Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People never tell you the truth.

Not really.

Whenever Taylor would ask the doctors and nurses how she was doing, they’d get a tight-lipped smile on their face and tell her she was doing well.

They’d be lying.

They knew she knew it too, but they’d just keep that funny little distant stare and pretend that everything was fine. But it wasn’t. 

Taylor hurt. 

All the time. 

Her body ached. She barely ate. She drifted in and out of consciousness.

Cancer. Terminal cancer. A tumor the size of a tangerine pressing against the inside of her skull. No. She was not fine.

🟂

Dad couldn’t even look at her half the time. He barely met her eyes. Taylor pretended she didn’t mind. 

Occasionally, he’d wander out of the room into the hallway, far enough away he thought Taylor wouldn’t hear, but most of the time, he just sat there, squeezing her hand, trying not to look like he was about to fall apart.

The next day, she got worse.

The day after that, she was even sicker.

And the third day… she actually didn’t wake up at all.

🟂

The worst part about a terminal illness is that people get bored of waiting for you to die. It sucks. It hurts. But it’s true. Her first few weeks after getting diagnosed, people were nice to her. People were kind. She almost didn’t believe it, expecting it to be some kind of trick when a care package showed up at their door.

People asked her how she was. Old family friends popped by for a visit. Kurt and Lacey and Alexander had dinner with them a few nights a week. Everyone would laugh. Everyone would pretend nothing was wrong, that same tight-lipped smile the doctors wore. The same pity in her eyes.

But then she kept living.

She got worse, of course. People cared when she got worse. People showed up to the hospital when she had to be admitted. People gave her a wheelchair when she got bad enough she couldn’t walk more than a few steps at a time.

But then… she’d keep living.

And people would get bored.

It wasn’t their fault. Taylor knew that. That was just how people were. They adapt to things. You get used to the bad stuff. That’s how people living in the Bay could cope with brushing shoulders with Nazis. That’s how people could cope with capes, too.

It wasn’t their fault.

It still hurt.

People stopped coming, little by little. The winter saw Taylor getting daily visitors, people patiently carouseling through the chair at the foot of her bed, offering her words of advice, listening to her, talking with her. 

A few of them would tell her it’d all be okay. They’d be lying. Some of them would ask how Taylor was doing, and she’d lie right back.

She wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. None of this was even close to okay.

But people didn’t want to hear that.

The few times she told them how she was really feeling, the few times she’d shiver, and whisper that she was terrified, that she didn’t want to die…

They’d comfort her, of course. They’d comfort her, and hug her, and tell her it would all be okay, and they’d be lying, and both of them would know it. But what else could they say?

And then they’d leave.

And then they wouldn’t come back.

People came back more if she put on a brave face. They liked telling her how brave she was being. They liked when she was strong.

But she wasn’t strong, and she didn’t want to be strong.

She just didn’t want to die.

She just didn’t want to be left alone in that pure white hospital room.

🟂

She got worse.

She put on a brave face.

People stopped coming anyway.

🟂

Taylor slept most of the time. For her, just existing was a challenge. Just waking up and eating whatever pitiful bits of stew she could stomach was enough to knock her out for the rest of the day.

During the day, she’d blast audiobooks, loud enough that she could hear them even through the haze of the drugs they put her on.

Eventually, the doctors stopped telling her it would be fine. Eventually, the doctors stopped telling her anything.

That told her all she needed to know.

Sometimes, late at night, when the nurses weren’t around, she’d cry. She’d hold the scratchy sheets over her head and bawl her eyes out at how unfair it all was. She’d scream, as much as her feeble voice could scream anymore. Scream about the nurses. Scream about Dad. Scream about Emma, coming into her room with wide eyes, looking like a kicked puppy, expecting Taylor to forgive her.

It wasn’t fair.

She wrapped her atrophied arms around herself, hugging tight and rocking back and forth.

It wasn’t fair.

She thought about all the things she couldn’t do, trapped in her hospital bed.

It wasn’t fair.

The endless beeping of her heart monitor grated at her, every new sound a fresh spike of ice through her skull.

It wasn’t fair.

The headaches were bad. Worse than they’d ever been.

It wasn’t fair.

She’d never be married. She’d never drive a car. She’d never graduate college. Hell, she’d never graduate high school. She hugged herself, imagining the arms belonged to someone who cared. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Her body shrank away before her eyes, rotting while she was still alive.

It wasn’t fair.

The nurses kept that tiny smile on their face. They pitied her. Taylor hated them for it.

It wasn’t fair.

She screamed until her throat went raw, screamed until something started beeping and a nurse came running.

It wasn’t fair.

How much would she miss? How much had she already missed? How much life had she wasted?

It wasn’t fair.

A nurse tried to hold her down. Taylor was too weak to stop her. Her skin sank away, week by week, day by day, minute by minute, and it wasn’t fair.

She thrashed, as much as she could, her weak limbs scrabbling at the nurse’s face.

It wasn’t fair.

The IV pulled free, and a high pitch whine rattled in her teeth.

It wasn’t fair.

They put her on something. Something to calm her down. But it didn’t calm her down. She was still terrified. The only difference was, now she couldn’t thrash and scream. She stared blankly at the ceiling, letting the weight of lost time crush her into the bed.

It wasn’t fair.

Her vision blurred, and Taylor was so afraid it’d be the last thing she ever saw.

It wasn’t fair.

The nurses outside chattered about their plans later, so many tiny things that Taylor could never do. They talked about going bowling. Taylor couldn’t stand up. Couldn’t lift the ball.

They talked about going bowling.

They talked about how boring it’d be.

It wasn’t fair.

A thick sob choked its way past Taylor’s lips.

It wasn’t fair.

One of the nurses told her it would be okay. Taylor screamed at her to stop lying.

It wasn’t fair.

She pulled herself out of bed, tumbling to the floor.

It wasn’t fair.

The drugs left her reeling, barely conscious, drool dripping down her chin as she dragged herself across the too-clean tiles of the hospital floor.

It wasn’t fair.

She leaned against the wall, just below the window in her room. When did her room get a window?

Taylor hacked up something that wasn’t meant to be in her lungs and stared up at the night sky.

It wasn’t fair.

She didn’t want to go.

It wasn’t fair.

She had so much left to do.

It was fair.

Taylor fell to her side, heaving. The beeping was back. A nurse would come running soon. Would force her back into bed. She dragged her fingers across the too-clean tile, tracing the patterns she must have passed every day but never noticed– ver noticed– the grain patterns in the –never noticed –cheap wood cabinets struck a chord somewhere deep inside her. The air smelled different– noticed– the scent of lavender. Lavender and sickness. She gasped again– never noticed– and her lungs failed to fill. 

Her body sagged beneath itself– nevernoticed– the drugs made her feel everything stronger– nevernoticed– so much detail in the colors and shapes of the people and places and– so much detail– she’d never noticed– detail –she’d– never noticed –she dragged herself back up to the window– detail– staring up at the stars and wailing, something deep and low– nevernoticeddetail– and it hurts and she– detail–

The stars made her cry– detail– how many light years away did they– details– millions of years in the past, billions even– detail–she’d never noticed– how many of the stars were suns just like theirs, but long dead– detail– the light only just now reaching them after– detailshe’dnever noticed– An infinite time machine, a forever archive of the universe, playing out above her head– detail– every night– she never noticed– and she’d ignored it for most of her life– detail she’s didn’t want to go she didn’t want to go she didn’t want to go she didn’t want to–

🟂

The nurse shook her awake, asking her what happened, asking if she was okay.

Taylor stared at her blankly, her head swimming, details in the face of the plain looking woman inscribing themselves in her brain forever.

Archived.

Her voice was choppy. Strained by the sickness and screaming. She desperately needed a drink of water. But somehow, when she asked the nurse, “Am I going to be okay?” her voice was perfectly clear.

The nurse shook her head, and for the first time in so long, somebody told her the truth.

“No. You’re not going to be okay. You’re going to die. And it’s going to hurt. And I am so, so sorry.”

Taylor hugged her.

She cried.

Chapter Text

The nurse helped Taylor back into bed once she’d cried herself dry. She held her hand, squeezed it, and told her she’d stay close to the room in case Taylor needed something. Taylor nodded once and sniffled, before settling back into the puffy pillows.

Taylor didn’t sleep that night.

She stared into the open air, tracing the bits of spackle popcorning the ceiling with her eyes, and occasionally imagining she was an astronaut, soaring over the surface of the moon. She drank it all in, remembering every last detail as her head spun from drugs and panic and exhaustion.

She didn’t sleep the next night either.

Her dad visited her, sticking by her side and holding her hand, pretending he hadn’t been sobbing. Taylor wasted away, little by little. She saw it all. Committing it to memory. Filing away. Every tiny detail. Every last thought. Every last second of every minute of every hour of every day.

Her dad left at one point. Taylor counted the seconds until he got back. 921.

Taylor hadn’t realized anything had changed at first. The air smelled different, brighter somehow, and her body tingled whenever she moved. When she held her hands up to her face, she half expected to see them sparkling. But all that could be attributed to the drugs. The strange sensations and memory was most likely nothing more than a last gasp, clinging onto every last precious moment she had left, cherishing each and every second before she died.

Except she didn’t die.

Not yet, at least.

She kept on waiting for it, sitting patiently in her bed, hands folded in her lap 

She didn’t sleep the next day. Or the day after that. Taylor didn’t even notice at the time. Some part of her assumed she was just missing hours, or passing out without realizing it, or hallucinating as her brain was deprived of oxygen, or maybe that she was just high. One of the nurses noticed first.

Taylor sat in the darkness, staring at a clock on the wall, watching the minute hand spin round and round. She drank it all in. The smell of antiseptics and sickness, hastily covered up by something floral. The feel of the scratchy sheets between her fingers. The sight of her dad, curled up in the chair at the foot of her bed, snoring softly, eyes rimmed with red. The taste of copper in her mouth. The sound of the monitor’s constant beeping. The nausea. The shivers. The aches. The terror.

A nurse working the night shift came by to check on her a few times. She met Taylor’s eyes, pursed her lips, then left. At 1 am. At 2 am. At 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and when the sun started to rise and Taylor was still wide awake, staring into the distance, the nurse finally grabbed a doctor and whispered something in his ear.

None of it felt real.

Shock, maybe. That would explain it. That would explain why she felt so much like a ghost. Or maybe she had already died. Maybe she was just waiting for her body to catch up.

A doctor poked his head into her room 3 minutes and 11 seconds after 8 am. He smiled gently, brushing his shaggy blonde hair behind his ears. “Hi, Taylor,” he said. “How are you doing?”

Taylor didn’t answer.

The doctor worried his bottom lip and stared. The silence ballooned to fill the room.

“Nurse Bradley noticed you haven’t been sleeping?” He offered.

Taylor shrugged her bony shoulders. “Not tired.”

The doctor left not long after.

Taylor clutched the covers weakly, holding them to her chest and patiently waiting to die. Her dad never left her side. Taylor cried a few times. Her dad hugged her to his chest, never saying anything.

And then she kept living.

🟂

She didn’t feel any better. She didn’t stop feeling nauseous. Her hands didn’t stop shaking when she tried to eat the disgusting, sugar free jell-o they kept giving her. She still couldn’t swallow more than a few mouthfuls of the broth they offered her before feeling full. She still couldn’t get up from her bed, couldn’t walk two feet without collapsing.

She was still a bony husk. Emaciated, her skin stretched tight across her body.

At one point, the nurse from earlier came back into her room to change her bedpan. Taylor’s dad stepped out in order to spare Taylor’s dignity. As much as she still had any. The nurse got to work, never meeting her eye. Taylor watched her, head spinning, yet still painfully conscious.

“You went bowling a few days ago, didn’t you?” Taylor’s voice was perfectly clear, despite the rasp in her throat, despite how dry her mouth was.

“Yes. On tuesday.” The nurse answered immediately. She blinked once.

“That’s nice.” Taylor said softly, her voice suddenly hoarse and weak once more, before becoming perfectly clear once again when she asked the nurse “How was it?”

“The bowling was boring. I don’t really care much for it, but Susanna likes to do stuff like that, and I like to spend time with Susanna.” The nurse’s mouth moved on its own almost. She narrowed her eyes, like she was confused about why she was talking. “I got a couple gutterballs. The shoes they gave me were too tight, and I kept worrying I’d get some kind of foot fungus from them.” The nurse’s eyes widened. Barely perceptible. She stared at Taylor. Taylor stared back. “I got nachos. They tasted like shit.” Taylor nodded slowly. She could almost taste the cheap, artificial cheese. “Susanna ended up beating me. I didn’t mind too much. She seemed happy. That made me happy. I probably would’ve hated it if I’d gone on my own, but it wasn’t too bad with her.”

The nurses stepped backwards, dropping the bedpan to the floor, splattering urine across the tile. It smelled sweet. Taylor blinked at the nurse slowly. The nurse blinked back, before abruptly turning on her heel and rushing away.

Someone else came by to clean up the spill. The nurse whispered something to a doctor, who shook his head. She didn’t come back.

🟂

Taylor didn’t die that day. Or the next. Or the next. She spent most of her time laying back against the bed frame, blasting audiobooks at double speed.

Her dad stayed at her side the entire time.

Someone coughed, and Taylor opened her eyes to see her Uncle Randall, a man she hadn’t seen since she was a toddler, sat in the corner of the hospital room. Taylor hadn’t even noticed him arrive. She shot her dad a glance, and he leaned in to whisper that the supposed family member had taken time off work to fly in all the way from Phoenix. Uncle Randall was balding, and wore the same kind of glasses as her dad. He sat there for hours, arms crossed, watching the Brockton Bay Sharks play the Badgers on the tiny TV bolted into the wall.

He looked vaguely annoyed.

Taylor coughed up something that might’ve been blood if it was a bit more red, and her dad gripped her hand tightly, whispering that he loved her, that he’d always love her. Taylor leaned back in the bed, sinking deep into the pillows, finally ready for the pain to stop, for the nausea and the exhaustion and the panic to leave her.

Finally ready to die.

Her dad squeezed her hand.

Taylor took a deep breath, and that only triggered another coughing fit.

She laid there for almost ten minutes. Eventually, she opened her eyes. Her Uncle Randall was sitting on the edge of his seat, gripping the arm rests tightly. Her dad coughed awkwardly, then released her hand.

Taylor stared into space.

🟂

Uncle Randall left that night.

🟂

The next day, a doctor studied his clipboard, speaking to her dad like Taylor wasn’t even there.

“It’s not unusual for a patient’s body to rally before finally giving up,” he reassured him.

Her dad bit his tongue, and shot the doctor a sidelong glance before coming back to sit next to Taylor’s bed. Taylor rolled onto her side and folded her hand beneath her head.

