Scarcity 14.3
"Say that again. Slowly," Amy ground out, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose or crush both of these squabbling children in her hands.
She stood, crimson-trimmed hood up and black robes rippling in the warm afternoon breeze, on one of the many palms of her largest Amygdala. In front of her, clasped in its massive grasp twenty feet above the ground, were the two idiots who'd interrupted her work.
"He attacked me, fucking crazy ass-"
"Only 'cause you stole my bag, you-"
"He's fucking lying! I didn't touch his goddamn-"
"Ian saw you, don't try to-"
Amy desperately wished they were actually children. Her expectations of people were already dangerously low. Sadly, they were definitely old enough to know better. Maybe old enough to be her parents? A fair bit older than her, for sure, and she was supposed to be the fucking responsible one here?
A crowd was starting to form in the rough town square that had popped up in the wide, broken parking lot at the front entrance of the Hospital. They watched the spectacle with equal parts amusement and concern.
This was ridiculous.
No matter how tempting it was, killing these irritating shit-for-brains would probably send the wrong message.
Plus, she had a role to play. She wasn't just Amy Dallon, the frustrated healer turned flesh-sculptor. She was Hunter's Vicar.
And, apparently, the people of the refugee camp were under some unfortunate misconceptions.
"Silence."
Her edict thundered through the faux vocal chords of the Amygdala and all of the surrounding hands, echoing through the Labyrinth. She didn't even bother to open her actual mouth. Her own voice would just get lost amid the cacophony, anyway.
It worked, though. The bickering fuckwads and the surrounding crowd shut up immediately. Despite the many issues she still had with her power and her place within the Hunt, Amy had to admit that was gratifying.
"The Hunt are not heroes, and we certainly aren't the police," the voice of the Labyrinth boomed over the still afternoon air. "We are the necessary evil. We are only judge, jury, and executioner to monsters. Pray that you never become monstrous enough to become our prey."
That was good, right? Suitably dramatic?
God, she couldn't wait for Taylor to get back. Her girlfriend was so much better at this shit.
"But… you said you'd protect us," one of the idiots piped up.
Amy didn't kill him. She considered that a medal-worthy performance of self-restraint.
"We protect you from the beasts that would rip you apart in the night, not from each other!" Amy couldn't help but let some of her exasperation leak into her tone. The Labyrinth's tone. "We have done as we promised. You have food. You have shelter. Your wounds and your illnesses have been healed."
Amy put the two assholes down and lowered the enormous head of the Amygdala until it loomed over the crowd, her own form on its outstretched hand dwarfed by comparison.
"Do not presume to demand our dominion, too," she hissed, the menace in her words slithering through the crowd.
It was left unsaid that they wouldn't like the outcome if they forced her hand. Hopefully they got the message, though.
She didn't have time to settle petty disputes. She wasn't the fucking government. They could figure that shit out for themselves.
Amy sighed to herself and piloted the Amygdala back up onto the roof, placing her physical body down onto the highest terrace.
The camp spread out around the Hospital like a slowly leaking oil spill, filling up the formerly abandoned Trainyards with tents and makeshift bunkhouses. There were even rows of vendor stands and fucking bars, of all things. She wondered what they were even using for money.
"That was, without a doubt, the most dramatic way anyone has ever said 'don't make me come over there'," Lisa chuckled. She almost sounded impressed.
"Hopefully it works," Amy grumbled. "Still, spread the word, would you? We aren't going to play at being parahuman lords or whatever. They can figure their own shit out. Maybe get Taylor's dad to put a city council together, I don't fucking know. If Taylor wants to take over when she gets back, she can handle the complaining."
"I'll get our PR department right on that," Lisa drawled.
Amy raised an eyebrow under her hood as she descended back into the Labyrinth.
"Do we actually have a PR department?" She asked.
"It's mainly just Danny and I currently, but your little cultist is doing some great independent work," Lisa said.
"My what?"
"You don't know?" Lisa's grin was entirely too pleased with herself for Amy's liking. "I won't ruin the surprise then."
"Isn't it your job to know things?"
"It's my job to keep you from imploding into a seething ball of self-hatred and angst. You're welcome, by the way."
Amy rolled her eyes and considered pushing the issue, but she was already annoyed from the assholes outside, so she let it drop.
