay no attention to any Messengers that show up along your routes."
A gaggle of the little creatures waved from the top of the Heart.
"Are they… wearing hats?" Emily asked. Her voice was incredulous despite being distorted by the gas mask.
"I have a sneaking suspicion that Dinah gave them those, but I can't figure out how," Taylor sighed. "She hasn't even taken Communion. Regardless, they won't give them back, and they're kinda funny, so…. Whatever."
Amy chuckled from under her hood, and Taylor couldn't help but grin despite herself.
The new outfit definitely suited Amy, the mark of a hunter crimson against her black robes. It was good for her to finally feel like she was truly part of the Hunt.
"Keep an eye out for any remnants of the Empire or ABB. They may have become bold in my absence," Taylor said. "Don't be too over-dramatic, but don't worry about hiding, either. We're doing this partly to send a message, after all."
"Don't be dramatic? I'm so sorry, but I just can't go through with this," Alec said.
"Hilarious," Taylor deadpanned. "Remember, call if you want me or Amy to bring the hammer down, but otherwise, you're on your own."
Nervous energy charged the air in the dim atrium. The heart beat slow and steady.
"Happy hunting."
…
One of the Messengers' little hands closed around her index finger, and Amy could see everything.
The Heart of the Labyrinth was truly alive, now. Countless nerve bundles flowed along its pathways as the Messengers moved throughout the system.
And wherever they went, Amy opened their eyes.
The nervous impulses weren't the same as actual sensory inputs from her own eyes or ears, but with enough adjustments and experimenting she could make do with interpreting the Messengers' senses.
Amy closed her eyes to focus, and let herself fall into her biosenses and connect with the Labyrinth.
The heartbeat echoed within her. It pulsed right next to her actual body and in her power, and soon the line became blurred.
She could feel each and every Messenger as they worked their way through the network.
She stretched her endless limbs and let them work their way to all of the current doorways, Messengers appearing to peek through into the outside world from within the Labyrinth.
The whole city spread out before her, as overwhelming as Taylor's trillions of stars were.
But, the same way that her power handled adjusting so many billions and billions of cells, her power also did the heavy lifting to allow her to keep her awareness intact as she observed so much all at once.
Taylor ran with purposeful efficiency, moving between both groups of hunters to open as many doors as she could while they moved through the city.
And with every door she opened, Amy grew a new tentacle so that the Messengers could see out into the world.
Her attention was suddenly drawn to the newest door, and she felt Rachel's voice vibrate the air against the Messengers' eardrums.
"...You want to go first, or second?" Bitch said quietly to her patrol partner.
"You first," Spitfire replied.
Amy saw Bitch nod as more Messengers congregated to watch the show.
The sounds of a scuffle filtered up the dark alley. A group of men with shaved heads and E88 tattoos kicking at a huddled figure on the ground.
"Should'a known your place, fuckin'-"
Brutus' growl drowned out the rest of the statement, the massive beast blocking the entrance to the dead-end alley as Rachel strode forward with grim purpose.
The men were quick to draw their weapons and fire.
Bullets sparked off of Rachel's metal skin and tore holes in her coat, but she ignored them.
Amy hadn't actually seen Bitch go to work, before.
She didn't even bother to draw her weapons.
One of the men's courage broke and he made a run for it, trying to dodge around Rachel's march.
As if Brutus would let him escape.
He didn't make it that far, regardless.
Rachel's hand snapped out with ruthless efficiency and caught his face in her grip. He screamed as her iron fingers pressed into his skin and held him helpless, like she was palming a living basketball.
Then she closed her hand, and the screams stopped.
Fuck.
Amy could see why Taylor trusted her.
Rachel idly shook her gloved hand as she continued her walk, flicking the blood, brain, and bone fragments from her fingers.
The three remaining men backed away from her, but there was nowhere to go.
They raised their guns and fired again, to no avail. In seconds, her long strides brought her into melee range.
Rachel reached out and grasped the barrel of one man's pistol, crushing the metal in her grip and ripping the ruined weapon from his hands.
The former Empire member to her left tried in vain to stab her, but the knife skipped sideways off her steel skin.
She caught his hand and broke his wrist in one quick, casual motion.
