Modification 5.1
Taylor dropped Cricket's body on an unoccupied lab table and collapsed onto a stool with a relieved sigh.
Even with her enhanced strength and dexterity, traveling on foot was difficult when she only had one of them. Especially with her cargo.
Bitch had taken the dogs to her shelter and left Taylor where they first met outside the Hospital.
Taylor grabbed a water bottle and chugged half of it in one go.
She was back to having a lot of things to do. The rush of battle had helped to dampen the restlessness, but it introduced new complications along with it.
Taylor looked down at what remained of her leg critically.
Fashioning a temporary solution wouldn't be difficult, but it would be temporary. She needed to decide on a permanent solution, and she found herself… conflicted.
The two most obvious answers were to just ask Amy to regrow it or to kill herself right before the next full moon and be reborn anew.
Both of those options felt… unacceptable. It wasn't logical at all, but she didn't want to use her ability to cheat death for such a petty thing. It felt… irreverent. The moon sang to her, and offered her this second chance, this dream of hers… it would be wrong to abuse its sweet lullaby.
No, Taylor decided. When and if she died again, it would not be for her own meager convenience. It might be unavoidable eventually, either in battle or due to capture. She wouldn't necessarily run from death, or fear it like a mortal, but…
The Hunter's Mark was her last resort. She wouldn't use it when she had other options available to her. It felt different than risking death in combat, even as a result of dubious decisions like letting Cricket stab her or throwing herself against Hookwolf with no regard for her own safety.
Killing herself for the sole purpose of restoring her foot felt like… cheating. She liked her scars, her battle wounds. It was hard, visible evidence that she wasn't the same girl who ate lunch in the bathroom to avoid her tormentors. She would never be so weak, ever again. She had earned her scars.
Death would have to earn her, too.
In a similar vein, she didn't want to ask Amy to heal her unless she had no other option. In hindsight, she felt bad about essentially forcing Amy to heal her on the night of the exploding house.
"Can you imagine if every sick and dying person came knocking on my window?"
It wasn't fair to take advantage of Amy like that. Just because she knew her personally, or maybe especially because she did, it didn't give her the right to ask for healing. Taylor would stand on her own, literally and metaphorically. She didn't deserve Amy's respect if she used her as a crutch.
"Healing isn't enough. I can feel it, this urge, this poison, getting stronger every day."
Taylor wanted to be Amy's escape from her troubles, not the cause of them. She hated the deep, tortured sadness that sometimes flared in her friend's eyes. She may not be able to fix everything, but she would do what she could to take the load off.
So.
That left turning to her tinkering for a solution.
One of the concoctions that she whipped up with Amy yesterday might have done the trick, if she had thought of it sooner. A slower regenerative solution that actually rebuilt the tissue as it originally was, rather than rapidly filling in the gaps the way her standard vials did.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't work at this point. By using her regular blood vial to heal the wound, she had reset the template that the regeneration vial would use. Even if she cut off more of her leg and then used it, it would only regrow her leg to its current state.
Which only left her final option: prosthetics.
Now that had the potential to be very fun.
But, she couldn't build a badass prosthetic without being able to walk, and she also needed to process Cricket's corpse.
First things first, then. A temporary solution.
Taylor grabbed a length of two inch thick wooden dowel rod that she had been keeping for future weapon development.
Pirates also got to wear cool hats, right?
Maybe she would get one. Amy would probably get a kick out of it. Or threaten to kill her. Either one was fine.
Taylor hummed while she grabbed her saw and got to work.
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…
…
Taylor stood carefully and walked a couple laps of her workshop.
It would definitely be tough to fight like this, but it was manageable.
The basic wooden peg prosthetic wrapped around the end of her calf and included a metal cup that came up to just under her knee, leather straps holding the post straight and secure.
She wasn't going to be running any marathons, but it would allow her to navigate her workshop with some level of normalcy.
After stretching and getting some more water, Taylor glanced over at Cricket's hanging corpse.