She had better things to do, anyway.
…
With a sigh, Amy removed her fingertips from the latest test subject's skin. Reaching through her constant connection to the Messengers and out to the Heart, she called to the thin, skeletal hands that assisted her in her work.
The whole system was becoming more autonomous by the day. She wasn't consciously adding functionality, but she could see the network expanding and adapting to her needs.
When she first linked everything to the Heart, she had to manually control each hand and every Amygdala individually. Now, they functioned more like the Messengers, somewhere between instinctual and conscious. It made it easier to nudge them in the correct direction without having to nitpick their every move.
Unfortunately, it also made it easier to brood while the hands took the most recent corpse off of the gurney for processing.
The Simurgh's manipulations continued to stymie her. These were supposed to be the easy ones, the people whose brains were clearly altered past the point of madness. How was she supposed to find the more subtle manipulations if she couldn't even fix the obvious issues?
She was tempted to try again right away. Next time, it would be different. This time, she'd get it right.
"Just… make sure Taylor has someone to come back to."
Amy groaned and pressed her forehead against the cool metal of the surgical table she had appropriated for her notes.
Maybe she should just wait for Taylor. Between the two of them, they had a better chance of figuring this out. Taylor was the Tinker; Amy was just a high school biology student with an honorary doctorate.
She sensed a presence approaching in the Labyrinth, both in the lantern light and through the Messenger's eyes.
He was late. Amy wasn't exactly surprised.
"Man, Lisa said you had your toe in the deep end, but this is pretty impressive," Alec whistled as he wandered into the ICU holding a paper bundle under one arm.
His words may have been mocking, but he eyed her warily in the eerie light. Bioluminescent fluid held within thin membranes ran along the sides of the vessels and removed the need for electric lights. Amy wasn't sure how to add new connections to Taylor's Tonitrus sphere, and didn't feel like running a fuck-ton of extension cords to reach this section of their lair anyway.
"I'm glad you approve," Amy grumbled, lifting her head off the table and running her fingers through her tangled mop of curls.
"I brought a peace offering, since I know how my existence irks you," Alec flopped down in one of the rickety desk chairs and tossed the paper bag onto the table.
Amy raised an eyebrow.
"Tats sent me and a few of the mercs on a supply run, since some of us aren't public menaces," Alec said. "Figured you might want some food that isn't tasteless paste."
"It's not meant to taste delicious," Amy defended her recent creation. "It's high-calorie, high-protein, high-nutrient rations. It's meant to keep those assholes outside alive. If they want something with a kick, they can cook it up themselves."
"They're all calling it Soylent Green. Like, an old movie or some shit. Half of them think you're in here turning dead bodies into food," Alec glanced down the row of beds. "But, I see now you're clearly channeling 'The Matrix' instead. Much better taste, in my opinion."
Amy didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, but she didn't ask. She didn't bother much with Aleph imports. She had better things to do.
And that wasn't… technically true. Mostly. She was feeding the drained corpses to the Heart to avoid wasting biomass, but it wasn't the same thing.
It wasn't.
Endbringers left a lot of corpses, and this was a significant improvement over any alternative. It wasn't like she could just leave them all to rot. They would run out of blood vials in no time curing all the cholera or E. coli or some other bullshit.
She unwrapped the plastic containers and raised an eyebrow at him when she realized what was inside.
"You got me Italian food?"
"I have it on good authority that everyone likes Italian food. Cheese. Pasta. Tomato sauce. Garlic Bread. Anyone who says they hate it is lying, or a vampire."
Such an asshole. He wasn't wrong, but still.
Part of her considered taking the food somewhere that wasn't an active human experimentation site. The rest of her decided she didn't care.
She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Plus, he did have a point. All she'd eaten in the last couple days was the nutrient paste and hot chocolate.
It wasn't like she really tasted anything, anyway. What was the point, when it all turned to ash in her mouth?
The chicken parm actually tasted pretty good, though. Fuck. Maybe she wasn't doing as well as she thought.
"As peace offerings go, you could've done worse," she admitted grudgingly.
"Can I put up an 'Minion of the Month' poster in Brian's office?"
Amy opted not to answer that. She was reasonably sure that Grue didn't have an office, anyway.
Several long minutes of awkward silence passed while she ate. Well, awkward for her. She doubted Alec gave a shit.