“Hey, dad.” She rasped.

“Hey.” He whispered.

They sat in silence for a small while, and the only sound in the room was the gentle ticking of the clock.

Taylor took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Her dad shook his head. “I’m not even close to okay.” He hung his head, bits of oily hair hung in front of his face.

Taylor sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. “You haven’t showered in a while, have you?”

Her dad frowned. “No.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to leave your side. I wanted to be there when you died.” His eyes widened. He stared at her, like he was afraid of how she’d react.

Taylor just smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand. Her hand looked tiny in his. Shrunken.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

🟂

The doctors chattered to themselves, far enough away that Taylor could only catch every other word. Apparently, Taylor hadn’t slept in 11 days. Taylor hadn’t even noticed.

A couple of them eyed her warily as they put her in a chair and wheeled her through the hallways, then up a floor to the MRI machines.

Taylor was in a daze as they loaded her onto the platform, her vision twirling around and around as the machine roared to life around her. They pulled her out of the machine and set her back in the wheelchair, then ignored her, whispering to themselves like she wasn’t even there. Taylor watched with blurry eyes as the doctors studied the scans. Her tumor was still there, nestled snugly between her temporal lobe and motor cortex. They compared it to some scans from a little over a month ago. If Taylor understood their whispers right, the tumor wasn’t as big as it should’ve been. One of the doctor’s poked at the screen, fingering a new growth, further back in her brain.

Taylor assumed it was another tumor.

🟂

Taylor was trying to choke down another few spoonfuls of broth when a doctor came by to tell her she was a parahuman. Taylor didn’t care too much. The doctor stood there, shuffling in place, like he was expecting Taylor to be excited. Taylor stared at him blankly. He looked just like Uncle Randall.

🟂

Doctor’s ran more tests. Nurses spoke to her calmly. They took more scans. The days crept on and on and somehow, Taylor kept on living. Her dad held her hand the whole time. The doctors showed her a few of her scans. The hospital brought in a doctor who was trained in this sort of thing–a kind looking woman with hair the color of rust–to point out the Corona and the Gemma, to explain what it all meant. Taylor didn’t really care.

“And what about the tumor?” Taylor said softly, her voice crystal clear.

The doctor answered immediately. “Well, comparing the scan taken today to the one taken six days ago, we can see that the tumor isn’t as big as it should be. Actually, it’s exactly the same size as it was last week. My theory is that something stopped it from growing. If it’s related to your powers then–”

“So I still have cancer?” Taylor murmured. She blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy.

“Yes.” The doctor’s eyes bulged out of her face. “You still have cancer. The tumor is still affecting your motor functions, and is likely also affecting–”

“So I’m still going to die?” Taylor grabbed the sheets and pulled them to her chest.

“It’s too early to say. But most likely.” The doctor brought her fingers up to brush against her lips. They moved with a life of their own. “The tumor hasn’t shrunk at all. Best case scenario, you don’t get better, but you don’t get worse either.” She grabbed her throat, bending over and steadying herself against the bed frame.

“And what’s the worst case scenario?” Taylor’s hands shook slightly.

“Well, the absolute worst case scenario is always that you die suddenly and painfully.”

Taylor didn’t say anything else.

The doctor collapsed to the floor before pulling herself to her feet and scrambling out the door.

Her dad stared at Taylor in shock, gaping like a fish.

🟂

The hospital discharged her a week later, though not before heavily encouraging her to meet up with the PRT.

Someone handed her dad a business card, and her dad shook his hand. Taylor sank further in the wheelchair they’d given her, her curly hair hanging in front of her face. Her dad took a moment to hug her, then wheeled her out the front door of Brockton Bay General to where his beaten up Hyundai was waiting in the loop. He helped her out of the wheelchair and into the passenger seat, lifting her easily. 

He hadn’t been able to do that before she’d been admitted.

Taylor waited patiently in the front seat, nervously sucking blood from a sore in the corner of her mouth and watching a torn shopping bag flutter in the wind after getting caught on the top of a chain fence ringing the hospital grounds. Her dad rounded the car and folded up the wheelchair, before loading it into the back of the car, next to a coffin that was too big to fit without folding down the rear seats. Apparently, the place he’d bought the coffin from didn’t take returns and refused to hold onto it. He’d had to pick it up earlier that day to avoid being fined. It jutted into the space between their seats, hanging over their shoulders the entire ride home.

Neither of them mentioned it.

🟂

Taylor sat in their kitchen, idly rolling her wheelchair back and forth, still not quite able to believe anything that was happening. Whenever she sat and thought for longer than a moment, her mind started to wander, memories upon memories dredging themselves up from the depths, perfectly preserved. Her dad tried not to look too hopeful, but honestly, he looked like he didn’t know what to think.

Taylor asked for soup.

She didn’t even eat a half of it.

She was so tired, all the time. Just existing was a pain. Opening her eyes and seeing the world took all her strength, knocking her out for hours.

She was so tired.

Her dad barely even spoke to her, like he didn’t know what to say. Or like he didn’t know how to say it. Taylor blasted audio books at four times speed. Her dad watched. He carried her up the stairs to her bed at nighttime, then back down the stairs in the morning.

Taylor held onto him, shivering.

“Dad…” She croaked. She felt so small. She couldn’t weigh more than 90 pounds. How else could he lift her so easily?

“Yeah, Taylor?” He whispered.

“I love you.” It hurt to speak. Taylor did it anyway.

Her dad nodded slowly, then bumped open the door to her room with his hip and hefted her onto the bed. He tried to say something, but his voice caught, and he ended up staying silent. He turned to leave after making sure Taylor was comfortable, telling her to use the clicker he’d gotten her if she needed anything. Taylor curled into the blankets and reached out to grab his hand. Just holding his pinky took all her strength.

He paused and turned to stare at her. His eyes were watery.

“Dad…?” She rasped.

“Yes? What do you need?”

Taylor took a moment, staring into his eyes. He looked tired.

“What can I do for you?” He asked again.

“Dad…” Taylor swallowed the lump in her throat. “You love me, don’t you?”

Her dad stared at her for a few moments, then opened his mouth, lips moving on their own.

He spoke for 2 hours, 30 minutes, and 17 seconds.

Taylor never let go of his pinky.

Chapter Text

The PRT Building was depressing, a monolithic grey building in the middle of downtown. A short, squat collection of concrete and exposed metal crouched low between glassy skyscrapers.  From the outside, it looked more like a prison than anything else. From the inside, it looked even worse.

Fluorescent lighting glared at Taylor as they wheeled her through the never-ending tangle of hallways. She kept a mental map of the building, noting with dull amusement that the building might’ve been designed to be a maze intentionally. Most of the hallways were indistinguishable, and a good number of them took routes that looped back in on themselves, winding in and over themselves until she was sure her head would be left spinning if she didn’t have her power.

Her power.

Taylor scowled, and sank lower into the chair, dipping her head until her dark, curly hair curtained her face.

Most kids dreamed of getting superpowers. Hell, she’d certainly wished for it enough times. Once she’d gotten diagnosed, she stopped dreaming about being able to fly, and started hoping for something that would keep her from dying, something that would stop her body from wasting away. And then…

And then.

Taylor sniffed. What a joke.

“You okay?” Her Dad leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Fine.” Taylor grit her teeth. Even that tiny bit of exertion left her head spinning. “How much longer?” 

“Until they tell us we can go.” Her dad stumbled slightly as his lips moved of their own accord.

Taylor’s head hung lower. “Sorry…” She mumbled.

“It’s fine.”

The officer leading them held out his arm, ushering them into a garish office space. The collection of kitty cat knick-knacks was almost as bad as the plain white of the rest of the building. A plump woman with an unfortunate bowl cut was sat behind a desk in the center of the room, grinning wide.

“Hello, there, Confidante!” She chirped. “How did power-testing go?”

Taylor had to stop herself from asking whether she already knew the answer to that question. She had to stop herself from asking a lot of things. The reflection in the framed picture of a Calico behind the woman’s desk showed off the files she was flipping through clearly. The ID number at the top, ‘A10239-M/S-Th-4’, was the exact same as the ones on the files the power testing techs were using. In fact, one of the files the woman was looking at was taken directly from the testing area it seemed. Taylor recognized the coffee ring in the bottom right corner.

Taylor startled when she realized the woman was still waiting for an answer. She looked away, palmed at the domino mask loosely pressed to her face. “It was fine.” Taylor muttered.

“It was a lot on her.” Her dad cut in. “She doesn’t have a lot of energy these days and–”

“Yes, yes, we’re very aware of Confidante’s condition.” The woman waved him away, focusing entirely on the files in front of her.

Her dad snapped his mouth shut with an audible ‘click’.

“If they knew about my ‘condition’–” Taylor forced as much disdain into the word as she could manage. “–then why didn’t they bother to take me somewhere that had ramps?” Her voice was clear and crisp, echoing through the tiny office, as far away from the soft mumbling her voice normally was nowadays as possible. It was a question that had grated at Taylor the entire time. Her dad had had to carry her up and down the stairs to the testing platform at least three separate times. It was humiliating. 

Par for the course, really. 

The woman at the desk pursed her lips. They bulged outward, like something was forcing them open from the inside, until finally, the torrent of words flowed forth.

“The PRT hadn’t put much thought into accommodations for personnel with disabilities during the construction of this building. Most government agencies don’t. And the availability of parahuman healing in Brockton Bay these past few years meant it became even less of a priority. The ones who arranged the testing area were also told that you are capable of walking.” The woman wavered as she finished talking. She tried to force a smile back across her face.

It didn’t take.

Taylor frowned. “I can walk…” She sniffed. “Just not for–”

“Yes. We here at the PRT are well aware of your condition, Confidante.” The woman’s plastic smile returned in full force.

Taylor gave her a dead stare. “You said that already.”

The woman’s smile wavered.

Taylor shrank lower into her chair, her fragile body draping over the side. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem!” The woman said cheerily. “And don’t worry about the use of your power. The lab techs told me all about your difficulties in that area as well.”

The tips of Taylor’s ears burned. It had been a struggle to get used to. She couldn’t control when her power activated, meaning even the most basic questions were answered perfectly. She cringed every time she thought about when she innocently asked if she could have a glass of water, and every single Labtech there immediately started telling her that, yes, water is freely available, and they’d be happy to give her some.

The workers hadn’t minded too much. They immediately got to work, jotting down notes about the number of people her questions could affect, theories about why her dad hadn’t answered along with the rest of the lab techs, presumably because the question wasn’t directly toward him.

The woman continued on, oblivious to Taylor’s embarrassment. Or maybe she was just ignoring it. Taylor didn’t feel like asking. The woman muttered to herself, looking up halfway through to introduce herself as ‘Miss Davenport’, before returning to the files.

“A Master ability… compelled speech… eidetic memory… some kind of limited biological stasis…” She snapped the file shut, and leaned over the table, steepling her sausage fingers. “So! The techs tell me you get flashes of sensation when someone answers your questions?”

Taylor blinked, then nodded.

The woman sat totally still, wordlessly compelling Taylor to continue.

Taylor rolled her eyes. “I… can feel what someone was feeling… sort of…?”

“Yes?” Miss Davenport hummed.

“Like… if they were scared. Or excited. Sometimes tastes or smells. I…” Taylor coughed slightly, then sank further into her chair, exhausted. “I don’t know.”

“Mmhmm.” Miss Davenport said distantly. She chattered on and on. Taylor did her best to ignore her, sinking more and more into the uncomfortable wheelchair.

She could barely even bring herself to get excited when the woman mentioned the wards.

“What’s even the point?” Taylor said distantly.

Her dad and Miss Davenport answered immediately. “The point is to have–” “-important to help young parahumans learn to–” “-be safe while you’re–” “-others your own age to be–” “-and others who are going through what–” “-want to be a hero? Don’t you want to help–?” “-safer for everyone involved, really.”

Both of them went quiet at the exact same time. They stared at her and Taylor wanted to cry. She didn’t, though. 

Maybe she was dehydrated.

The lab techs never did get her that glass of water.

🟂

Taylor’s dad leaned over to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly as they drove away. A secret exit let them out into a parking garage two blocks away, supposedly to help conceal her identity. As if people wouldn’t be able to put together that the emaciated girl in a wheelchair and the potential ward in a wheelchair were one and the same.

The meeting hadn’t gone well.

Miss Davenport showed her first drafts of a potential costume, green and white robes, as loose as possible to hide how sickly Taylor looked. To hide the way her skin stretched across her bones. Taylor knew that’s why it’d been designed that way.

She’d asked.

Things had only gotten worse from there. When she asked if she’d be able to meet Armsmaster again, asked if she thought he’d remember her from her Make-a-Wish visit, Miss Davenport had immediately said that ‘No, unfortunately, due to the security risk your power presents, it is likely that any meetings with members of the Protectorate or PRT in possession of sensitive knowledge will be highly controlled, if they happen at all. And I doubt Armsmaster remembers your visit anyway.’

The woman at least had the decency to look embarrassed when she said that last part. Steadily, the wards began to look less and less appealing.

Taylor’s mood soured more and more as the meeting crept onward, every single muttered half thought answered plainly and honestly. Every single embarrassment broadcast without a care in the world.

The woman presented her a first draft of her costume, mumbled something about ‘action figures’, and Taylor snorted.

“Who’d want an action figure in a wheelchair?”

“Lots of people.” Miss Davenport answered without missing a beat. “Disabled heroes rate very highly with certain crowds. Inclusivity is a good look.”

When Miss Davenport slowly grew more jittery, Taylor idly asked if she was okay, only for the woman to tell her that ‘No, I’m not okay. I’m very stressed, and I don’t particularly like you. Your power makes me very uncomfortable.’

Taylor had stared at her for a moment, before cutting her eyes and mumbling to herself. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“No. Frankly, I’m very unqualified for this position. They stuck you with me because I don’t know anything particularly useful or important.”

Taylor hadn’t thought the meeting could go any worse after that.

She’d been wrong.

She sunk into the passenger seat of her dad’s car, leaning against the window, watching the sun slowly roll across the sky. The coffin was still in the backseat. No good place to move it, apparently. The cross on the top of the lid seemed to follow her, perfectly positioned for Taylor to see it no matter where she looked. In the reflection of the rear-view mirror. In the reflection of the windows. She even saw it when her dad turned to look at her, hiding within his glasses. Taylor hadn’t asked her dad why he’d kept it instead of throwing it away. Some things were better left unsaid.

She sighed again, and her dad held her hand, rubbing the back of her palm with his thumb.

“You don’t have to join, you know.” He said, as if that was what was bothering her. Taylor didn’t correct him.

“But you’d like me to.” She sniffed. It wasn’t a question. Her dad answered anyway.