Almost time for another injection. She could feel her powers buzzing happily in the back of her mind. More blueprints, more arcane knowledge, just out of reach in the fog.
Soon.
In the meantime, Taylor examined her pistol.
It was a classic weapon, and one that she had leveraged to great effect, but her power whispered that it could be improved.
She had the resources, and didn't have much else to do until Cricket's blood was done concentrating. She wanted to imbibe the next parahuman cocktail before deciding on a prosthetic. There may be new blueprints that worked better than her current roster.
Taylor sat down at her workbench and selected her tools.
Two barrels had to be better than one, right?
…
The next enhancement was finally ready.
Taylor could feel the moon's light fading as the sun rose.
She loaded the concentrated dose of parahuman essence into her injector. What new insight would it impart this time? What secrets would she unlock?
No time like the present to find out.
Taylor slammed the vial into her thigh and the visions overtook her once more.
As flesh is flayed and blood is sprayed, the beast within awakens.
She screamed as the bloodlust that had overtaken her during the slaughter returned and something deep within her awoke.
Her blood sang for more death and glorious violence as the sun rose, the soothing tranquility of the moon's silver light replaced by raging fire.
Give me more.
Taylor's screams reached a fever pitch and she stumbled away from her lab table, her missing leg throwing off her stride as she clutched at her face and keened.
Her hair fell around her face in a matted, sweaty curtain. Her fingernails carved burning furrows in her cheeks that drip, drip, dripped ruby tears.
She dragged herself into the ruined Hospital so she wouldn't break any of her delicate equipment.
And once she was free of her civilities, Taylor roared.
The primal, bestial sound tore at her vocal cords, thundered deep in her chest and inflicted her terrible hunger for violence on the world around her.
Dust fell from the ceiling. The crumbling concrete and drywall vibrated and groaned, shards coming free and crashing to the cracked tile around her.
Taylor fell to her hands and knees and panted for breath as the bloodlust surged, red encroaching on the edges of her vision. The broken floor pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
She clenched her fists and held herself as still as she could, vibrating and twitching as she fought off the unnatural urge to sink her teeth into living flesh.
Slowly, sanity returned.
Her heartbeat eventually receded from her ears and her breathing calmed.
That had been… more intense, than last time.
Am I going insane?
She knew that her attitude towards violence was abnormal. Murder affected other people differently than her. There was nothing inherently horrifying about it to her, only the ways that the consequences impacted her.
A Hunter must hunt.
That was the crux of the issue, wasn't it?
Taylor stood slowly and forced her thoughts away from the concerning bloodlust.
She could feel another addition within her mind, another instinctual ability that was an echo of Cricket's, a memory of a dream.
Taylor knew that she could call forth the bloodlust again, and scream with an unnatural ferocity and tenor that was heavy upon the world. Her voice would grate against the consciousness of her enemies like nails on a chalkboard. From a distance, her bestial roar would only disorient them, but from close-range it would throw them aside with the force of her rage.
Additionally, new knowledge danced behind her eyes, as she hoped it would.
More complex weapons. More intricate designs.
Deeper understanding of the eldritch and arcane powers she delved into.
As she made her way back to the lab, she reviewed a blueprint that offered exactly what she needed. A complex mechanism that was originally designed for a weapon, but could be adapted into a highly versatile prosthesis.
Perfect.
Taylor sat at the stool next to her forge and stretched out her damaged leg. Walking around on a peg for half the night left her stump aching and chafing under the temporary prosthetic. She injected herself with a normal blood vial, fixing the scratches on her face and the ache in her leg.
She would have a better replacement, soon.
What time is it?
Just after eight in the morning, according to her watch. Had she remembered to wind it?
Still time to do some work before she slept.
Taylor turned on the gas to her forge, and shadows danced on the walls of her workshop as she began her next project.
…
Amy gripped the railing of the hospital roof harder than was strictly necessary and grabbed another cigarette.
She was starting to run low. When had Taylor given her these? Thursday night?