He wouldn't get the better of her. She refused to give in to the awkwardness.
"You think Tats would let me use company funds to buy a lightsaber?" Alec said eventually. Score. "I mean, we stole the money from Coil, who must have stolen it from someone. It would be giving back to the community, honestly. Boosting the local economy."
Amy snorted despite herself, even though she still didn't answer.
"They have to make them, right?" He continued. "Toybox, or something. Maybe I'll ask Taylor when she gets back. Tinkers are bullshit."
Amy honestly couldn't tell if he was annoying or not.
She didn't want to admit it, but he was a lot more tolerable when he wasn't flirting with Taylor.
"I wonder what would happen if our fearless leader ate another Tinker," Alec mused aloud. Amy wasn't even sure if he actually wanted a response or if he just liked hearing himself talk. "Too bad she doesn't like killing heroes. She could probably make a badass halberd."
Oh, right. The rest of the Hunt didn't know that Armsmaster was technically helping them. Amy wasn't sure the arrangement still stood, what with the quarantine zone and everything.
"She would make a power-armored trench coat," Amy couldn't help herself.
"A robo-fedora," Alec grinned.
Amy's involuntary chuckle was a bit sad, but it was still kind of nice.
She never found the rest of Taylor's body. She should have the Amygdala look harder. Taylor would probably want her hat back. And her sword. And possibly her prosthesis?
Amy wished for the hundredth time that her wayward girlfriend had been more forthcoming about the specifics of her immortality.
The food did help take the edge off, though. She leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing a moment of calm before she had to refocus on the task at hand.
Crystalized onyx watched her from the dark.
Could Taylor see her, from wherever she was? Would she be happy with what Amy was doing in her name?
Amy knew that Taylor wouldn't judge her, but she still worried. A lifetime of ingrained insecurities didn't magically go away with a couple months of acceptance.
"How does your power actually work?" Amy finally asked, opening her eyes and glancing over at her guest.
He raised an eyebrow, but his face was carefully blank.
"It takes a while to get a feel for people's nerves, but once I get my hooks into them, I can make anyone dance like a marionette. Except for the folks you've gotten your hooks into, of course," Alec said. "Although, that part's been easier since I got a hold of Skiddy's power. Gives me a better grip, y'know?"
She didn't know, but she didn't bother responding to that.
"I want you to see if you can fully command one of the Simurgh's victims for me," Amy said instead. "It's a long shot, but it might keep them from self-destructing when I try to fix their brains."
Alec frowned.
"I don't think my power really affects brains directly. When I puppet someone, they're always aware and conscious in their own head," he pointed out.
Amy's thoughts went in a different direction.
Had Dean been conscious the whole time, just trapped, screaming in the back of his mind? She'd never even thought to ask Taylor how that worked.
She didn't feel guilty, but she got the vague feeling that a good person would.
Damn.
Baby steps.
"It's worth a try. Maybe it will give me some insight into what's actually killing them," Amy sighed.
The mental command to bring over the next victim was barely a conscious thought. The Heart was almost a part of her, at this point. All her little Messengers… her own personal galaxy, since Taylor's stars were gone.
Alec tilted his head and stared at the unconscious body in the gurney with idle curiosity. He was annoyingly similar to Taylor in a lot of ways. She didn't like it.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but how the hell were you ever a hero?" Alec asked bemusedly.
Amy tried her best not to take it 'the wrong way', but she still glared at him.
"I used to think the rules were real," she replied. "But, it turns out, what's good isn't always what's right. For me or for everyone else."
She wasn't strong enough to care about everyone. She'd tried, and it had nearly killed her. It was better to actually care about a few, and just do what she could for the rest. There would always be more people suffering somewhere else.
Amy watched through her biosenses as the current test subject twitched under Alec's power, his 'hooks' threading their way into their nerves. There weren't any physical changes, but she could see spinal reflexes firing in areas they shouldn't. Like the signals weren't making it all the way to the brain.
"This is a lot easier than it used to be," Alec said after a few minutes. "I haven't actually tried to get this deep in a while. Dunno if it's because of the power up, or if it's because the lights are one but nobody's home."
Amy nodded absentmindedly, still just watching the muted fireworks in the victim's ruined brain and trying to memorize the patterns underneath the Simurgh's alterations.