“Yes. I would.” He nodded. “But it’s your life. I’ll support whatever you choose to do with it.”

Taylor pursed her lips. “You’re still wearing your mask, you know.” She mumbled.

Her dad startled, then hurriedly ripped off the domino mask the PRT agents had given him.

“Right.”

Taylor laughed softly, smiling for the first time in a long while. Her laughter trailed off, leaving her exhausted. “Thanks.” She whispered. Taylor squeezed his hand, as much as she could with her meager strength. 

Her dad just squeezed her hand back.

🟂

The days after her meeting with the PRT passed slowly. The gentle creeping of hours shifted and swayed, sometimes moving slowly, sometimes standing still. Somehow, they even seemed to move backwards at times.

How many hours had she spent staring at the ceiling, curled up on the couch, waiting for the hours to pass.

She couldn’t even sleep anymore to pass the time.

She couldn’t even take a shower by herself anymore. That might’ve been the most humiliating part.

It was painful.

Not just literally, though the pain never really went away. No. It was painful, just living. Trapped in a useless body that couldn’t take more than four steps at a time before collapsing. Her dad had patted her on the back and beamed when she managed those four steps. ‘You used to only be able to do three.’ He’d said. ‘You’re getting better.’

Taylor curled further in on herself.

At least her relationship with her dad was better. She’d always known that he loved her. Of course she did. But it was different to hear him say it. It was different to hear him say all the ways he was proud of her. All the ways Taylor reminded him of mom. And once he’d told her how he felt that first time–once Taylor had made him, she frowned–it got easier for him to tell her on his own.

Small mercies.

When she got bored, she browsed PHO or listened to audiobooks. And when she got bored of that, she set herself to fixing things. Taylor mumbled to herself as she unscrewed the light-fixture in the kitchen. The kitchen lights had been flickering for almost a year by now, and calling an electrician was an expense they couldn’t afford. Especially not with the hospital bills.

Especially not with the cost of installing a ramp on the front porch. The PRT had offered to pay for her required accommodations, assuming she joined the wards, of course. And yet…

And yet.

Whatever. So, an electrician was a hundred bucks, minimum. Taylor could work her way through three manuals on electrical engineering in a little under an hour, figure out how to fix it herself. It was a better use of her time than browsing PHO at least. She shoved the screwdriver between her teeth as she carefully pulled the switch body off the wall, diagrams flashing through her mind.

There’s something her power was good for. Home repairs. It took her barely 15 minutes to find what was wrong and fix it. She wheeled her chair backwards and marveled at her work. Flipping the light switch off and on again and again.

Her dad came downstairs a few minutes later, yawning. He blinked when he saw Taylor in the kitchen. Taylor grinned wide.

She flicked the switch a few more times to demonstrate, and her dad grinned to match her. “You fixed it?”

Taylor nodded, and her dad ruffled her hair as he went to make breakfast.

Taylor sat in silence while he cooked, then sat in silence while they ate, blasting two audiobooks at the same time, one in either ear. Some Japanese author her mom had liked. She’d been sad when he died in the sinking of Kyushu.

Taylor could see why.

Taylor barely ate three bites of her tasteless oatmeal before she was full, contenting herself to staring out their kitchen window.

She froze in place as realization hit her. She slowly pulled her ears buds out and reached across the table to weakly tug at her dad’s sleeve.

“Dad.” She whispered.

He gave her a look Taylor couldn’t quite decipher. She didn’t meet his eye for long before going back to staring out the window. Staring at the exterminator van parked across the street, an all-black vehicle with a giant novelty cockroach on the roof. The words Critter Commando were stenciled to the side in big, yellow block lettering, then below it, a slogan. ‘The Bug stops here!’

Her dad leaned over to see what she was looking at. “What?” He said. “The exterminator?” He leaned back and took another sip of her coffee, before frowning again upon seeing the look on Taylor’s face. “Taylor, honey. What’s wrong?”

Taylor drummed the table anxiously. She wasn’t quite sure what exactly was wrong. She stared at the van for a long while, sorting through her memory to place what about it wasn’t adding up. The windows were blacked out. That wasn’t normal for a van like that, was it?

That was the first day it had been there. Nothing too unusual.

Yes, the exterminator van had only arrived that day, but before that, there was another van, further down the street. Plumbers. They had blacked out windows too. There was a different van the day before too, in a different place, and the day before, and the day before.

All with blacked out windows.

It wasn’t too noticeable. Different vans. Different places. Would she have noticed without her power letting her remember the tiny details? Probably not.

Something cold settled in her chest as she worked out when the vans had arrived. The first one… it would’ve been… Thursday.

The day after her meeting with the PRT.

Chapter Text

By all accounts it was a beautiful day. One of the first really warm days of summer. Morning light filtered through the kitchen window, casting everything in warm autumn tones. Taylor was pretty sure photographers called this time of the ‘Golden Hour.’

She could see why.

It was beautiful outside too. Their untamed grass glistened with dew. A few wildflowers poked from the garden mom had insisted they put in by the mailbox years ago, and then never used. And right behind it, just across the street… the van.

Taylor wheeled herself away from the window, heart hammering in her chest, hands shaking. Her dad was there a moment later, laying a firm hand against her shoulder as she slumped down into the chair.

“Taylor! Taylor, hon, what’s wrong?” His voice was only just edging into frantic.

Taylor wheeled herself away, further from the window, hiding herself from the view of whoever might be in the van. She grabbed her dad’s arm, skeletal hand shaking as she tugged at the sleeve of his button down.

“Dad, it’s fine, just–” She swallowed thickly. “Calm down.” She wheeled her way out of the kitchen, watching the windows warily. Her dad followed; eyebrows raised. Taylor rolled through the foyer, stopping for a moment to grab an umbrella from the bucket near the door and lay it across her lap. She held the pointed end of the umbrella and used the hooked handle to pull the blinds in the living room closed without ever stepping into view.

“Taylor, will you please tell me what you’re–”

“Do you see the van?” Taylor said clearly.

“No, I can’t currently see the van.” Her dad answered automatically. He wavered a bit once his mouth was back under his control, like he was recovering from a bad bout of vertigo. 

“Sorry.” Taylor said automatically.

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, then frowned. “What van?”

Taylor flipped the umbrella over and tapped the front door, just below the peephole. Her dad stepped forward to peer through. “The van across the street, maybe two houses down. Exterminator.”

Her dad hummed for a moment, and Taylor worried at her lip, until eventually he turned back to her and said. “It… seems like a normal van?”

Taylor frowned. “Do normal vans have blacked out windows?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Dad recovered faster this time. “Were the windows blacked out?” He checked again.

“Dad, I think there’s someone watching us!” Taylor practically shouted. Her dad jumped. Anxiety gnawed at her. Somebody watching them. Somebody watching her. And she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t do anything stuck in this godforsaken chair.

Her dad froze, then slowly brought his hand up to cover his mouth. His jaw worked silently as he stood in front of the door. His wide eyes got wider, magnified further by the strength of his prescription. After a moment, he pulled his hand from his mouth and dragged it up his face, like he was trying to smooth out the wrinkles furrowing his brow. He ran his fingers through his frizzy hair. Fidgeting.

“You think there’s someone watching us?” He said softly.

Taylor bit her lip and nodded.

“Because…? The windows are blacked out?” Her dad said hesitantly.

“I-it’s not just that!” Taylor insisted. She held her stomach, her slight frame folding in on itself. Panic flared in her at the thought that he wouldn’t believe her. She could explain the different vans. The blacked-out windows. The time frame. But really, it was all just a hunch, in the end. Taylor had thought the teachers would believe her when the bullying first started too, back before she’d had to drop out.

She’d thought–

She hadn’t–

Her dad put a hand on her shoulder a moment later, squeezing gently. “Alright.” He said softly. “What do you want to do?”

🟂

Taylor worked through her mental list, checking off suspects and culprits like an old noir detective. Her dad walked through the house as he got ready for work, shooting ideas back and forth.

“It could just be the PRT.” He offered, straightening his tie in the mirror hanging on the foyer wall.

Taylor bit her thumb, leaning against the armrest of her chair. “You really think the PRT would spy on someone?” Her voice echoed through the house. The mirror rattled.

“I absolutely believe a government agency would spy on someone.” He blinked, then added of his own volition, “But it might just be them keeping an eye on you, being a prospective ward.”

“You really think the–” Taylor cut herself, sighing softly. Her dad leaned forward, then relaxed, like a pressure was lifted. “You think the PRT would spy on me… to protect me.” She said it matter-of-factly. A statement. Not a question.

Her dad chose his words very carefully. “I… think it’s a possibility.” He moved into the living room to grab some files and shoved them into the brown backpack he called his ‘shoulder-mounted suitcase’.

“Wouldn’t a PRT van do a better job of protecting me instead of a random exterminator van? Y'know, like a deterrent?”

“Yes.” Her dad nodded. “Wouldn’t it also broadcast that there was someone they were protecting nearby?” He gave her a look and raised an eyebrow.

Taylor blushed. She hadn’t thought of that. “Okay.” She bent over, resting her elbows on her knees and threading her fingers together. “So… best case scenario, it’s the PRT spying on me, and I’m not in any danger.”

Her dad nodded.

“Worst case scenario is… what?” She hummed to herself.

Her dad answered immediately. “Worst case scenario, Jack Slash and the Siberian are waiting in that van to turn you into a rug for some reason.”

Taylor stared at him.

He stared back, then shrugged.

“Okay… a realistic worst-case scenario is…”

“One of the gangs.” Her dad nodded.

Taylor nodded and chewed at her knuckle. The bone deep ache that was her life got stronger. Her dad flitted throughout the house, gathering all the things they’d need. Taylor leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, mulling things over.

“We could still call the PRT.” Her dad offered from across the room. “They’re…” He paused. “They could help.”

Taylor fidgeted in her seat. “Maybe… but… What if it’s nothing, and I end up alerting them for no reason?”

Her dad turned to her. “What’s the harm? They already don’t like you.” He slapped a hand over his mouth, looking flustered.

Taylor hung her head. “Then…” She picked at the sweatpants hanging off her body. “There might be… I don’t know. There might be spies in the PRT! And-and that’s how the gang found out about me! I mean, they showed up right after my meeting with them.” Taylor pointed a narrow finger at her dad, then dropped her hand back into her lap a moment later. Just that one outburst took almost everything out of her.

She shivered. She was always cold nowadays, no matter how many blankets she wore.

God she was pathetic…

Her dad wandered behind her and pushed the chair over toward the pilly couch in the living room, before sitting down next to her. He held both of her tiny hands in his. His fingertips were callused and rough, even though he didn’t really do nearly as much hard labor as the rest of the dockworkers. He sighed and squeezed her hands tighter. “Even if the PRT does have… I don’t know the term. Moles–?”

Taylor shrugged.

“That doesn’t mean they can’t help.” 

“But… what if whatever group is …?” Taylor cleared her throat. “Whoever is watching us might hear about it, and then they might do something. They might…” Taylor stared up at her dad’s deep brown eyes, pleading for him to get it.

He sighed again, heavier this time. 

“Why would they want to spy on the crippled girl with the terrible power, anyway?” Taylor mumbled to herself.

“Probably to kill you.” Her dad answered immediately. 

Taylor shot him a glare, but the fire in her eyes soon died as she hung her head. “That’s dumb. They could just wait a few months.”

Her dad frowned. “The doctors said it might be a couple years. Or maybe–”

“Wow. 2 whole years.” Taylor huffed.

Her dad didn’t say anything after that. They sat in silence for a few moments, before he drew her into a hug. He patted her back as he pulled away.

God she was tired…

He hid his face in his hands. “Sorry. Just… if they found out because they have spies in the PRT, they’d probably want to kill you to keep those spies secret. Make sure you don’t join the wards?”

Taylor folded her hands in her lap again. “Not joining the wards.” She mumbled.

Her dad pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.

Taylor sighed, her shoulders sagging. “It wouldn’t be the Teeth.” She said idly.

“I doubt they have a suite of vans for spying, yes.” Her dad nodded. “So one of the empire groups?”

“And if they want to kill me to keep their spies secret, it’s probably not The Chosen either. I doubt she has spies.”

“So…?”

Taylor wheeled her chair backwards to peek out the window, leering at the van, still parked in the exact same spot.

“So… The Pure.” She nodded.

Her dad worked his jaw, mulling something over. “We still need to contact the PRT.” Taylor opened her mouth to argue, and her dad held up a hand to silence her. “Not here. ” He said. “Somewhere safer.”

He sat for a moment, wetting his lips.

Taylor stared at her, thinking for a short moment, before her eyes lit up. “You could take me to work with you.” She said softly.

He hummed softly, considering the idea. “You don’t think whatever gang it is would attack there?”

“I think it’d at least be safer than here.”

Her dad nodded and rubbed his chin. “Clever.”

“Nah. You’re the clever one.” Taylor said, the barest hint of a smile creeping back across her face.

“Both of us can be clever.” Her dad countered.

“That’s weird. I thought it always skipped a generation.”

Her dad gave a heavy sigh.

🟂

“Alright… she’s coming…” Taylor mumbled.

Her dad tapped his foot impatiently.

“I can see her. She’s… oh, go, now!”

Taylor’s dad opened the door and pushed her out onto the porch, stopping for a moment to wave to their next-door neighbor. Both of them reasoned it was safer to leave when there were other people outside. Neither of them looked at the van.

The kindly old woman smiled at her dad, and asked how things were going. He lied to her, said things were getting better as he struggled to get Taylor down the stairs. Taylor tried very hard to keep herself from glancing at the van squatting across the road. She made what little glances she did take as natural as possible, brief flashes while she was turning her head to look at something else.

A shadow inside moved.

Taylor and her dad forced their expressions into happy smiles as he loaded her into the passenger seat. The kindly old woman from next door wandered over to speak with them. She’d gotten a lot chattier after Taylor was diagnosed. Taylor probably shouldn’t hold that against her as much as she did.

The old woman leaned and rested on her knees. Her wiry gray hair looked a bit like plant roots after you just pulled them from the soil. “And where are you going today?” She grinned.

Taylor forced herself to smile back at her. She was used to it. Used to people speaking to her like she was a child. It was either that, or they acted like she was suddenly wise beyond her years, like her getting diagnosed meant she suddenly had access to some kind of hidden knowledge, meant she suddenly saw something other people didn’t see.

Who knows. Maybe they were right. It would explain why she seemed to be the only one who could see how full of shit they all were.

Her dad stepped between them before Taylor said something she’d regret.

“I’m taking her to work with me. It’s good for her to get out of the house.” He shrugged.

The old woman cupped her dad’s cheek. “Well, aren’t you a dear?”

“I try.” He grabbed the back of his head and laughed uneasily.