Three days.
Was one pack a lot to smoke in three days? Probably not, right? Some people smoked a pack a day.
Still, she was going through more than she used to.
It was probably Hunter's fault, somehow.
Damn her.
Amy ground her teeth in frustration.
Thirty-six people. Taylor had given her a tour of her workshop, laughed with her about stupid hats, forgiven her for being a ticking time bomb and for trying to destroy her precious equipment.
And then she murdered thirty-six people with the sword Amy had said was cool.
Fuck.
What was she even doing?
Amy could almost hear Hunter saying that they were Nazis. That they didn't count.
Bullshit. No matter how awful the victims themselves were, they still became victims when their blood flowed. How many rivers and oceans of red would Hunter spill? Would she ever stop?
Did Amy want her to?
She still had the original blood vial in her bedroom. Still dipped her finger in the otherworldly ichor to calm the itch, the need to inflict monstrosities on the world.
Would she be half as drawn to Taylor, if she weren't the source of the soothing balm?
Amy honestly didn't know. She didn't know if it mattered. Taylor did what she wanted, and made no apologies.
"I'm not like you."
"You could be."
Amy gripped the railing tighter and closed her eyes. Crystalized onyx stared at her out of the dark.
She couldn't do that. Couldn't let herself fall to temptation and risk breaking everything. All it would take was one wrong step, one creation of hers that got away or became something monstrous, and the world would crumble underneath her. More so than it already was, anyway.
Taylor would forgive me, though.
Fuck.
Amy opened her eyes and stared up at the moon, silver and shining in the sky.
Almost full.
It called to her.
Why did she feel its soothing light singing in her bones?
More of Taylor's unnatural influence. Maybe she should check herself into Master/Stranger confinement. It was as good an explanation as any for why she couldn't bring herself to turn Hunter away.
But she already knew she wouldn't do that.
Where the hell is she?
Hunter had to come visit her tonight. She wasn't allowed to run off, kill a fuck-ton of people, and not let Amy give her a piece of her mind.
But it was almost time to leave the hospital for the evening, and there was no sign of her murderous friend.
Amy pulled out her phone and was halfway through typing an irritated tirade when she remembered that Taylor's phone didn't have texting capability. Or if it did, Taylor didn't know how to use it.
With a put-upon sigh, Amy dialed her number the old fashioned way.
…
Taylor wound the spring tightly around a dowel and then quenched it so that the metal would hold its shape.
The prosthetic's mechanisms were more complicated than her pistol or her hammerhead's locking joint, but it would be worth it.
She bobbed her head to the music while she worked.
Wait, music?
Since when did she have music in her lab?
Taylor looked around.
Oh, right. My phone.
She kind of forgot that she had it, most of the time. Had the mercenaries managed to find an opening to contact her?
She walked over to her nest and checked the tiny display.
Amy was calling!
She was probably mad about the murders.
Taylor answered the phone.
"Hey, Amy," she said, a smile sneaking onto her face unconsciously.
"Don't 'hey Amy' me, where the fuck are you?" Amy snapped.
Yup. Definitely mad about the murders.
"I'm in my workshop. Um… where are you?" Taylor didn't know what else to say.
"I'm at the hospital. Well, my hospital. You know what I mean. And you aren't here!" Amy said, volume slowly raising. "Why the fuck did I have to hear about you killing thirty-six people from my aunt? You didn't think to tell me that you were planning to go on a rampage?"
Oh. Taylor had kind of forgotten to tell Amy about that. Maybe she should have.
"I just-" she started before Amy cut her off.
"Do you know how fucked it is to have to sit in New Wave meetings and listen to them talk about how dangerous it is to fight you? About how they'll coordinate patrols and backup so that you don't kill my fucking family?"
"I won't kill your family," Taylor said quietly.
"Shut up. I'm not finished. And then, after I have to deal with all that bullshit, you don't even have the fucking decency to show up and let me yell at you in person? Fuck you, Taylor, why aren't you here?" Amy yelled.