It just wasn't the same as watching Taylor's pulsing miasma of starlight. Everything else was so dim, by comparison.
She lost track of time. It wasn't like there were any clocks in here.
Finally, Alec blinked and stretched, back and shoulders popping.
"Ready whenever you are, Doc," he yawned.
Amy took a deep breath, and tried not to assume the worst.
"Subject two-forty-one. Affliction Class A. Testing third-party nervous system control in conjunction with unconscious brain stem manipulation and frontal lobe restoration."
She took a hold of the brain under her hands, and twisted.
And, for all her power and control, she watched the already dwindling stars flicker and go dark before her eyes.
Again.
Fuck.
"Woah, that felt weird," Alec said. "I mean, I've had people die under my control before, but that was bizarre."
"Anything that might help keep it from happening next time?" Amy sighed.
"Sorry, Doc, I got nothing. One second, everything was good, the next, boom, brain's turned to tapioca pudding."
"Yeah, that's pretty much par for the course at this point," Amy replied sadly. The life support system unclasped with a damp squelch and the hands descended to retrieve the body.
"So… about those 'nutrient rations'…"
"Do you really want to know?"
"I'm gonna go with… no," Alec ducked to avoid the hanging corpse as the hands took it away.
"Good."
Amy sat down at the table harder than was strictly necessary and closed her eyes again. She was so tired of this shit.
She needed a distraction.
"Can you puppet anything else? Or just people?" Amy asked after a long moment.
"I can't do, like, animals, if that's what you mean."
Amy didn't bother opening her eyes.
With another, much more comfortable twist, she reached into the Heart and redistributed some biomass to their location. It was almost too easy to sculpt it into a familiar form.
It wasn't until the body was halfway built that she realized that Taylor might not appreciate having a body double… for multiple reasons. Actually, Taylor probably wouldn't care, but Amy did. Taylor was hers.
So, at the last moment, she made the exterior of the body aggressively generic. Bald head, androgynous build. She decided to leave out the reproductive system entirely, also for multiple reasons.
Similar to the Simurgh's victims, she left the necessary bits of the brain stem intact, but altered to serve slightly different functions. She didn't want her creation coming to life, and Alec didn't need most of the brain to do his thing.
It was ironic that all her failed experiments might actually be good for something. She doubted the dead cared.
"Hot damn," he whistled as she worked. "You haven't been up here making living Taylor-shaped body pillows, have you?"
Amy opened her eyes just long enough to glare at him. She had never even considered that, and now it was going to pop into her head at the worst times. Asshole.
"Shut up, or you don't get any puppets," she said.
"Yes, ma'am."
The brainless facsimile of a person came together quickly. If she weren't stuck in a quarantine zone, she could probably go into business growing organs for transplants.
And so, so many other things. It made her head spin just thinking about it.
Ironically, it was the act of breaking away from the heroes that gave her all the ideas of how to mass produce her healing… just in time for them to stop accepting it.
She couldn't quite bring herself to care.
Amy opened her eyes and bit her lip, looking down at the living corpse. An empty shell.
"Does that still feel human to your power?" She asked.
The body's arm twitched.
"Yup!" Alec chirped.
"Good," Amy said. "Tell me when it doesn't, anymore."
…
Amy didn't ask if she had permission to heal them. Instead, she just offered her hand, and waited to see if they would take it.
They all did. It was why they were here, after all.
Scattered throughout the refugee camp that was quickly becoming something more, Lisa and her mercenaries had set up white canvas pavilions to distribute blood vials and other kinds of first aid as needed.
Taylor's stockpile of blood vials had been… excessive, honestly, but no one was complaining. All those Nazis she killed finally got to be useful.
Amy glanced up at the crimson Hunter's Mark on the door of the tent.
She wasn't sure how to feel about it. The white and red color scheme was irritatingly similar to her previous identity, but it was also… different. Everything was different, now.
Besides, it wasn't like they could set up a black tent. It would get very warm, very quickly.
Her black robes and hood didn't quite agree with this weather as it was. Could Lisa order her a lightweight costume? Was that an option?
She almost laughed at the idea of a confused delivery driver trying to get into the quarantine zone.