Taylor did her best to tune the woman out as her dad folded the chair up and placed it in the back of the car. It got harder when the old woman saw the coffin in the back. When she just had to make a comment about how tragic it all was. She came back to the passenger side of the car and reached out to hold Taylor’s hand. The old woman’s fingers were almost as skeletal as Taylor’s.

“You poor thing…” She whispered, pity flooding her eyes. “You must be so scared. ”

Taylor grit her teeth and squeezed the woman’s hand as hard as she could, which wasn’t very hard, all things considered. She probably thought she was trying to reassure her. Her ears burned at the gall of the woman, and the words left her mouth before she even realized what was happening.

“Do you even know my name?”

The woman answered immediately, that same plastic smile on her face. “Of course, not, darling!” The plastic smile shattered. She stuttered out an apology, only to be met with Taylor’s dead stare, before abruptly turning on her heel and hurrying away.

Her dad got into the car and the door ‘thunk’ed closed behind him. The coffin still lingered in the space between them, hanging over their shoulders. Shiny black, with a dozen fingerprint smudges from who knew where.

“You probably shouldn’t have done that.” Her dad said softly, reaching up to adjust the mirror.

Taylor shrank lower in her seat, dark hair framing her gaunt face. “Why should I care about how she feels?” She muttered.

“You shouldn’t.” Her dad answered immediately, before clearing his throat. “I meant in front of them.” He said, adjusting the mirror until it showed the van, lurking just across the road.

Taylor somehow sank even lower.

“Shit.”

“Language.” Her dad said without thinking. They shared a glance. Taylor quirked an eyebrow, and her dad shrugged.

🟂

Driving out of their neighborhood was a task that left Taylor’s head spinning in anxiety. She watched the van the entire time they drove away, at any moment expecting men with guns, or Purity herself to leap from the back and blow her to smithereens. It was a bit of a silly thought. This entire thing might be silly. She didn’t release the breath she was holding until the van disappeared into the distance either way.

Every few seconds, she glanced behind them, checking to make sure no one was following. It felt a bit like she was jumping at shadows. And god , she was tired. She leaned her head against the window, just barely keeping her eyes open. She eyed a blue hatchback that pulled onto the road behind them, freezing for a brief moment, then relaxing when it made a turn and left their trail.

“You okay?” Her dad said, his eyes never leaving the road.

“As good as I can be.” She replied. It wasn’t exactly a lie. “What about you?”

“I’m fucking terrified.” Her dad said immediately. He flushed a moment later, when Taylor stared at him. He glanced over at her and wet his lips.

“Language.” She said softly.

Her dad laughed once, short and sharp, before silence ballooned to fill the space between them.

Taylor worked her jaw.

It was awkward.

“Sorry.” Taylor mumbled.

“You didn’t do anything.” He hummed, adjusting the mirrors again to scan behind them as he took a turn.

A few cars pulled out behind them. A truck, a hatchback, and a little buggy that was barely half the truck’s size. Taylor watched as all of them turned away. The buggy followed them for the longest.

Taylor sniffed. “You’re doing pretty well, all things considered.” She sunk into her seat, limbs steadily turning to Jell-O. She shivered again, still so cold, even with the AC blasting heat.

Her dad didn’t say anything. He just kept staring out the window, knuckles white around the wheel.

Taylor scowled. “This sucks.”

“Yeah.” Her dad nodded. He reached out to squeeze her hand. Taylor could barely muster the energy to squeeze it back.

Tired.

She was so tired.

Taylor lolled her head to the side and glared at the skeleton hiding in her reflection. The gaunt face, sunken eyes, and thin lips that used to be… well, they were never pretty , exactly. But she used to look like her at least.

Now…?

Her lips quivered.

The car drove on in silence, interrupted only occasionally by the steady blinking of a turn signal.

“I’m scared too, y’know?” She said softly.

“I do know that.” Her dad nodded, flinching for a moment as he lost control of his voice.

“Sorry.” Taylor mumbled.

“It’s fine.” Her dad waved her away.

“Is it uncomfortable?” 

“God, yes. Worse than uncomfortable.” He clamped his mouth shut.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” They drove in silence, until eventually, her dad said. “And, if you’re scared, I’m sure the PRT can help.” 

“That’s not–” She paused, then sighed. She shivered. The ever present ache got worse.

Her dad nodded a moment later. “Ah.”

“Ah.” She agreed.

A blue hatchback pulled out behind them, before disappearing again. Something was strange about that, but…

God, she was exhausted.

“I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this.” Taylor hummed, and rested her head on the window, letting her eyes slip shut for a moment.

Just a moment.

She was so goddamn tired.

Her dad laughed. “I don’t mind dealing with anything. Frankly, I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Taylor nodded softly.

She was glad too, despite it all.

Mostly.

Maybe.

🟂

She didn't dream, because she didn't sleep.

The best she could do was remember.

🟂

Taylor jerked awake as the car rolled to a stop in front of the DWU offices, just as tired as before. She blinked sleepily, confused for a moment, until she remembered what her day had been, and the panic returned in force.

Her dad was already out of the car, getting the wheelchair from the back. Taylor glanced around them, searching for any signs of danger.

She didn’t find any.

Taylor relaxed into her seat as her dad came around to help her out of the chair. She sighed and relaxed into the uncomfortable fabric as the wheel squeaked across the small pathway to the DWU. They were small, only one story, and wooden, with some kind of plastic panelling lining the outside walls. Not just that. The place actually had a ramp. One made of rotting wood that probably hadn’t been replaced in years.

But still, a ramp.

Taylor beamed at the tiny convenience.

She recognized a few of the faces in the front office, though she couldn’t put names to many of them. A burly man with a moustache that drooped past his lips held the door open for the two of them, then waved at Taylor as she past.

“How’re you doin’, Taylor? Probably not good, but…” He shrugged. The man’s voice rumbled in his chest, so deep Taylor could feel it in her teeth.

She smiled. “I’m doing fine, Jack. Better than I was, worse than I have been.” She leaned back in the chair and relaxed.

“Guess that’s all you can hope for.” He wandered off, shoving a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. Someone in an adjacent room shouted at him.

“Hey, hey! Outside!” Jack waved the voice off, and turned around to wander back out the front door.

The DWU office was… some would call it ‘homey’. Taylor would call it small. With wooden walls and green carpet that had probably looked nice years ago, it wasn’t anyone’s idea of luxury. Taylor loved it. A photo on the wall showed her Dad next to a dozen men that were twice as wide as him. He was smiling.

Taylor matched it.

Her dad wheeled her into the adjacent breakroom. There was barely anything in there. Just a few sparse tables and a refrigerator, gently humming along. Taylor recognized most of the workers there, though she couldn’t place a few of them. New hires, she guessed. She hadn’t exactly been a frequent visitor to her dad’s workplace lately.

Her dad pushed her up to one of the tables, positioning her so she could see out the breakroom’s narrow window, and told her to sit tight. She turned to grab his sleeve a moment before he left. “Can you get…?” She cleared her throat, and cut her eyes across the room before starting again. “Get me some water.” She phrased it as a demand, instead of a question.

Her dad smiled and ruffled her hair. “Sure thing, Taylor.”

One of the workers at the table next to her spoke up. “My, my… when did she get to be such a bossy thing?”

Taylor flushed and ducked her head. Another worker elbowed her dad’s side and laughed. “Yeah, and when did you get to be such a pushover, Danny?”

Taylor’s ears burned, though she didn’t mind too much. Honestly, she might be more offended if they didn’t make fun of her and her dad. It would mean they were treating her differently. Her dad handed a water bottle to her, then opened it for her when Taylor struggled to do it herself. She hung her head again, glaring at her fragile, bony hands.

Traitors, she thought.

Her dad squeezed her shoulder as he left. “Just shout if you need anything, okay?”

Taylor nodded and grinned. “Alright.”

A moment after he left, one of the newer workers bumped against her wheelchair, pushing her back as he left the breakroom.

“Hey!” Taylor twisted in her chair and called after him. “What the hell?” The man apparently didn’t hear her, because he didn’t stop walking, and didn’t respond to her accidental question. Taylor was pretty sure he was wearing earbuds.

In the other room, her dad leaned against the front desk. “Lenny.” He said to the young man manning it. “I’ll get to work on the Peterson contracts in a bit. Just gotta make a call first.”

Taylor scowled at the new worker disappearing down the hall, and wheeled herself away from the door. Next to the window, and out of everyone’s way. She sighed, and leaned against the glass.

Her ears perked up as the man at the front desk–Lenny–spoke. “Sorry, Dan. Phones haven’t been working for a little bit.”

“What?” Her dad said back, agitated. “Why the hell not?”

“Look, I don’t know, they just–”

Taylor tuned them out as she looked out the window, really looked out the window for the first time, and her stomach dropped.

“Well, do you know when they’re getting–”

Just down the block, far enough away that Taylor hadn't seen it when her dad had first parked, was a car.

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s something with the cell towers. They’re probably doing–”

Taylor felt cold. Colder than she had all day. Cold and numb.

Parked at the end of the block was the exact same blue hatchback from earlier. Taylor looked closer, holding her breath. She strained her eyes to see inside the car, just in time to catch a glimpse of a shadow ducking down behind the dashboard, out of sight.

Chapter Text

Taylor froze in place, staring at the blue hatchback. Time didn’t stop or slow down, not like people said it did. One second, followed the next second, followed the next, and Taylor was aware of all of it. Her mind whirred with ideas, inferences, something to drown out the panic. 

The rest of the workers joked about something. Chairs scraped in the background as they got up. Her dad began yelling at the young man–“What do you mean the cellphones aren’t working either?!” The analog clock on the wall ticked softly with every second that passed.

Tick Tock Tick Tock

Taylor remembered to breathe, only because she remembered everything else too. The coffee stain on the carpet next to the refrigerator. The dust motes dancing through the few beams of light filtering through the window. The mole on the shoulder of one of the workers, the one she only caught a glimpse of for barely half a second as he adjusted his shirt, the one that might’ve been melanoma.

She felt scared, certainly, but it was distant. Like she was looking at her fear through a pane of frosted glass.

Mostly she just felt tired.

She wheeled away from the window. The light shifted as she did, and for a brief moment, her reflection flashed in the glass. A monster sat where she ought to be. Tangled, dark hair hid her face, leaving only a single sunken eye stared out at the world. The shadows it cast wrapped her face in darkness. 

Her glasses flashed as she moved, and the one green eye almost seemed to glow, the colors faded by her months of illness. Her skin stretched tight against her bones, accenting the curve of her skeleton. The hands that reached from her baggy shirt were shriveled. Emaciated. Shaking as she clutched weakly as the wheels, even that tiny exertion enough to tax her.

She screwed her eyes shut to escape her reflection, but the image remained, burned into her mind. Everything remained. She couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried.

Her stomach turned as she remembered the slight grimace on her dad’s face as he gave her a sponge bath two days ago. Two days, four hours, nine minutes and forty-nine seconds ago, she corrected. Tears threatened as she remembered the pained look he had when he first pulled her shirt off.

She wondered how people could stand to look at her.

She wondered how her dad could stand to touch her.

She wondered why she was even so worried about the Empire trying to kill her.

She was already going to die. She knew it. She’d come too far to get her hopes up. Surviving would only mean more days of sitting in her chair. More headaches, more humiliation, more bone-deep tiredness.

Surviving would only mean her dad would have to spend a few more months or years staring at the creature that used to be his daughter, crouched in the shadowed corners of their house.

For barely a second, she considered not doing anything.

But then her dad’s voice hit her again–“It’s not for me! I’m not– look, it’s for Taylor. Just… please. ”–and instead of the pained grimace from her sponge baths, she remembered the look in her dad’s eyes when he told her all the ways he loved her, all the ways he was proud of her. She remembered him telling her all the ways she reminded him of her mom, and the pain in her chest went away.

She opened her eyes and stared at the wretched thing slumped in the chair. The thing in her reflection was pitiful. The girl in the chair was pathetic. But when the sun hit her just right, the shadow she cast stretched across the room.

Taylor sat up straighter, breathing easily.

“Okay.” She said to no one in particular.

She rolled backwards, then out of the break room, scanning the workers surrounding her, searching for unfamiliar faces. She cast her mind back to the picture on the wall of her dad standing shoulder and shoulder with the dock workers, then mentally checked off every single worker who appeared in the photo as ‘safe’.

The wheels of her chair squeaked as she came up behind her dad and tugged at his shirt. He glanced down at her, looking flustered, red in the face. She pointed to a man wearing a baseball cap, leaning the far wall, swiping at his phone.

“Do you know him?”

Her dad followed her gaze to the man, then nodded. “Yes. That’s Trevor. He started working here a few months back.”

Taylor nodded, then swept her finger toward another man. Short, fat, and bald, with pasty skin to boot. His nose was squat and lumpy, a bit like a lemon. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as he slowly bobbed his head to the heavy metal blasting through his headphones. “Do you know that one?” Taylor said, her voice crisp and clear.

Her dad stared for a moment, before narrowing his eyes and saying. “No. I don’t think I do.”

Taylor sank back in her chair. Only three people hadn’t been in the photo. The one on his phone, the balding man, and the younger man who had bumped her earlier. She scanned the room for him, and didn’t find him. She wasn’t too worried. In the brief glimpse she got of the man, she’d seen he was Latino, and thus not Empire.

But the balding man… 

Taylor glared at him. The man caught her eye, then looked away, trying and failing to act natural. Short, fat and bald. Pasty skin, and a lumpy nose. Taylor scowled. She’d spent enough time at Winslow to recognize a nazi.

A door slammed outside, and Taylor glanced behind her. The man who’d gone outside to smoke wandered toward where the blue hatchback had been, shouting, “Hey, you lost or something’.”

Taylor wet her lips. Pulling her dad down until she could whisper in his ear. “Someone followed us here.”

Her dad pulled back, staring at her, eyes wide.

Taylor rolled toward the center of the room, pointing at one of Dad’s coworkers, then at the strange balding man. “Hey, you! Do you know that guy?”

He looked at the balding man, then said. “Nope. Never seen him in my life.”

Taylor rolled more, her arms burning, pointing out more and more people. “Do you know that man? Do you? What about you?”

A few of the dockworkers looked confused. One touched his lips lightly and narrowed her eyes. Most of the ones she asked studied the balding man closer, closing in on him. The man swept his eyes back and forth.

“Hey, yeah, who the hell are you?” One of the workers said.

“You ain’t on the work crew.” A man with a thick beard added.

The man at the desk sat up and leaned towards her dad, his voice frantic. “Dan, what the hell is going on?”

Her dad shook his head and chewed at the inside of his cheek as he tried to find an answer. The dockworkers slowly cornered the bald man, and the bald man began to sweat. Her dad pointed at the man, and shouted. “Grab him!”