"Hookwolf ate my foot," Taylor said.
"That's no excuse- wait, what?" Amy choked.
"I don't know how much information the PRT has, but I attacked an Empire dog-fighting ring. Hookwolf and Cricket were there, and I fought them. I killed Cricket, but Hookwolf got a hold of my foot in the process," Taylor summarized.
"Oh."
Amy's tone was strange. Taylor couldn't quite place it.
"And it turns out that my blood vials can't replace limbs. Well, not the fast acting ones, anyway. The slow regeneration sample I showed you might have worked, if I had had time to let it do its thing. But I didn't, because, well, giant metal Nazi monster," Taylor said.
"They didn't…" Amy swallowed before continuing. "They didn't mention that part. I don't think they know that Hookwolf was there. Or at least, the PRT didn't include that in the info they gave Aunt Sarah."
That made sense. Hookwolf would have left before the Protectorate arrived, and even if they guessed from the ruined concrete, they wouldn't know for sure.
"Well," Taylor was about to say 'we' before reconsidering. She didn't want to give away Bitch's secrets without her permission. "I saved all the dogs though! Got them to a shelter and everything."
Bitch said she ran a dog shelter. That counted. She seemed really good with the dogs, if not people.
"You… you fought Hookwolf. And saved a bunch of dogs," Amy said flatly. It didn't sound like a question.
Taylor hopped up and sat on the lab table that also served as her bed. Standing on the peg leg got uncomfortable after a while.
"Yeah. But I messed up. Accidentally got my foot too close, so I had to run before I got a chance to kill him. I don't think I could have beaten him on one leg.
There was a long moment of silence.
"Amy? You still there?"
"Yes. Shut up."
Taylor shut up.
Eventually, she heard Amy sigh.
"You're going to be the death of me," Amy grumbled.
Taylor certainly hoped not, but it was better than the yelling.
"That still doesn't explain why you aren't here, though," Amy said. At least she didn't sound angry anymore. Just tired. "I don't know if you have enough spare biomass, but I can probably figure out something to replace your foot."
"I don't want you to replace my foot."
That seemed to throw Amy for a loop.
"I… what? Why?" Amy floundered.
"Healing messes with you, right? You aren't a healing machine. Not for me, anyway. I can fix myself," Taylor said. "Save your healing for people who deserve it. I've earned my scars. You aren't allowed to take them from me."
Taylor laughed at the incoherent spluttering from the other end of the phone.
"Besides, I have a super cool replacement foot already in the works. It's going to be awesome," Taylor grinned.
"If you've chopped off Cricket's foot and sewn it onto your body like a fucking Frankenstein monster, I'm going to heal you whether you like it or not," Amy threatened.
"Naw, it's much better than that. It will probably take another day or two to finish, though," Taylor said.
"One day is… acceptable," Amy said. Taylor could hear the forgetting-to-frown smile in her voice. "I'm almost out of cigarettes, though, so you can't take any longer than that."
"I suppose that's agreeable," Taylor's smile widened.
"Good," Amy said.
"Okay."
It was quiet for a while. Even over the phone, the little dream bubble that always formed around her and Amy was present, like the rest of the world was drifting away.
She didn't want to hang up.
Maybe Amy didn't either, since she was still on the line.
"I should probably go. Vicky will be arriving to pick me up, soon," Amy said.
"Yeah. I need to keep working on my prosthesis if I'm going to be done by tomorrow night," Taylor said.
Neither of them hung up.
Taylor lost track of time, sitting on the edge of her nest and swinging her feet. Well, foot. And peg.
"I'm going to buy a pirate hat," Taylor said suddenly.
"What?"
"I had to make a temporary prosthetic to get around my lab and-"
"Oh my God, do you have a wooden peg leg right now?"
"Maybe," Taylor said.
Amy giggled. Taylor hadn't heard her laugh like that before, without the sarcastic edge to it.
It was nice.