Her current patients were the ones that blood vials couldn't fix. Even Taylor's concoctions didn't register cancer as something to be removed. The tumors were part of them, after all. Made of them. It could heal the resulting damage inflicted in some cases, but it couldn't undo the root cause.
Sometimes, all that was left was to wait for a miracle.
"Thank you, Vicar," said an old man with an impressive number of pancreatic tumors. "You are blessed by the Blood."
Amy blinked. That was a weird thing to say.
She had more patients, though, and never enough time. That hadn't changed since her Panacea days. There were always more people who could benefit from her magic touch, even if she was better at managing herself nowadays.
More thanks. More healing.
She should have chugged a blue elixir before coming here, but it was beneficial to be seen. It would help keep people in line, despite her claims at not being in charge.
Lisa stood at the entrance, but she didn't complain. She was just here to watch for unexpected threats. Amy was durable and far from helpless, but a well placed gunshot could still bring everything crashing down.
Dimitri was on a rooftop somewhere nearby. One way to identify potential snipers was to bring an even better sniper.
Another thank you. Happy tears from happy family members. The usual. Must be fucking nice.
Healing always put her in a shitty mood.
She moved on to the next makeshift cot, and…
"Holy shit, Dennis?" Amy said without thinking.
The redheaded Ward shot her a tired smile. Former Ward? What the hell was he doing here?
"Hey, Amy," he greeted her with a lazy wave. "Long time, no see."
"It's been like, two weeks," she said.
"Feels like longer."
It really did.
Amy ran an appraising eye over him.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you kinda look like shit," she said.
Dennis' normally upbeat demeanor had taken a beating, his freckled face scratched and dusty under dirty hair. Amy could tell that the weariness ran deeper than that, though. Tired bags under his eyes. Lines of worry carved into his skin.
"It was a bit of a rough trip here. Not all of us have giant nightmare steeds," Dennis grinned, and a bit of life returned to his eyes. "Good job, with all of this, by the way. I wasn't sure it was actually you. Crazy stuff."
"Yeah… crazy," Amy said absentmindedly.
It suddenly occurred to her why he was here, and she glanced at the older man next to her former… classmate? Colleague?
Dennis flinched slightly.
"Amy, meet my dad. Dad, well… you know the Vicar."
He didn't seem quite there, lying glassy eyed on the bed.
Dennis' dad bore all the trademark signs that Amy was far too familiar with. Bald, missing eyebrows and eyelashes, cheeks that were somehow swollen and sunken at the same time. Chapped lips and boney limbs.
She'd never known. Dennis hadn't said anything.
She didn't ask why he was here, in the quarantine zone. It was obvious that some people couldn't move fast enough to evacuate, and others wouldn't leave them behind.
"You could have asked sooner," Amy said quietly.
"Wouldn't have been fair," Dennis shrugged. He didn't elaborate.
It was weird, to have someone just… get it. Without having to explain.
If Dennis had asked sooner, Amy would have healed his father without complaint, but… it really wasn't fair. Wasn't fair that some got her magic touch while the rest died. Wasn't fair that he got to skip the line, because of who his son was. Because some random chance gave him powers, and left the normal people behind.
Life wasn't fair, and the existence of parahumans only made that reality all the more obvious.
Maybe Clockblocker was a better hero than she ever gave him credit for. That was… weird. She hadn't ever bothered thinking about the person under the snark. Maybe she should have.
Amy ran her fingers over the fragile bones and tendons of the dying man's hand, and put him back together again.
She even gave him eyebrows again, because why not. And eyelashes. Not having eyelashes had to suck.
His eyes grew sharp as the fog faded, and he stared up at her in awe.
"Thank you… Vicar," he said.
Despite how much she still hated it, Amy could admit that this felt better than it ever did at Brockton General. Like she was doing something that mattered, again.
"I'm sorry about Chris, and Carlos," Amy turned back to Dennis. "You were closer to them than I was."
She didn't tell him that Aegis' bloodless corpse was hanging in her Hospital. There hadn't been anything left of Kid Win, unfortunately.
"Fuck the Simurgh," Dennis said. It sounded like he meant it to be a joke, but it wasn't.
She'd almost forgotten that Mark and Aunt Sarah died, too. It was so easy for things to slip through the cracks, when everything was broken.
"Yeah."
Amy wasn't sure what else to say. It was weird, seeing a Ward here. A little piece of her old life, shoved haphazardly into the puzzle of her new world.