The other two guns met the same fate as the first.
Rachel stopped and stared contemptuously at the unarmed, cowering men before her.
Then she turned around and walked away.
She bent down when she made it back to the broken man on the ground. Her quick injector slid from under her coat and she slammed a blood vial into the victim before lifting him effortlessly over her shoulder and carrying him back to the mouth of the alley.
"They're all yours," Bitch said.
Emily nodded.
Spitfire stalked towards her prey.
"Wait, we didn't-" one of the cornered rats begged.
"You know what I learned, when the Empire came for my family?" Spitfire cut him off. Her voice reverberated eerily from behind her gas mask. "Same thing Kaiser found out, at the end."
She raised her arms, and the men froze as they stared down the twin barrels.
"Everything burns."
Their screams were drowned out by the deafening roar of the cleansing fire.
Holy shit.
When the searing light faded, the bricks of the alley were blackened and very little of the corpses remained.
Emily turned her back on them and climbed onto Brutus behind Rachel.
"Good job," Bitch grunted.
"Good riddance."
Rachel nodded approvingly.
Then they moved on, and Amy lost track of them until Taylor opened the next door.
She refocused on the rest of the city while she tracked Taylor's movements.
Apparently, Grue and Regent were also busy. The ABB's brothels hadn't closed down just because Lung and Oni Lee were gone. The splintered Yakuza and Triads were more than capable of committing their own atrocities.
They paid for it in blood, now.
Grue's darkness was alive and merciless as he flowed through the rundown, dirty building.
No sound escaped the black storm. No people, either.
When Brian's body reformed and light returned, there were only crying, cowering women, and corpses.
Amy shivered involuntarily.
"You know, it's polite to leave some of the fun for your teammates," Regent complained.
"Too bad." Grue snapped. "They could have taken hostages while you were busy with your theatrics."
"You're no fun."
"I don't care. Call Tattletale and get a translator and a team she trusts over here to take them home," Brian ordered, gesturing to the women in various states of undress.
"Who died and left you in charge?" Alec quipped, but he was already pulling out his phone.
"Take it up with Hunter."
"Fine, fine. Don't get your leather pants in a twist."
On the other side of the city, Taylor stepped out of the door into the blackened alleyway.
Amy redirected her attention, although part of her still monitored Regent and Grue.
There was so much of her, now.
Taylor grabbed the burned bodies, but she didn't bring them back into the Labyrinth.
Instead, one by one, she grabbed them by the feet and hung them upside down on the alley wall. The iron spikes she drove through their ankles left them dangling with their desiccated arms over their heads, their bodies hanging in a horrific parody of the Hunter's Mark on Taylor's forehead.
On Amy's costume.
Then Taylor drew her new sword, the twinblade she called the Rakuyo, and the alleyway lit up with stars and ethereal white fire.
On the wall, Taylor carved her dangling, upside down rune into the charred and melted brick. A single vertical slash, with two angled branches jutting out just above the base. The mark of the Hunt, which also adorned the wall of the Workshop.
Amy desperately wanted to know why, but…
"There are some things I can't tell you. Not without dragging you into my Nightmare, too."
She just had to trust that Taylor knew what she was doing. That Taylor would always do what was necessary to take care of her.
Taylor raised her sword and cut her own wrist, spilling crimson ichor on the mark that now adorned the alley wall.
It flashed pale white for a brief moment, then returned to blackened brick.
Then Taylor left, and repeated the process with the bodies left at Brian's slaughter.
Rinse, and repeat.
…
"You know, part of me still regrets killing you so quickly," Taylor said to the drained body as she positioned it over her anvil. "I know it was necessary, what with your slippery precognitive abilities, but you really did deserve worse."
The empty eyes of the man who used to be Thomas Calvert stared at the ceiling of her forge.
"I can't help but wonder if you'd be happy that your death won't be in vain. You seem like a spiteful little shit, so maybe not," Taylor continued. "Still, the contents of your skull will be much more useful in death than they ever were in life."
Taylor brought the heavy dagger of the Rakuyo down on the corpse' neck, and Coil's head rolled free across the bloody floor.
…
Amy bit her lip and tapped the epoxy surface of a lab table while she considered.