The man bolted, only for two of the workers to grab his arms. The man at the front desk practically shouted at her dad. “Dan! Seriously!” Her dad whirled on him and said “Empire! They’ve been following us!”

The desk worker glanced between the bald man and her dad, his face paling.

One of the dockworkers pulled the man’s earbuds out, and Taylor immediately shouted at him.

“Are you with one of the Empire groups?”

The man shook his head frantically, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m not! I’m not!”

Taylor stared at him. She opened her mouth, readying another question, when her dad grabbed her shoulder. The dockworkers were staring at her. Confused. Suspicious. Her dad shook his head.

The shouting outside got louder.

“No, no, you’ve gotta go. I’m sorry.”

Taylor and her dad shared a look. He bit at his fingernails.

“Are you okay?” Taylor said, as soft as she could.

“No. I’m not. Not even close.” He tapped his foot and whiped the sweat from his forehead.

Taylor held her armrests tighter, glancing back outside every few seconds. “What do you wanna do?” She almost shouted.

“I don’t know!” Her dad pulled at his hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing! How the hell could I know what I’m supposed to do!?” He growled, then stormed over to the bald man, gesturing to the workers to bring him into one of the adjoining rooms. “Alright, what the hell are you doing here?”

Taylor rolled after them. “Dad!” She shouted. Her voice was soft, barely more than a dull rasp. Her dad didn’t seem like he heard. The bald man pulled against the workers restraining him, then a moment later, the door slammed shut. Muffled shouting echoed from the office. Taylor gasped for breath as the shouting outside got closer. 

She looked around nervously. Most of the workers were gone, inside the room with the strange, balding man. The young man at the desk was frantically fiddling with his phone, muttering to himself. The only other workers left were two men in the break room who had to be in their late 50s.

“Come on, come on…” Taylor muttered to herself. She wheeled up to the office door and knocked weakly at the wood. “Dad!” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

The shouting outside got closer. Closer.

“No, seriously. I mean it. If you don’t get out of here right now, I’ll–”

Taylor panicked.

Her head spun, and she had to fight hard to swallow the nausea building in her stomach. Her chair jerked a moment later. Rolling without any work from her. Taylor glanced behind her to see the young Latino man from earlier.

“What are you doing?” Her voice echoed as he pushed her deeper into the building.

The man pushing her didn’t respond. His headphones pounded. Some kind of electronic music. The man at the desk didn’t look up, didn’t even notice, as Taylor was wheeled down a connecting hallway.

“Stop it.” Taylor gasped. “What are you doing? Who are you?” Taylor glanced back at him. He refused to meet her eyes, his face screwed into a deep scowl as he pushed her further and further.

Taylor grabbed at him, and he slapped her arm away. Her hands shook around her armrests as her body refused to listen to even the most basic commands. Taylor stared ahead, panting faster and faster.

What to do? What to do?  

The walls of the hallway were covered in tiny, framed pictures. Her dad was in a lot of them. Taylor stared at them, and her breathing slowed.

She breathed in, breathed out.

“Okay.” She said again.

Taylor pulled the emergency brakes on her chair, letting the handle slam into the man’s gut. The young man slumped over, the breath knocked out of him momentarily, and Taylor took the opportunity to reach for the cord to his ear buds. She wasn’t very strong. She could barely even lift her arms, really, but those things fell out all the time. Just getting caught on something was usually enough to yank them free. She didn’t pull the cord, so much as hooked a finger around it and let her hand drop. The young man pulled away, reaching for something in his belt. One of the earbuds pulled free, just in time

“Who are you?!” Taylor shouted.

The young man doubled over, stumbling for a moment as the words bubbled past his lips. “My name is…” He gasped. “Emmanuel. Mercenary.” He grimaced. Every word was labored. Like it was being physically squeezed out of him.

Taylor’s eyes caught on his waistband as his baggy hoodie pulled up to reveal something pressed against his stomach. 

Her blood ran cold. 

“Help!” She shouted. Or tried to. Her voice was weak, a gravelly rasp. Inwardly, she cursed her idiotic power for the hundredth time. Her body was weak. She could barely speak normally, and her power only bothered to fix that when she was asking questions.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Taylor held the cord of the earbuds tighter, pulling them away until they popped out of whatever device they were plugged into. She tried to roll forwards, away from the mercenary, then almost slid from the chair as it jerked to a stop. Taylor swore and paused for a moment to undo the emergency brake before continuing her escape.

“Who sent you? Who do you work for?” Taylor shouted behind her the moment the mercenary recovered, never giving him a moment to breathe.

The mercenary stumbled to his feet, scrabbling for the earbuds trailing behind Taylor’s chair, twitching and jerking as his body refused to obey him.

The young man grit his teeth, shaking his head and growling. He wavered as the answer was pried from his lips. 

“Coil!”

Taylor paused.

Who on Earth is Coil?

She shook her head, then shouted again, wheeling faster and faster. “What do you want with me?” Taylor’s heart pounded in her ears as the distance between them grew. First one foot, then two, then five.

The man staggered after her, apparently giving up hope for the earbuds. He leaned against the wall, steadying himself with one hand as he stumbled down the hallway. His words came easier. Maybe he was fighting them less, maybe he was just getting used to the sensation, but every time he spoke, it tripped him up less and less.

“S’posed to capture you. And if I can’t do that. Keep you from talking to the PRT.” The man gasped out.

Taylor swore softly as he got closer and closer. The bland hallway seemed to stretch forever, an endless expanse of dull green carpet, stained with mud and cigarette ashes.

Taylor flinched as a dull ‘pop’ echoed behind her. Then another, and another. The sound came from near the front desk. Taylor kept rolling. Her head swam from exertion as she neared a corner. She was getting more exercise than she had in the entirety of the last three months, and it showed. She needed to stop him. Hit him with something that would keep him occupied.

“What’s your favorite movie?” She said. “And what are all the things you like about it?” She added a moment later. Her voice boomed throughout the hallway, rattling the wood paneling as she wheeled around the corner and the man in the hoodie disappeared from sight.

“The Shining.” The mercenary said easily, barely straining at all. He started rattling off a dozen details about the movie.

Taylor looked around in a panic. The new was just like the others. Offices lining either side, then, further down, a library. Nothing that seemed helpful, but then, at the very end of the hallway… an exit sign. Taylor let out a nervous laugh as relief flooded her. She rolled faster, faster, picking up speed with every second. She was halfway to the exit when the man rounded the corner. He pulled the gun from his waistband as he talked about the way the subtly shifting geometries of the Overlook contributed to the overwhelming sense of unease that colored the entire movie. 

He wasn’t struggling at all by that point, easily making up the distance. Taylor rolled faster, faster, her heart racing as she slammed into the door, shoving against the push bar with all her might. The door swung open, and Taylor’s heart sank all over again. She pulled the emergency brakes just in time. Her chair skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs leading down to the ground.

Stairs. Five of them.

“Oh, dammit, ” Taylor hissed. “Fucking… ADA non-compliant pieces of…” She muttered to herself. 

The man was still talking, babbling about Jack Nicholson’s impeccable performance, how Shelley Duvall’s acting was unbelievably realistic. He wasn’t struggling at all. Of course he wasn’t. People liked talking about stuff like that. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the man was enjoying telling her all of this.

The man got closer, taking his time once he saw he had Taylor cornered. Taylor gasped for breath. Her chest got tighter. Her head swam with panic and exhaustion.

The question wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working?

The man got closer. Closer. Close enough she could see the whites of his eyes, the flashing of his too-clean teeth as he grinned at her.

She rolled forward, back inside, as the man closed the distance. Seven feet. Five feet. Three feet. Taylor let out a breath as he reached for her. 

She thought of her dad.

The walls shook as she spoke. The buzzy fluorescents overhead crackled and popped as the lights got brighter, brighter.

Taylor’s voice wasn’t just clear. It wasn’t just loud. It was unnatural. The sound grated against her own ears, and she could hardly believe the words had come from her own mouth. She could hardly believe they’d come from a human at all. The force of it pulled her forward, and she had to hold onto the chair to keep from falling to the ground.

The man’s pupil blew wide as he heard her question. His grin disappeared in an instant, as suddenly, Taylor saw him. All of him. His grasping hand froze, barely half a foot away from her face as her question left him gasping for breath.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

The man fell to his knees, holding his hands over his mouth. His gut collapsed inward, spasming as he twitched.

She stared down at him, impassive, almost bored. She could almost feel what he felt in that moment, could almost taste it. The guilt and shame. An odd sense of secondhand humiliation as she experienced everything he felt. Everything he thought. In that moment, Taylor saw how it felt to be pried open. To have some unravel you, lay you bare. To have someone see every last part of you you tried desperately to keep hidden, and how it felt when that person didn’t like what they saw.

A dry laugh bubbled past her lips.

Taylor didn’t feel bad for him. It was barely a tenth of what Taylor had felt every single day of her life as her body failed her, as she relied on other people for the simplest things. Whatever it was that he’d been through, whatever it was that he’d suffered, it didn’t excuse anything he did. Lots of people went through far worse and came out far better. 

He struggled to keep the words in, strangling himself as he fought against her power. It didn’t do him any good, and soon enough, he began to speak, a low whisper, barely audible.

Taylor heard every last word. She would never forget it.

The man cried as he spoke, weeping like a child as he spasmed on the ground. “My cousin was 12 when I first met her. We hadn’t been in contact with that side of the family in years.”

Taylor fell back in the chair, suddenly exhausted. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, before she forced herself to open them again. Her fingers twitched around the arms of her wheelchair. Her legs suddenly refused to move, not even the spasms she’d been managing the past few days. Even just keeping her eyelids open was a challenge.

She gasped for breath, shrinking deeper into her chair, holding herself up with shaking arms, only barely able to keep herself from collapsing.

The man twitched on the ground in front of her, grabbing helplessly at the dirty green carpet. Taylor stared down at him as the ground dropped out from under her, as the pit in her stomach grew. It didn’t feel good to hear this. Not anymore.

Why had it felt good in the first place? She leaned further onto the arm of her wheelchair, struggling to keep down the bile pooling at the base of her throat.

“She was beautiful. An early bloomer. I couldn’t take my eyes off–” The man rasped out. Taylor shut her eyes and tried to block out what he was saying. It was no use. She wheeled around him, keeping her distance as the man sobbed on the floor.

Tired…

She was so tired.

She began to wheel her way down the hallway, back to the rest of the Dock Workers, when something made her jump. The sound was a bit like a cork popping, followed by the dull thump of something big and heavy hitting the floor.

A voice echoed from down the hallway, deep and low. “Cmon!” He shouted. “This was supposed to be low profile!”

Taylor’s heart leapt into her throat, and she swallowed it down again. She glanced around the barren hallway in a panic. The man was still on the ground, clutching at the wheels of her chair as he spilled his dirty secrets.

“-went back to my parent’s house. Nobody was home. It was just the two of us–” 

She considered reaching for the man’s gun, still in his hand. She leaned towards it, then flinched away, when he jerked towards her, rolling faster and pinching his fingers against the carpet. The man winced but didn’t stop speaking, not for a moment. Taylor searched for a way out. She glanced back at the exit. Throwing herself down the stairs? No. he shook her head. In her condition, that’d probably kill her faster.

She shivered in her chair.

Pathetic.

God, she was pathetic.

The offices? No, the library. She wheeled herself into the door as the voices down the hall got closer and closer. Even just turning the knob was enough to leave her winded. The man on the floor glared at her as she rolled herself inside, still speaking. Always speaking.

“-and when I held her in my arms, I–”

Taylor closed the door, as quiet as she could. The man on the floor kept glaring at her through the narrow window just above the door’s knob. She locked the door, then backed away, panting for breath. She wiped at her eyes, brushing away the tears beading there.

Pathetic.

And now she was trapped.

What to do, what to do, what to do…

The library was barren. More of a filing room than anything. There was only a single bookcase on the far wall, filled to bursting with manuals and encyclopedias. The rest of it was filled with filing cabinets, dull and rusted. One sat right next to the door. Taylor tried to push it over and failed miserably, almost blacking out from the exertion.

No… no, no, no…

What to do…

The library was dark, lit only by a dimly flickering fluorescent light and a floor lamp on the other side of the door.

There was no way to leave the room, no exit other than the door. She could try to hide from whoever was approaching, but the man on the ground saw her. He knew where she was. And how much longer would his answer last?

“-never meant to get her pregnant, but what was I supposed to do? We took–”

Taylor covered her ears. It didn’t block out his voice.

The footsteps moved closer. Footsteps, and the muffled sound of heavy metal. A shadow passed over the door.

“Where the hell did she go!?” The voice demanded. Taylor crept out of the shadows, just far enough to see the man on the ground pointing at the library door, just in time to see another man turn her way. The balding man who’d been with her father. Taylor’s heart seized as she shrank back into the shadows.

The man pounded against the door, screaming for her. The muffled sound of heavy metal got closer.

“Come on, girl! We’re not gonna hurt you!” He pressed his face against the window, leering at her.

Taylor licked her lips. “Are you really not going to hurt me?” She said hesitantly.

The man didn’t answer. The sound of heavy metal blocked out anything she could say.

“Come on, what’re you gonna do? We’re gonna get in eventually.” The man laughed as he mocked her.

What a pathetic power. Ruined by ear plugs.

Pathetic.

Her palms grew sweaty. Her heart slammed against her ribcage again and again, almost keeping time with the beat of the drums in the bald man’s music. He rattled the doorknob and slammed against it again. Taylor wanted to cry.

She wanted to curl up and disappear.

Pathetic power. Pathetic Taylor. Pathetic life.

The man shouted something at her. The one on the floor kept talking.

“-fed him carbolic acid and–”

Taylor couldn’t breathe. The man outside pounded against the door again and again and she couldn’t breathe. She could barely even think. She was going to die. She was definitely going to die. She already knew she was going to die, but she thought she’d at least know it was coming. She thought–

“Oh god…” Taylor doubled over, clutching at her stomach.

Her life flashed before her eyes. Laughing as her dad carried her on his shoulders. Crying at her mom’s funeral. The pain and betrayal after Emma turned against her. The dull fear and panic when she’d gotten her diagnosis. The despair as she got worse and worse, and then…

And then…

That’s it?

She gasped for breath, but her lungs wouldn’t fill.

That’s really it?

The man hit the tiny glass window with the butt of his gun.

There should be more… that can’t be it.

Taylor didn’t feel afraid, or sad, or scared… she just felt… numb.

Disappointed.

Her breathing slowed. Her vision narrowed.

Numb.

She wasn’t going to die.

She glared at the man in the window.

She was not going to die.

Maybe soon, but…

Not today at least.