"You know where I live if you need anything," she said eventually.
She didn't want to just straight up invite him to join. Secret identities were still a thing, no matter how pointless it was now. Plus, that was Taylor's call.
"I might stop by at some point," Dennis offered another crooked grin, his eyes flicking back to his father. "We'll see how it goes."
Amy nodded. Being a hunter wasn't for everyone, and she didn't know if Dennis had the stomach for it. Or the inclination.
At least he had one less weight around his neck, now.
Amy turned and made her way to the next patient. There were always more broken people to fix.
Finally, though, she finished her current batch of miracles and returned to where Lisa waited.
"All set?" Lisa asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Amy was tempted to just grab a ride on an Amygdala, but she and Lisa had agreed that it was better for the people of the camp to see her out and about occasionally.
She already hated their PR department.
Still, it was kind of nice. Getting out of the Labyrinth for a bit. Feeling the warmth of the sun on her hood. Seeing the people around them bow respectfully as they passed, hands clasped in front of them.
Wait… what?
That was new.
"Um… Lisa…" Amy hissed quietly. "What are they doing? And why?"
"You'll see."
Irritating Thinker.
Had this been happening on her previous walks, and she just hadn't noticed?
It was impossible to ignore, now that she saw it. Like there was a bubble of reverence around her, forcing people to stop and turn, inclining their heads towards her.
She saw more than one of them with Hunter's Marks decorating their clothing, or even painted on their faces.
What the fuck?
There were a lot more people than usual here, standing and craning their necks. It was actually getting a bit claustrophobic.
Up ahead, in the middle of an intersection that had once been a road, an informal group stood on several rough stacks of wooden pallets. Behind them, a tall post bearing the Hunter's Mark rose above their heads, the mark itself painted blood red. At the front of the makeshift stage, standing before a makeshift podium, a dark-haired man in his late thirties addressed the crowd.
"...and it is known, that when the fallen angel descended, the First of the Hunt rose in righteous defiance to meet her, for this was her true prey. And, when all was lost and the city fell beneath their glorious conflict, it was She who chained the angel to her soul and ferried them both into the beyond," the man spoke to his captive audience.
"What did you do? What the hell, Lisa?" Amy whispered, trying her best to avoid drawing attention.
"I didn't do anything," Lisa snickered. "Okay, I helped a bit. But this was all Emma's doing. Don't you remember what you asked her to do?"
Fuck.
Amy suddenly recognized the red hair under one of the hoods on stage.
How had she missed this? Her Messengers weren't exactly listening in to everyone's conversations, but still! She should have known that things were going too smoothly for tens of thousands of people shoved into a broken, unfamiliar space.
Of course things were going smoothly. They were all busy starting a fucking cult.
"...even now, She works to subdue the violent remains of the angel," the speaker continued. "But do not despair, for her work is almost complete. Under the light of the full moon, she will return to us, victorious and transcendent. For She, the First Hunter, is not bound by the shackles of mortality, so necessary to contain the vices of lesser men. She is the bridge and lantern both, and it is she who will deliver us to Elysium."
There's no way people are actually buying this bullshit.
Except… they were. Amy wasn't the best at reading people, but she could see it in their faces. The crowd was enamored.
Fuckity fuck.
Taylor was either going to love this, or be pissed as hell. Amy honestly wasn't sure which.
"It is by Her blood that we are healed. It is by Her Works that we are protected. It is her Hunters, her Chosen, her Champions, her Vicar, blessed by Her blood, that care for us as she would, while She shepherds the fallen angel to the final providence. It is through them, that she…"
The zealot's eyes fell on her and Lisa, and Amy cursed internally.
"And so they have come! Be welcome, Vicar of the Hunt, and know that we are forever your humble servants, in Her name. We, too, anxiously await the moon's rise, so that your love may be returned to you."
Everyone turned as one, and suddenly Amy was looking over hundreds of bowed heads.
Oh, what the actual fuck.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
This was easily the most awkward thing that had ever happened to her. To anyone, ever.
What the fuck did she do now?
Be dramatic. Yes. They obviously loved that shit.
Less is more. The more she opened her mouth, the more likely she'd fuck it up and get fucking crucified by her own goodamn cult or something.
Lisa was doing a very good job of not laughing at her.