"You're ridiculous," Amy finally wheezed.
"Ridiculously cool."
"Maybe. Just a bit. Don't let it go to your head," Amy said.
Taylor did let it go to her head. Just a bit.
Why couldn't she stop smiling?
The silence stretched again, but it felt… content, this time.
She really did need to get back to work.
"Goodnight, Amy," Taylor said.
"Goodnight, Taylor," Amy replied.
And finally, Taylor hung up.
…
A piercing howl echoed through the empty hallways of the Hospital.
Taylor looked up from her work and carefully set the complex mechanisms aside.
Bitch was back?
It wasn't all that late yet. Just after midnight.
Her footsteps bounced off the crumbling walls as she made her way to the front entrance. Every other step clicked with the sound of her peg hitting the shattered tile.
Taylor walked between the rusted cars and saw a tall woman who could easily be Bitch, but no mask or monster dogs. Next to her sat a large Rottweiler, still and watchful despite not being on a leash.
"Leg looks like shit," the woman said.
Yup. Definitely Bitch.
"I'm working on a better one," Taylor replied.
Bitch nodded absently, staring at her with a strange expression.
"Got someone who wants to meet you," Bitch said. "Teammate."
She didn't seem happy about it. Taylor narrowed her eyes.
"Why?" She asked.
Bitch shrugged.
"Talk. I dunno."
Unhelpful.
"Who?"
"Tattletale," Bitch said. The word twisted on her lips.
Taylor wracked her brain to remember Tattletale. She had mostly paid attention to Empire and ABB capes when looking for hunting targets.
"She knows that I'll kill her if she tries to fuck me over, right?" Taylor said.
Bitch's lips quirked up at the edges. Not a real smile, but closer than any other expression Taylor had seen so far.
"Yeah, she knows," Bitch said.
Good.
Taylor thought for a moment. She wanted to finish her prosthetic, and then see Amy tomorrow evening. Technically this evening.
There was also another… procedure… she wanted to try, tomorrow night. Her Hospital was still undefended. She needed to secure her workshop, especially since Bitch knew where it was. It wouldn't remain a secret forever.
But she could make it hard to find.
Taylor refocused on the problem at hand.
Should she meet with this Tattletale in costume, or in public?
There were pros and cons to both. Meeting on a dark rooftop in costume would preserve her anonymity, but Tattletale had no way to connect her face to the dead girl from Winslow, and Bitch had already seen her face.
It would make it easier to kill her if Taylor needed to, but it would also make it easier for Tattletale to set up a trap.
"Boardwalk. Tuesday morning, in front of Tipton's. 9:00 AM. No masks."
Taylor could stay up a little later than usual to put Tattletale on the back foot. She probably cared about her identity more than Taylor did. She wasn't dead, after all.
"She won't like that," Bitch grunted. She didn't seem mad about it, though.
"Don't care."
Bitch coughed out something that might have been a laugh. If she squinted.
"Do you have a phone?" Taylor asked after briefly debating with herself.
"Course," Bitch said, glaring at her. Taylor wasn't sure why that annoyed her, but she didn't ask.
"Do you want my number?" Taylor said.
Bitch stared at her for a long moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a basic flip phone.
Taylor almost laughed. It was the same kind she had.
Taylor put her number in the phone under Hunter.
"Don't give it to anyone else," she warned. It reminded her of Amy's threat on the hospital roof, and she suppressed a grin.
"Won't," Bitch said gruffly.
"Good."
They stared at each other for a few long seconds, under the moon.
"I owe you one, for getting me out of that mess last night," Taylor said. "You could have just left with the dogs. If you need me, call, and I'll be there."
Bitch nodded slowly.
Taylor needed to get back to work.
"See you around, Bitch."
She turned to head back into the Hospital.
"Rachel."
Taylor looked back at her in surprise.
"Name's Rachel," she said.
Taylor considered for a long moment.
"Taylor."
Rachel nodded again.
Taylor went inside, and Rachel left.
…