She thought her dad carrying her on her shoulders, then took a deep breath.

No matter what she thought, she wasn’t helpless.

Taylor wheeled toward the lamp on the other side of the door.

“Come on, girl! Open up!” The bald man shouted.

Taylor unplugged the lamp and began to twist the cord. Her hands barely shook. When her fingers weren’t strong enough, she gnawed at the cord’s casing. Schematics flashed through her mind. Perfect memory. Perfect recollection of everything she’d read ever since she got her power.

She had always been smart. And she was not helpless.

She wrapped the knob, pressing herself against the door so she couldn’t be seen. The window pounded again and again. The glass cracked, as the man slammed the gun into it over and over. The cracks steadily grew bigger. Taylor ignored it. Her breathing was steady. Even. She finished up the final touches, then wheeled herself away, gripping the cord tight. She plugged it in again as the window finally shattered. 

An arm reached through the broken window. The bald man’s thick hoodie caught on jagged shards of glass as he blindly fumbled for the knob.

Taylor stared at him. The man stared back, his eyes wide and wild.

The dull hum of electricity filled the room.

The bald man couldn’t hear it.

He was listening to music.

Taylor folded her hands in her lap and leaned back in her chair as the bald man’s hand closed around the knob, as his hand closed around the copper wires Taylor had wrapped around it.

The effect was instantaneous. The lights overhead flashed, and something let out hideous sparks. Taylor stared dispassionately as the man jerked and shuddered. Drool flew wildly from his mouth as he twitched. He tried to pull away, but his hand closed around the knob all on its own. Symptoms of electrocution. Taylor had read about that. 

Taylor unplugged the cord once the smell of something cooking began to sting at her nose. She was careful not to touch the cord, knocking it loose with a heavy encyclopedia.

She carefully pressed the man’s charred hand down using the same book, until the door swung open. The bald man’s limp body was still twitching. The man on the floor glared at her as she wheeled out of the library.

Tired.

“-I don’t regret what I did. It had to be done.-” He mumbled, slowly pulling himself to his feet.

Taylor could barely keep her eyes open.

The man gripped the gun tighter, pushing himself off the ground, wincing as the smell of burnt pork wafted through the air.

Taylor leaned forward, only just able to keep herself from toppling to the ground.

The exit door opened a moment later, and Taylor blinked in surprise at the woman who entered through it. The girl, more like. She was blonde, with sparkling green eyes. A beige cardigan was wrapped tight around her shoulders. The girl panted for breath, pausing to stare at the man on the ground.

One of the worker’s daughters?

“I’m not a bad person.” The young man said. His hands shook. Snot ran down his nose. 

The blonde girl stepped over him and went around to grab the handles of Taylor’s chair. She pushed her forward, the young man wincing again as she rolled over his hand.

Taylor glanced around, too stunned to even react.

“I don’t enjoy hurting people.” The young man coughed once, twice. “Sometimes it's just something you have to do.”

The strange blonde girl pushed the exit door open, and Taylor raised her hands as she sailed toward the stairs. “Wait, wait, wait!”

Her chair bounced off every step, shaking her free. She only managed to stay in it because the girl kept a hand on her chest to keep her secure. Even then, she almost slid to the ground when the chair tilted to a 45-degree angle.

“Hi! Sorry about the bad introduction!” The blonde girl huffed as she wheeled her across the pavement, towards a car parked in the distance.

A blue hatchback.

Something heavy settled in the pit of Taylor’s stomach. She grabbed at the girl’s hands.

“Who are you!? What are you doing!? What’s happening!?” She shouted.

The blonde girl stumbled, then kept wheeling her as she answered each question one after the other.

“My name is Lisa. I’m kidnapping you. And, well… kidnapping you.”

“What!?” Taylor shrieked.

“Well… okay, I know how that sounds, but it’s a nice kidnapping.” The girl let go of the chair as they reached the hatchback. She hurried to throw the back door open, then tipped Taylor’s chair over to dump her inside. Taylor yelped as she fell to the back seat of the car, and wheeled around to stare at the girl, a question on her lips.

The girl was grinning.

“Again, sorry about the bad introduction.” She said apologetically, then slammed the door shut.

Chapter Text

Taylor scrabbled toward the door as the blonde girl got into the driver’s seat. Her stomach turned, and her head spun as she crawled across the backseat. The engine roared to life, and Taylor was tossed to the floor as the car rushed backwards.

“Sorry,” the blonde girl said, though she didn’t really sound like it. Taylor wobbled to her knees, her legs barely supporting her. The car shot forwards again and she immediately crumpled against the front of the seat. The blow knocked the breath from her lungs, and she wheezed as her eyes bulged from their sockets.

“ Fucking… ” Taylor gasped.

“Sorry, sorry!” The blonde girl said. The radio clicked on, and Taylor’s ears bled as ABBA blasted through the speaker, the sugary sweet disco anthems drowning out her protests. Her hands shook as she reached for the passenger door handle and pulled. It clicked uselessly, and she swore under her breath.

Stupid child locks.

The hatchback took a sharp turn as it blasted past the front gate of the DWU headquarters, and Taylor’s head was slammed against the glass to the tune of ‘Mama Mia’. “What the hell is wrong with you!?” She shouted.

The blonde girl shouted something back, but her words were swallowed by the chorus.

The hatchback tore down the Dock’s back roads, past row after row of condemned buildings and warehouses.

Taylor groaned. Her nose throbbed in time with the music as she grabbed onto the back of the blonde girl’s chair and slowly pulled herself upward, arms shaking from the exertion. She hooked her skeletal arms around the headrest and pulled at the blonde girl’s ponytail. Her kidnapper swore loudly, only audible in the brief moment where the disco-pop fell away before coming back in full force as the chorus shouted ‘Here we go again’ at the top of their lungs.

Taylor reached for the radio knob, and the girl slapped her hand away. The hatchback swerved as they fought. The girl said something, and Taylor was pretty sure she caught the word ‘bitch’ somewhere beneath the electric guitar. 

Taylor grit her teeth and clawed at the blonde girl’s cheek. The girl hissed and brought an elbow up into Taylor’s nose. The pain blinded her for a few precious seconds, and Taylor screeched, flying back into her seat, holding her nose for the second time in as many minutes.

The music cut out as the song ended and the track advanced, and in that brief silence, Taylor shouted more questions.

“Who are you?”

“I already told you! My name’s Lisa!” The hatchback swerved as she answered.

“That’s not what I mean! Who are you? Why are you here?” Taylor narrowed her eyes, pulling harder, drawing more and more information from the girl– Lisa’s lips.

She flinched, growling and barely keeping the two of them on the road. The next song began slowly– Half past twelve, and I’m watching the late show –as Lisa answered. “My name is Lisa Wilbourn. That’s the name I go by. I’m a cape. A thinker.” 

Taylor’s eyes blew wide. A cape. A cape was kidnapping her. 

Lisa grit her teeth and gripped the steering wheel harder, her knuckles slowly turning white. “T… T…” She fought against it as best she could. The hatchback slowly turned sideways, bumping into the curb. Taylor was tossed into the air as the car lurched. She winced as she landed, then narrowed her eyes and pulled harder, harder, until Lisa finally answered. 

“Tattletale!” She shrieked. “I go by Tattletale!” 

The gears in Taylor’s mind turned as she thought. Was she the one who hired the mercenaries? Or… no, the mercenaries worked for ‘Coil’. And Tattletale would’ve tried to help the guy on the ground if they were allies. She stared at the girl’s blonde hair. Did she work for the Empire? A ‘nice’ kidnapping, she said, but still a kidnapping. The music got louder before Taylor could ask anything else. She gasped in the backseat, holding her nose and wincing, then slowly sank into the plush car seats. 

Tired. 

So desperately tired.

Her eyes fluttered closed for half a second. She forced them open again just as a police car turned a corner further down the road and began driving toward them. For a moment, Taylor was certain they were there to arrest the insane teenager who had kidnapped her, but then they kept driving. The police car passed them, lights flashing, then another, then another.

Taylor’s stomach dropped as she realized where the cars were going. She followed the police cruisers until they disappeared from sight, then whipped her head back toward Tattletale.

“What happened to my dad? Is my dad okay?” Her voice rattled the car windows.

The music rattled the windows just as much, and Tattletale sang along to make it even louder. “ Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight! ” She called at the top of her lungs. “ Won’t somebody help me chase the shadows away! ”

Taylor panted faster and faster. Her chest got tighter and tighter as her panic grew. “Tattletale… did anyone hurt my dad!?” She screamed.

Tattletale just kept singing. “ -a man after midnight! Take me through the darkness to the break of day! ”

Taylor pressed a shaking hand against the glass as she tried to steady herself. The backseat of the car seemed to shrink with every passing second. Her lungs took in less oxygen with every breath. Taylor glared at the girl in the front seat, blinking away her tears as she stared at Tattletale’s reflection in the rearview mirror. Tattletale met her eyes a moment later. The bitch smirked.

Taylor just kept glaring. She bode her time, slowly reaching down to untie her shoe, never taking her eyes off Tattletale. The girl sang along, louder and louder, her green eyes sparkling whenever she bothered to look back at Taylor.

Eventually, the hatchback left the docks, turning onto a busier road, one with actual cars. Taylor struggled to untie her shoelaces with one hand, her fingers twitching whenever she tried to pull too hard. Slowly, painfully slowly, she pulled her shoe off and hefted it in the air. Tattletale’s eyes widened a second before Taylor lobbed it toward the radio. It didn’t turn off like she’d hoped, her arms were apparently too weak to press the button, but the volume dial did turn down a bit.

“Where are you taking me?” She said in the sudden silence.

Tattletale tried to keep singing, but it wasn’t loud enough to block Taylor out completely. Tattletale flinched as her lips disobeyed her. “To a safehouse!” She shouted. The hatchback wobbled, and a few surrounding cars leaned on their horns to show their disapproval. Tattletale glared back at Taylor. “Can you not!?” She yelled. “You’re gonna make me crash!”

“Good!”

Tattletale reached for the volume knob, and Taylor lunged forward to grab her arm. She wasn’t strong enough to stop Tattletale, not even close, but the girl was too busy trying to focus on the road to put up much of a fight. They slapped at each other like children, shouting as the wheel twisted back and forth. “What the hell is wrong with you!?” Tattletale screamed.

“What’s wrong with you!? ” Taylor screamed back.

“A lot of things!” She shouted.

The hatchback snaked down the street, swerving in and out of its lane.  More cars honked as Tattletale only narrowly avoided jumping the curb and slamming into a fire hydrant.

“You’re drawing attention, dumbass!” Tattletale shrieked.

“What does the Empire want with me!?”

“What are you talking about!?”

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “Do you work for the Empire?”

“No!” Tattletale stared in disbelief.

Taylor paused for a moment as the blonde girl’s words registered. “Then why are you kidnapping me?”

Tattletale winced once more as her lips began to move. “I’m rescuing you, asshole!”

“Are you really?” Taylor growled, and the hatchback swerved again as the girl responded.

 “Yes!”

Taylor blinked for a moment. “Oh…”

They drove further and faster, deeper into the city. Tattletale swore under her breath as she blew past a red light, then scanned her eyes across the cars surrounding them. She slammed on the brakes, then turned off the main road and into a parking garage.

“Look.” She said, “I know this isn’t ideal, but I really am trying to help you.” The car swerved as they climbed higher and higher into the garage, the thick shadows wrapping around them as they drove up and up.

“You really don’t want to hurt me?” Taylor said softly.

“No!” Tattletale flinched, and the hatchback careened into a parked car, knocking out a headlight. Tattletale swore louder as the other car’s alarm went off. “Oh, cmon. ” 

“Sorry.” Taylor said sheepishly.

Tattletale pulled away from the site of the crash and continued upwards. Taylor breathed heavily, her grip on the girl’s arms slowly getting looser as they entered the top floor of the parking garage.

Tattletale slammed on the breaks in the middle of the top floor. The place was almost completely empty, with only one other car in sight. Taylor slammed forward, momentum carrying her, her spindly arms pinwheeling as she clutched helplessly at Tattletale.

“Look.” Tattletale said, turning towards Taylor. “I know you’re confused, but I just risked my neck to save you, so I’d really appreciate it if you went along with me, at least for a little bit? Truce?” The green eyes stared into her. Something about them rankled with Taylor, and she scowled.

“Why did you save me?” She said clearly.

Tattletale pursed her lips, and shut her eyes tight. The tiny dusting of freckles on her nose scrunched up, like she smelled something bad. Her blonde hair whipped back and forth as she shook her head, lips pushed outwards. She finally answered after a few seconds more, gasping like she was taking in breath after being submerged.

“I saved you because Coil was going to capture me too.” She blurted out, her eyes burning with rage. “He was going to put me in a basement somewhere. Just like he was going to do to you.” Tattletale tried to shove Taylor away. The car jerked forward as her foot left the brake for a brief moment. She shook her head, grinding out a warning. “Stop. That.”

“Who’s Coil?” Taylor pressed her advantage, pulling out more information.

Tattletale twitched and shuddered, though not as much. The answer came easier this time. “He’s a super villain! Likes to think he's a criminal mastermind! Has moles in the PRT!”

Taylor’s breath caught in her throat. She was only a little bit happy that her deduction was correct. Mostly she was just terrified. “So that’s how he found out about me? ” She said, mostly to herself.

Tattletale stared at her, almost looking guilty for a brief moment. She shook lightly as she fought against Taylor’s power, and Taylor could almost see the bulge in her throat as the answer crawled up from somewhere deep inside her. “He had spies there, but I helped!” She gasped. “I told him what your power was. Who you were. The files on you were heavily encrypted.”

Taylor gaped at her.

Tattletale looked toward Taylor, eyes wide. “N-now, I know that sounds bad, but…” She held her hands up in defense. “He held me at gunpoint. I didn’t have a choice. And I saved you anyway! I caused enough trouble for him that he couldn’t focus his attention on you. I’m the only reason you’re free right now!”

Taylor grabbed her arms tighter, adrenaline enhancing her meager strength. Her unclipped nails dug into Tattletale’s arm as she stared into her, through her, seeing her as she really was. Every wart. Every scar. The music on the radio crackled and distorted, static blasting from the speakers.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ev–?”

Tattletale punched her before she could finish the question, and Taylor’s head rocked back, pain arcing from her nose for the third time that day. Something dripped past her lips as she held her nose. Tattletale matched her pained groan, shaking her wrist and cursing.

“Look, I know you probably don’t like me, but can we please work together for just a few minutes?”

Taylor slid backwards onto the car’s floor, desperately tired, like always. “Why are you helping me?”

Tattletale winced. “I told you to…” She growled. “ Stop that!” 

“Why!?”