Amy walked slowly towards the platform, the crowd parting before her in reverence.
She allowed one of her hands to grow from the cracks in the pavement, lifting her so she was the same height as the preacher, cultist, whatever.
This is fucking ridiculous.
She spoke lowly, forcing as much calm into her voice as she could without whispering, so only he could hear her.
"What's your name?" Amy asked. She couldn't think of anything else.
"Michael."
"Michael," she repeated quietly. She couldn't help herself. This was absurd. "You know we're just people, right? Even Hunter?"
"They said nothing could be done, for my daughter," he replied in a normal and sane tone, unlike the booming drama from just seconds before. "That even Panacea couldn't save her. We were waiting, for her to die, that night."
Amy suddenly recognized him from her nighttime stroll through the hospital. The father of the little girl with black hair, with the tumor eating her brain.
Her chest felt strangely tight, and the corners of her eyes burned.
Why was this affecting her more than the others?
"That's just… just…" Amy trailed off.
Just her job. Just what she was. She didn't have a choice. She didn't deserve…
"Don't presume to tell me who to place my faith in, Vicar," the stranger… Michael… smiled at her.
Oh.
The burning got worse, and the world swam before her eyes.
She held out her hand.
"Take my hand then, Michael, if you would like to be blessed," Amy said, her voice hoarse with some unknown and unwelcome emotion.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The man clasped her offered hand in both of his, and Amy changed him.
Less dramatic than the mercenaries in some ways, more in others.
She hardened his bones, improved his muscles and perfected his organs. He may still potentially get sick in the future, but it would be a lot less likely. In this moment, he was in perfect health.
And, in delicate, deep, blood-red lines, she inscribed the Hunter's Mark on his forehead, although centered instead of over his right eye.
He opened his eyes, and the crowd cheered behind them.
One of the tendrils of the Heart that constantly stayed in contact with her skin snaked its way down her sleeve. As she let go of Michael's hands, a single, five-pointed flower with ivory white petals bloomed in her hand.
She hadn't meant to do that. What the hell?
Roll with it.
Amy released the flower from its fleshy stem and handed it to her unexpected… priest?
Whatever.
"For your daughter, Speaker," Amy said, letting the voice of the Labyrinth lend her tone unnatural weight.
His smile turned sad, although it didn't fade completely.
"The angel sang to her, unfortunately," Michael said. "I'm sure she would have loved it, though."
Amy felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She couldn't quite get enough air.
What was the fucking point?
"She may be gone, but hope isn't. Not yet. Not for them," he glanced at the crowd, as if Amy wasn't dying by inches right in front of him. "And not for me."
It was just… too much.
She handed him the flower anyway.
"For a memory, then," Amy whispered.
Why did this hurt so much?
It shouldn't. She didn't even know these people.
What the fuck.
"Thank you," he replied. "Now, if you don't mind, you're interrupting my sermon."
Amy snorted involuntarily. It sounded a bit like a drowning rat.
Very sacred behavior, there, Vicar.
She glanced down the row of cultists, all dressed in different mismatched garb but all bearing the Hunter's Mark proudly. Emma met her eyes and shot her a surreptitious thumbs-up.
Amy couldn't even begin to unpack the tangled mess of emotions knotted in her stomach, so she elected to ignore them.
The hand lowered her back to the pavement. A look at Lisa brought her over looking far too pleased with herself.
The crowd parted for her once more, and Vicar walked away.
…
Amy sat in her throne of flesh and bone and stared down at the monster trapped in her hand. The lantern lit the atrium with its strange white-purple light, casting tall, twisted shadows on the cracked walls.
The man had the audacity to grin at her. A stranger, and not one of their new cult, thank God.
Thank Her?
"Why? What was the fucking point?" Amy demanded angrily.
Three random, innocent people, dead before her Messengers and Amygdala caught up to him. Cut apart in their sleep by this random asshole with a knife.
He didn't answer her.
Most of the Hunt was still asleep, but Lisa must have gotten a report from one of the mercenaries or something. She always seemed to know.
Amy could feel her watching from the shadows below, silent for now.
"Fine," Amy growled. She wasn't happy about being woken up, and she wasn't happy about the dead bodies on her doorstep. She wasn't happy that despite having all their basic needs met, people still pulled bullshit like this. "I could use some test subjects for Affliction Group B, even though I'm sure you were an evil little shit even before the Simurgh came along."