It was already late, but Taylor was still up working on something in her forge.
The restlessness was itching in the back of her mind.
Something about her new costume called to her, currently hanging by the Workshop door.
This is stupid.
She didn't really care. There were no rules, right?
Why shouldn't she help people, even if she wasn't a hero anymore?
She never had been. Not really.
Amy slipped her costume on.
It felt… satisfying. Official. She wasn't Panacea anymore.
She was something more.
She could still do some good, even amongst the bad.
It would just be on her terms, now.
Amy snagged a few bottles of the blue elixir off the shelf, and went for a walk.
The Labyrinth was as unsettling as ever, but it felt like home, now. The Messengers followed her curiously along the veins of the Heart.
Her steps carried her to a familiar door, in a familiar morgue.
The blue elixir tasted strange, and her mind felt oddly numb. Like she was somehow heavy and floating at the same time.
Amy stepped out of the Labyrinth and into her hospital.
She took the elevator up to the ground floor. The lobby was still brightly lit; Brockton General never closed, after all.
No one saw her, though.
It was a wonderful feeling. She used to hate how everyone would look at her every time she arrived.
She started in the ICU.
The first curtained alcove she entered belonged to a woman in her mid-fifties.
Amy didn't even worry about what was wrong with her. Her power would fix it.
It was much more cooperative, now that she had let it off its leash.
The woman stirred at her touch, and stared with surprise and shock at the shrouded figure that, to her, suddenly appeared out of thin air.
Then Amy healed her.
And walked away.
The woman looked around in confusion when the dark specter disappeared as quickly as she came, the blue elixir once again clouding her mind to Amy's presence.
The doctors rushed over at the sudden change in status.
Amy walked right past them, unseen, and moved to the next patient.
Then the next.
And the next.
A barely remembered dream to the dying; a ghost that left miracles in her wake instead of destruction.
In one alcove, a little girl with black hair struggled to breathe through the convulsions as a tumor ate her brain. Her parents just stared, with dead eyes, from the uncomfortable plastic chairs.
Amy fixed her, too.
What was one more broken rule, when the rules weren't real?
She turned her back on the parents' elated disbelief as their daughter's eyes opened, sitting up with strength and awareness she should never have achieved again.
Amy's evening stroll continued.
Within the hour, Brockton General had no more patients.
The elevator doors closed just as the PRT arrived in the main lobby.
The morgue was quiet, and she was starting to get tired. It had been a long day.
Amy still had one more visit, though, before she could sleep.
She stepped out of the Labyrinth and into her former family's basement.
The stairs were sturdy, and didn't creak under her footsteps. Not that anyone would hear her, anyway.
She hardly ever went into Carol's bedroom, when she actually lived here. It felt even more alien, now. A stranger's house.
Like the rest of the downstairs, the master bedroom was annoyingly tidy. Fake. Like no one actually lived here.
Amy looked down at the two forms muddled by shadows and twisted blankets.
I may be a monster, but I can still be better.
One choice at a time.
She reached out with a single finger and lightly touched the back of Mark's head.
Her father, who wasn't her father. Not just because she was adopted, but because he wasn't really there, most of the time. A ghost in his own body.
Life wasn't fair, but she could fix this one thing. A single injustice, for the man who tried his best, even though he failed.
Maybe especially because he failed.
Amy fixed him, and left.
It felt like a long walk back to the Workshop.
The numbness was kind of nice, though.
Amy hung her costume on the hook by the door, and went to bed. This time, she fell asleep without trouble, even though Taylor wasn't back yet.
The tranquil blood like was as peaceful and comforting as ever, while the choir sang.
…
It was late when Taylor finally returned to the Workshop and quietly unbuckled her prosthesis. She levered herself into bed, sliding carefully under the blankets to avoid waking Amy up.
Unfortunately, Amy was a light sleeper.
Fortunately, she just rolled over and grabbed at her demandingly until Taylor scooted over and pulled her into her arms. Amy burrowed her face into her collarbone and Taylor took a moment to enjoy the touch and brush a kiss on Amy's freckled forehead.
"You okay?" Amy mumbled, still half asleep.
Was she?
Not really.
"Yeah."
…