Tattletale grabbed at the sides of her face, scratching at her cheeks as Taylor’s power worked at her. The answer burst past her lips a moment later. “I’m helping you to save my own skin!” She shouted. Tattletale gasped for breath, then stared down at Taylor, eyes fiery. “Does that make you happy to know, huh? I don’t really care about you!” She shouted, waving her hands in Taylor’s face. “I don’t give a shit about you! And if I could sacrifice you to save myself, I’d do it like that. ” She snapped her fingers. “How does that feel, you creepy bitch! ”

Tattletale reached out to grab her, and Taylor dug her fingernails into her arm until she drew blood. “Is that how you really feel!?”

Tattletale scratched at Taylor’s eyes, the hatchback jerking forward every time she strayed too far from the brake pedal. “Nnnn–” Tattletale grunted. “No!” She wheezed, clamping a hand over Taylor’s mouth. “You want to know the truth!? The truth is! You’re a disgusting freak!” Tattletale’s eyes grew brighter, wilder, as rage filled her. “ The truth is! You’re a drain on everyone around you! The truth is! Your dad would’ve gotten better if you’d died!” Taylor stared at her, shocked, and Tattletale just laughed at the tears beading in her eyes. “That’s right!” Tattletale grinned. “ Instead, he’s having to spend every day watching his pathetic daughter waste away! When was the last time he went out with friends, huh? When was the last time he did anything other than take care of you?” Tattletale grabbed the sides of her face, pressing their foreheads together as she stared into Taylor’s sunken eyes. The hatchback slowly rolled forward. She didn’t seem to notice. “Do you really think he wants to give his cripple daughter baths every day?” She hissed. “He would’ve been better off if you’d just wasted away like you were supposed to! The world would be a better place if you’d just let yourself die!”

Taylor fell back against the car’s backseat, staring at her kidnapper. Her throat closed up, and a moment later, tears were flowing down her face. She cut her eyes away from the blonde girl, shrinking in on herself. Was this how it felt when she used her power on other people?

Tattletale bared her teeth, grinning wide as she drank in every bit of Taylor’s suffering, until Taylor sniveled softly and sank down to the floor of the car, collapsing under the weight of the day’s events, under the pain of having her every secret fear pulled out her and thrown back in her face.

“You’re right.” She croaked, curling in on herself.

Tattletale’s smile died just a bit as she stared at her. The rage left her eyes, melting away as Taylor sobbed against the chair. Tattletale scowled and turned away as Taylor hiccupped on the floor.

“What, do you feel bad or something?”

“Yes.” Tattletale grumbled, then shook her head. “I told you to stop that. ”

Taylor just laughed. Her stomach hurt. Everything hurt. “Why are you like this?” She said softly.

Tattletale pitched forward, slamming into the horn. “I like to feel like I’m smarter than everybody else!” She ground out. “I push people away so I can’t get hurt by them. And I really don’t like you.” She leaned against the wheel, breathing hard. Taylor stared at her. Tattletale stared back, shaking her head.

Taylor just laughed harder. Her heart hurt. Her hair fell in front of her eyes in messy clumps, hiding everything but one eye. “Why do you feel bad?” She smirked. 

Tattletale glared at her, the rage returning, and Taylor just smiled wider. The sensation was strange, almost like she was reeling in a fishing rod, drawing the answer closer and closer. Tattletale groaned in pain, then slammed on the gas. The car rocketed forward, toward the concrete barrier ringing the parking garage’s roof.

Taylor stared at Tattletale and Tattletale stared back, groaning softly as she desperately fought Taylor’s power. The car moved faster as Taylor reeled harder. Tattletale’s eyes burned as the barrier got closer. Closer. Taylor flicked her eyes between the barrier and Tattletale. Her blood froze as she realized Tattletale hitting the gas wasn’t an accident, wasn’t a momentary twitch caused by her question.

Tattletale was planning to drive headfirst into the concrete. A single tear flowed down Tattletale’s cheek as their game of chicken progressed. Taylor reeled harder and harder. The barrier got closer and closer, until at last, Taylor pulled out first. She cut the line, let it go slack, and Tattletale instantly relaxed, slamming on the brakes and turning sideways just in time. The hatchback skidded for a moment, then slammed sideways into the wall, hard enough to shatter both driver side windows.

Taylor’s head spun from the impact. Tattletale didn’t get off much better.

“You crazy bitch!” Taylor screamed once she got her breath back. “You’d really rather die than tell me!?”

“Yes!” Tattletale shouted back, without hesitation.

They sat for a moment, exhausted and hurting, in more ways than one. After taking a moment to catch their breath, they shared a look. Tattletale had blood running down the side of her head and Taylor undoubtedly looked just as bad. The blonde girl breathed heavily. 

“Can we just… stop…?” She gasped. “Are we done?”

Taylor stared at her for a moment longer, before nodding and letting her head drop to the floor of the car. They sat in silence for a long while, the only sound in the car the soft, glitching music of ABBA, and the smoking of the engine.

Eventually, Tattletale climbed into the passenger side of the car and pushed open the door. She wobbled unsteadily, wincing as she opened the door to the backseat. Taylor was too tired to fight as she dragged her out of the car and onto the concrete. The rough material scraped at her skin as Tattletale grabbed her wrists and pulled her across the roof of the parking lot, like she was dragging a dead body.

Taylor just stared into the sky dreamily.

Tired.

God, it had been a long day.

“Wrecked your car.” She muttered.

“Was planning to ditch it anyway.” Tattletale said, in between grunts of exertion. “Too many people saw it.”

Taylor nodded distantly. “Makes sense.” She croaked.

Tattletale grimaced as she pulled Taylor inch by inch across the parking garage.

Taylor floated away more and more, occasionally getting pulled back to reality whenever something scraped her back. “You didn’t–? ” Taylor paused. “You left my chair.” Her eyes fluttered closed, then open again.

“Yeah.” Tattletale grunted. “Had… a tracker on it.” She grinned down at Taylor. “You didn’t notice?”

Taylor stared at her, too tired to fight anymore. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.” Tattletale answered. It didn’t have much venom in it.

It took Tattletale almost another full minute to reach her destination, another car, silver this time, parked on the other side of the roof. Taylor didn’t help much, fully content to be dead weight.

“You’re pretty weak.” Taylor said absently. “Can’t even lift a teenage girl.”

“You’re literally my age.” Tattletale hissed as she pulled harder. She swore as her feet slipped and she fell on her ass.

“Yeah, and I’m, like, 80 pounds soaking wet.” Taylor mumbled. “Weak as hell.”

“Fuck. Off. ” Tattletale grimaced.

Taylor mumbled something in response, drifting in and out of consciousness. She didn’t stop thinking in the brief moments when she floated away. She just remembered. The sound of the tiny pops at the DWU. The smell of the Bald Man’s cooking flesh.

She was somehow even more tired when she finally opened her eyes.

Tattletale had already loaded her into the new silver car. Taylor stared blankly at the blonde girl as she buckled her into the front seat. They glared at each other as Tattletale climbed inside, then cut their eyes, too tired to fight.

Taylor leaned against the cool window as Tattletale pulled out of the parking garage. The car she’d hit earlier was still beeping.

Taylor sighed.

“You have blood on your blouse.” She mumbled.

“You have blood on your nose.”

“Thanks for that.”

“No problem.”

Taylor closed her eyes and breathed as the car pulled out of the parking garage.

“You look like shit.” She said.

“That’s because I was in a car crash. What about you?”

“You’re kind of a bitch.” Taylor hummed, never raising her cheek from the cool glass.

“Takes one to know one.” Tattletale coughed.

“Mmn…” Taylor said intelligently.

Occasionally they met each other’s eyes, glaring knives at each other. Sometimes they shot another barb, lazily insulting each other as they drove through the city. Taylor drifted in and out of awareness as they passed street after street.

Taylor wanted to ask more of her, wanted to find out what had happened to her dad, wanted to know exactly how she knew to find her, exactly what she didn’t want to tell her.

She wanted to ask how much of Tattletale’s rant was true.

Instead, she said nothing and eventually drifted off into her memories.

Chapter Text

When Taylor had finally accepted she wasn’t going to die after getting her powers, not immediately at least, the first thing she did was read. She’d asked her dad to bring a few textbooks from the local library rather than her usual fare of classic literature and trashy sci-fi. Books on medicine. Psychology. Memory and Aging. He’d even gone above and beyond and found her a worn copy of The Birth of Giants: On Trauma and Power Manifestation. by W. Manton and D.C. Lowell.

She’d wanted to learn more about what had happened to her. What was still happening to her. The parts of her brain that were broken so badly they could never be repaired. The bits of her that had been carved away in chunks and plastered over with other parts of her.

The books on sleep and memory were the most helpful. The current theory, as far as Taylor could tell from reading a handful of books, was that dreams were a way to process memories, and sleep was the part of the day where your brain decompiles itself, the time where it sorted short term memory and decided whether it belonged in long term storage or the dump.

Not that Taylor could follow all of it. She may have had perfect memory, but that didn’t make her automatically understand academic writing. Still, it was enough. Enough to help her understand just how much her powers were hurting her.

If the slate got cleaned every time you slept, what did that mean for her? Was her brain a filing cabinet, slowly getting stuffed full, bulging at the sides, paper spilling past the lip of the drawer, until the poor thing burst open in a flurry of white? Maybe that was why she always had these headaches, always felt like her brain was about to explode. Maybe it really was.

The bits on memory didn’t help her feel better either. Supposedly, the reason memory is so malleable is that whenever you remember something, you’re not actually drawing on the past event. You’re drawing on the memory of the last time you remembered it. Every time it slides a little further from the truth. Every time it drifts a little further from reality. According to the books, that was probably a good thing. Something to save on storage.

One author thought it might be a way to process painful memories. A way to desensitize yourself after repeated exposure. The blade slowly dulls as you focus on it more and more, and after enough time, you’re not looking back on the worst day of your life, you’re looking back on yourself looking back on yourself. Like staring into one of those infinite halls of mirrors they always put in dressing rooms.

Taylor had no such luxury.

Whenever she closed her eyes, she heard her would-be captor’s worst moment. Whenever she let her mind wander for even a moment, the scent of the Bald Man’s cooking flesh stung at her nostrils. Always fresh. Always brand new.

It wasn’t all bad, of course. Sometimes she could dive back into that moment in her bed, weakly holding her dad’s pinky as he told her all the ways he was proud of her. She could live through that night again and again, like she was actually there. It never got old. She never got tired of it.

So, yeah. It wasn’t all bad.

Just mostly.

🟂

Taylor was jerked from her memories by Tattletale slapping the side of her face, probably a little harder than she needed to.

“Wake up. Hey, up. ”

She groaned and glared at the smirk looming over her. “What?”

“We’re here.” Tattletale answered immediately, flinching just a bit.

Taylor sat up straighter, bending to try and get the crook out of her neck. She rubbed at her eyes until the blurriness subsided. “And where is ‘here’?

“A safehouse.” Was all Tattletale said.

The haze of sleep in Taylor’s eyes finally cleared to reveal a factory. A massive, abandoned factory squatting among dilapidated warehouses and depots. The docks, then.

The factory itself was short, not even three stories, but a single smokestack stretched from the far end. Taylor craned her neck to follow the crumbling spiral of bricks upwards into the sky as they approached. The sun was dipping low by now, a pale gold barely visible through the smog, and from where Taylor was sitting, it seemed like it was moving to perch itself right on top of the smokestack. 

“What is this place?” She said distantly.

“Safehouse.” Tattletale replied instantly. “I already told you.” She clambered out of the car and slammed the door behind her. The air there was foul. A sharp, antiseptic odor slapped her in the face the moment Tattletale opened the door, bad enough to make her eyes water.

Tattletale opened Taylor’s door a moment later and shrugged, a wry grin stretched tight across her face. “Sorry.” She said.

“No you’re not.” Taylor murmured.

The blonde girl grinned, her teeth a little too sharp for Taylor to ever feel comfortable looking at them.  “Yeah. I’m not.”

“Whatever.” Taylor huffed, preparing herself for the humiliation of being dragged across the ground again. Instead, Tattletale disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a brand-new chair. A nicer one too, sleek metal and plastic instead of the standard issue one given out by the hospital. It didn’t even squeak when she rolled it. Taylor quirked an eyebrow.

“What? You think I’m gonna drag you everywhere? I mean, that would be funny, but it seems like a lot of work.” Tattletale chattered as she helped her out of the passenger seat and into the chair.

Taylor settled in, leaning her head back against the cushion and holding tight to the arm rests with her bony hands.

The chair rattled as Tattletale rolled her down the uneven pavement toward the factory. Taylor stared blankly at the building as they approached.

“Since when does Brockton Bay even have factories?” She said distantly.

“Dunno. Not from here. Think it closed sometime in the 70s though.” Tattletale said.

Taylor leaned over the side of her chair, stretching her neck to read the sign on the side. The words had long since faded, but a pair of eyeglasses could still be seen, their rims a pale green. The image made Taylor think of the last time she’d read Gatsby, brought to mind the glasses of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg, and somehow that made her feel a little bit less nervous. 

Only a little bit.

Tattletale ran forward to push the massive metal doors open. They scraped and squealed, groaning with every tiny movement like they were complaining about being woken from their long slumber. Taylor sank lower in her chair, shooting Tattletale a dirty look as she was wheeled into the darkness.

The blonde girl darted to the side to pull a switch the moment they entered, and the lights of the factory flicked on, one after the other with a series of thundering booms. The inside of the factory looked even worse than the outside. Thick shadows stretched across open air. The deep buzzing of the lights ballooned to fill the building. The space was massive, big enough it made Taylor feel like a child lost in a department store. Taylor shifted uncomfortably. The dirty concrete and flickering lights made her feel like she was in a horror movie. Old, rusted equipment was left forgotten where it was last used, with a few modern amenities haphazardly sprinkled between the rotten husks of machines. Old newspapers covered the floor, along with a few cans, telltale signs of homeless habitation. 

“Well,” Tattletale said, slightly breathless. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

The chair rattled as they rolled further into the building, past a small collection of chairs and couches that looked like they’d been found on the side of the road. Taylor scrunched up her nose. “It smells even worse than outside…” Taylor mumbled.

“So you should feel right at home!” Tattletale said easily.

“Fun.” Taylor said, folding her hands in her lap to try and stop their shaking.  “Tell me, do you have any friends?”

“Used to be in a gang.” The chair jerked as Tattletale stumbled. “They left.”

“Wonder why…” Taylor drawled.

Tattletale shoved the chair forward, rolling it over a series of old newspapers. Taylor pulled the brake a second before the chair crashed into a heavy piece of machinery near the center of the room. Her momentum carried, and she had to wrap herself around the armrest to keep from sliding to the floor.