"But you said-" the man started to protest, his smile slipping for the first time.
"What did you think I meant by monstrous? Did you think we'd limit ourselves to the Afflicted? Did you already forget why Hunter slaughtered the Empire and the ABB in the first place?" Amy griped. She knew it was pointless to complain, but she couldn't help herself.
"We're supposed to be better than them. That's the whole fucking point!"
She dragged the squirming man closer and reached out, pressing her index finger to his forehead while her other hands held him tightly in place. His brain lit up under her senses, a billion nerves firing every second. She could see it all.
"Tell me why, and I might be persuaded to let you live."
"They were… they hurt me, they deserved-"
Lies.
Her blood should have been boiling, but she just felt cold.
"If I had killed them while defending an innocent they were trying to murder, would it still be so wrong?"
"Try again. I'll know if you lie," Amy hissed.
"I had no choice, they… they have my… my-"
More lies.
She couldn't see any alterations to his brain, but that didn't mean they weren't there. The angel might have twisted him, but she wouldn't know without detailed knowledge of his brain prior to the interference. Maybe not even then. She couldn't be sure.
But, he could be a useful start to the process of finding out.
"Don't," Lisa called suddenly.
Amy glared down at her.
"Maybe you can tell me why, then?"
"Why he did it, or why you shouldn't drag him to your lab?" Lisa asked in return.
"Both."
"He wanted to, and thought he could get away with it. Sometimes, that's all there is to it," Lisa said with a shrug. "As for the experimentation… it's too far. We've all done fucked up stuff, but this… reducing conscious people to that, even monsters… the benefits don't outweigh the costs."
"You think he's a cost?" Amy sneered.
"The cost to you!" Lisa shot back. "Using people like things… justifying it by saying it's pragmatic. No matter how shitty they are… it damages you. I can see the cracks forming. You wouldn't have even considered it a week ago, and now it's your default response!"
That was… true. She had originally argued with Taylor about treating Alabaster like this, and he couldn't die. Their options were more limited. Plus, the Nazism.
Amy closed her eyes for a long moment, ignoring the man's struggling.
I miss Taylor. She would know what to do.
Finally, the anger faded from jagged ice to a low burn in the background of her mind, and Amy sighed.
"You're right. This time. Don't let it go to your head."
Lisa just smirked in response.
It might be less wasteful to use him for her experiments, but Lisa was right. It felt wrong. Sometimes, that was the only indication that mattered.
Amy turned back to her murderous guest.
"Congratulations. You won't be getting punished for your sins tonight," Amy said dryly.
He smiled again.
Amy met his eyes, in the dark.
The Heart beat beneath her, slow and steady.
"You also won't be allowed to commit any more."
Amy clenched her fist with a wet crunch.
Ruby rain showered the atrium floor.
Lisa threw up.
Amy went back to bed.
…
The cocoon of blankets didn't smell like Taylor anymore.
Amy watched the candlelight flicker in the lattice of delicate glass equipment with a distant stare.
It was almost time.
The full moon would rise tonight, and Taylor would come back to her.
She had to. Amy would find a way to kill her again if she didn't.
It was still early in the evening. The apprehension and dread couldn't be fully contained. She knew she should be excited, but there were too many other, darker feelings for the joy to bleed through.
All she could do was wait, and it was killing her.
A single strange, haunting note pierced the air, resonating and reverberating through the Workshop, the Labyrinth, and out over the broken city.
One of her hands erupted from the floor on its own accord, shielding her from the flying shards of glass as Taylor's beautiful lattice shattered in a hail of crystal thorns.
…
Taylor stood before her own grave, in the backyard of her childhood home, within her Hunter's Dream.
She looked up at the full moon that never waned.
"I know," she said with a small smile. "I'll be back, though, I promise."
Flora didn't want her to leave. Taylor could feel the wistful longing seeping into the fabric of the Dream.
It was time, though. She had languished for long enough.
A Hunter must hunt.
Taylor reached out with a single pale finger, bleached white by the moonlight, and touched the cold surface of her headstone.
The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass.
The world twisted, and the First Hunter was reborn anew, once again.
As if it were all,
just,
a,
Dream.
…