“Oops. I tripped.” Tattletale shrugged, a shit-eating grin pulling at her lips. “Say,” she said, theatrically stroking her chin. “Isn’t it a little bit funny for you to talk about having friends?”

Taylor snapped her head towards her, eyes flaming. “Wow, you really have just as many friends as the disgusting cancer patient. I’m not sure that’s the flex you think it is.” Her throat burned, but she ignored it. Letting Tattletale win would be far more painful.

Tattletale laughed like she was a fucking cartoon character, holding her hand to her lips and snickering as she sauntered forward, blonde ponytail swish-swishing behind her. “Well at least we know the brain tumor isn’t affecting your eyesight.”

Taylor pursed her lips, studying the blonde girl. Her preppy looking skirt and blouse, the little pink shirt with a tiny icon of wings on the front. She met the girl’s eyes, only to find the girl studying her just as intently, like boxers, sizing each other up.

Taylor cut her eyes and sniffed. “Your pupils are dilated. You probably have a minor concussion.”

“A concussion? Wow. I wonder who I have to thank for that .”

Taylor frowned. “Yourself. Obviously.”

“Fuck you.” Tattletale said.

Taylor wheeled away, smiling slightly for the first time in a while. “Maybe your friends wouldn’t have abandoned you if you’d left the mean girl bullshit in high school where it belongs.”

Tattletale put her hands on her hips, stalking after her. “Ironic that you’d talk about leaving high school behind when you won’t live to see your graduation.”

“I know this is probably new for you, but can you at least try to not be a bitch? At least while I’m stuck with you?”

Tattletale held up her hands, wearing a friendly smile like a mask. “Of course! Consider it done! We’ll be best friends before you know it.”

🟂

“What the hell do you mean no!?” Taylor practically screeched, bowing forward to grab at Tattletale’s blouse.

“I mean, no! Do you know how many mercs Coil will have watching your dad!?” Tattletale shoved Taylor off of her and smoothed out the ruffles in her clothes. “ Obviously he’s going to be expecting you to try and get him!”

“Because he’s my dad!” Taylor shouted as she collapsed back into the chair.

“You’d really try to get your dad from the hospital, even when you know it’s a trap?” Tattletale shook her head in disbelief.

“Of course! Do you really have no one you’d risk yourself for like that!?” Taylor shouted.

“No!” Tattletale shouted back. “Of course I don’t! Because I’m not an idiot! ”

“Because you’re a sociopath! ”

“Look, if you wanna die, just tell me and I’ll find some nice and comfy train tracks to ditch you on, but don’t you dare drag me with you!”

🟂

“I am not going into the bathroom with you.” Tattletale shoved Taylor aside.

Taylor leered at her, venom dripping from her lips. “Well then hire someone to help me.” Taylor said firmly.

Tattletale laughed once, short and sharp. “Really? Hire someone? To come to our secret hideout?” She dropped to the couch, and pulled her computer into her lap, flicking it open to work on something. “You’re hilarious, Tay.”

“ Yes. Hire someone.” Taylor said. “If you don’t want to, then you’ll have to do it yourself.” Tattletale laughed her off again, and Taylor rolled over her toes.

🟂

“I hate you.” Tattletale turned up her nose as she dragged the sponge across Taylor’s bare back.

“I hate you more.” Taylor shot back, curling tighter in the freezing water.

“You really put your dad through this every day? No wonder he was desperate to get rid of you.”

“Try harder. My dad loves me.” Taylor said confidently.

“No, he loves his daughter, not the disgusting, worthless waste of skin that took her place. There’s a difference, you know.” Tattletale drawled.

“You enjoy being a bitch, don’t you?” Taylor grumbled.

“Of course! But I’m more than a bitch. I’m a cold, hardened criminal. You’re lucky I don’t drive you back to the docks and push you off a pier.”

“Do it, you fucking coward!” Taylor spat. “At least I wouldn’t have to listen to your bullshit anymore!”

🟂

“What even is your power anyway?” Taylor asked as she stared out one of the factory’s grimy windows.

Tattletale flipped her hair and smirked. “Super deduction. It basically makes me Sherlock Holmes.” She preened like a bird.

“Ah, so that’s how you’re so smart.” Taylor said softly.

Tattletale’s smile immediately dropped, and Taylor grinned.

🟂

“Why didn’t you just leave? ”

“What the hell does that mean? Leave where?”

“The city! You have money, you have connections. You could’ve climbed in a car and never looked back.”

Tattletale just laughed and shook her head. “Oh, I’m sure you think it’s easy. Coil had men watching me. He would’ve known if I tried to bolt.”

“He didn’t know about this place!” Taylor countered.

“He was…” Tattletale tapped the pen she was holding to her lips. “Distracted.”

“Bullshit.” Taylor shot back. “He couldn’t’ve had people watching you ever hour of every day. What’s the real reason?”

Tattletale twitched, jerking in place as her lips were pried open. “I… I don’t…” Eventually, she shook her head and scoffed.  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Money? Connections? How much will that last me? A month? Two? Being a cape is expensive. ”

“So you stayed for money? ”

“I stayed to teach that piece of shit a lesson!” Tattletale shouted. The noise echoed through the factory. “I stayed to prove once and for all that I’m smarter than that smug, arrogant creep!”

Taylor stared at her, saying nothing as she panted. “I think you might be the worst person I’ve ever met,” she said matter-of-factly once the villain had calmed down. It had barely been four days since they’d first arrived at the factory. Nearly every hour was filled with an argument. They could barely say two words to each other without going at each other’s throats.

It was exhausting.

“Aww, I’m so honored.” Tattletale said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Thank you!”

Taylor glared at her as the blonde flipped through channels. The villain hadn't bothered to pick up more than one extra pair of clothes for Taylor to use, but she just had to have television and internet.

She sat on the couch in front of the tv, the safehouse’s trashy rendition of a living room, watching the news and writing down all of her observations.

‘Oh, I need it for work!’ Bullshit. Taylor had seen her watching those soap operas. Taylor tried to take a sip from her tea and ended up spilling it on herself. She swore–more from annoyance than pain–as the mug clattered to the floor and chipped. “God … dammit. ” She tried to lean down, but her body wouldn’t obey her, her limbs staying frozen in place whenever she commanded them to move, then jerking wildly whenever she wanted them to stay still.

Taylor leaned down, wrapping trembling fingers around the mug’s handle. She barely got it a half a foot into the air before her hand spasmed again and she groaned in annoyance. It was infuriating. It was humiliating. Her body was fine, aside from the malnourishment and muscle loss. She should be able to do this. The issue was with the signals with her brain, the impulses she sent to her body getting scrambled. Like she was thinking through a chain link fence. She leaned back and tried to kick the mug in rage, only for her leg to sway wildly to the side.

“God… fuck! ” Taylor shouted. She breathed heavily and hid her face in her hands.

“Oh, poor baby.” Tattletale snickered. “Is a mug just too complicated for you?”

Taylor shot Tattletale a look filled with venom. “When was the last time you wet the bed?”

“Age seven! Sorry, but that’s perfectly normal.” She waggled her eyebrows and went back to taking notes on the news. The tiny box TV crackled with images of Iron Rain’s latest battle against The Butcher, her minigun flashing green as it disappeared and reappeared over and over again.

Taylor stared along with her, her shoulders slumping. “I want to see my dad.” She whispered.

“Well, sorry, but the answer’s still no.” Tattletale said dismissively.

Taylor hung her head, hair curtaining her skeletal face. “I hate you.” She whispered.

“I know!” Tattletale chirped. “But like it or not, you’re stuck with me, so until we can figure out how to find a way to… to…” Her voice trailed off as the news switched to a new story, and Tattletale’s face appeared on the screen. She was dressed nicely. The photo looked a bit like it’d been taken from a yearbook.

The news anchor read off the charges as the real-life Tattletale’s face filled with horror.

“No… he wouldn’t… oh, who am I kidding. Of course he would.” She muttered to herself.

“Sarah Livsey…” Taylor said distantly. “I thought you said your name was Lisa.”

Tattletale didn’t hear her, chewing at her fingers as she muttered to herself. The TV kept going, and eventually, she jumped from the couch to pace across the factory. “God, no, no, it’s…”

The news anchor just kept going as words began to scroll across the screen below the portrait.

‘Dangerous Thinker newest suspect in attack on Dockworker’s Union.’

Chapter Text

The Butcher stared out at the bay as the sun dipped below the horizon, totally still aside from the insistent twitching of her fingers and the slow, labored rattle of her breath. A bright green flash accompanied every spasm as her weapon shifted again and again and again and again. What was she even doing here? The Butcher shifted in place, the toes of her boots hanging off the ledge of the rooftop, salty air whipping her hair in the breeze. Her eyes were bloodshot. His hair was greasy. It’d been months since she’d gotten it cut, partially because she could never manage to decide how short she wanted it. The long hair rankled them, but the thought of cutting it short only made the ache in her chest worse.

It hurt.

Every second of every minute of every hour of every day was spent hurting and she hated it and—

The Butcher stared out at the bay as the first few lights of the city twinkled to life, shining in the twilight’s deep violet. You couldn’t see the stars within the city limits, but the glimmer of the office buildings was almost as good.

She missed the stars.

She’d watched them every night as the soldiers swept out of Turkey, as the tide of green and yellow uniforms flowed over the border and pooled past the Caspian, as the storm of violence rose like floodwaters, inch by inch by agonizing inch. She stared at the stars as the tide rose to drown Maku, Tabriz, Urmia. They stared at the stars when dad came back early from his visit to Corpus Christie, stinking of booze and hayseed. She stared at the stars when Archie drove off into the night, blasting Creedence. She stared at the stars when the soldiers barked orders she didn’t understand, in a language she didn’t speak, in a place she didn’t recognize. She stared at the stars, then she stared the stripes, standing in awe beneath the gentle wave of red, white and blue, twisting in the wind like the slow swish of an Onager’s tail. She stared at the— He stared at the— They stared at the—

“Stop it!” The Butcher growled, dipping forward, grinding her teeth as her molars writhed in the back of her mouth. “Stop it.” She whispered, defeated. “Just stop.”

Her weapon flashed again and again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And—

The Butcher stared out at the bay, taking one heavy breath after the other, wind whistling between her teeth. Her combat fatigues were long gone, hidden away in the trunk beneath Vex’s bed. They were safer there. Couldn’t embarrass him there. Couldn’t make her heart hurt.

Her new uniform was different. A twisted mockery of the costume she’d worn since she’d first sworn her oath. A dozen shades of red and muddy browns, sharp teeth and brittle bones at odd angles, and beneath the stains of violence, a few gentle blue and whites.

She still wore her bandana. Even if the blues had long since faded away. Even if the whites had long since been reduced to mottled, rusty browns. She couldn’t lose her bandana.

She couldn’t lose that final piece of her.

The Butcher stared out at the night, heaving deep gulps of frigid air and spitting out swears.

The Butcher stared out at the city.

The Butcher stared out at the lights.

The Butcher stared out at the bay. 

They’d told her she’d start to hear voices. Whispers. Screaming. She’d been ready for that. She'd accepted her sacrifice. But it wasn’t just voices, was it? The Butcher bit her lip until the taste of iron danced across her tongue, spurting out and dripping down their chin like she was tearing into a fresh pomegranatecherryalbaloo.

The Butcher froze, as she tried to collect her thoughts. You didn’t eat albaloos raw. Too tart. Once, when she was a little girl, she’d wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist as she cooked, watching silently as she patiently prepared their dinner. THE BUTCHER snuck an albaloo from the bowl, and her mother just laughed as THE BUTCHER’s lips puckered and her eyes watered. A kind laugh, eyes twinkling.

She remembered that.

She knew she did.

Hannah counted her breaths, then counted her fingers and toes, then counted the restaurants she liked best, then counted the different things she could count.

It wasn’t just voices. It wasn’t. They’d lied. Or they were wrong or—

They’d told her she’d start to hear voices. She’d been ready for that. But it wasn’t just voices. It was far worse. It was her. The Butcher growled in the darkness as drool darkened her bandana. Idle thoughts from a dozen past lives drifted into the front of her mind, indistinguishable from her own.

Her head jerked every now and then, when something deep inside her chose to act up. Her arms and legs spasmed, a dozen different wills coiling through her limbs and dragging them one way or the other, like a horde of rats burrowing through her flesh, each of them trying to pull her in a different direction. The Butcher flicked her bloodshot eyes downward, studying her body, watching the spark and sputter of her nervous system. 

It was beautiful.

Her body dragged itself in a dozen different directions. A dozen different minds with a dozen different desires.

They couldn’t decide what to do, so they did nothing.

The Butcher stared out at the bay, watching the moon flicker on the waves, its reflection stuttering as the water crested and fell, like film stuck in a projector. They couldn’t decide what to do with her body, so they did nothing.

They did nothing.

Total silence, and total stillness. The tug of war left her paralyzed.

It wasn’t just voices.

It wasn’t just voices.

It wasn’t just voices.

It wasn’t just voices.

The Butcher stared out at the bay.

=🟂=

“Two-Oh-Four inbound, do you copy?” Miss Militia dropped her hand from her headset and raised her shotgun higher. Non-lethal, loaded only with beanbags.

They couldn’t afford to take any chances.

The Butcher howled in the distance as they tore through downtown, arrows flying from a bow longer than Hannah was tall, faster than she could blink.

Miss Militia wrapped an arm around Battery, helping the girl as she limped away, sparing only an occasional glance at the carnage behind them.

“Kill them all!” The Butcher screeched at the top of her lungs, enhanced strength letting her tear through steel like tissue paper. The howl of metal on metal echoed in the night, and the roar of a monster matched it. Fire and lightning. The crack of a bell.

Miss Militia could only watch in horror as The Butcher blew a hole through Lung’s chest, splattering the streets with meat. Miss Militia could only stare as Dauntless’s arclance stabbed through the mad woman’s shoulder.

🟂

“Report.” The Butcher said distantly.

Hemorrhagia said something, lips flapping like the flag.

“Good.” The Butcher said, before stalking away. She moved with purpose, slowly and deliberately craning her head to survey their base. No sudden movements. Every single twitch of muscle fiber was decided by committee.

It wasn’t just voices.

“You got it, boss.” Vex said. The Butcher blinked. He didn’t remember giving an order, but it’d make her look bad to question it. She gave a kurt nod, then stared at Vex’s ass as the girl walked away.

They’d been having difficulties lately.

“Been here too long.” Someone said. The Butcher tried to ignore it.

The Teeth never stayed in one place for long. They were nomads.

“Stupid bitch said—” “Who does she think she—” “Does she really wanna—”

The Butcher turned on her heel and raised her arm, green lights flashing as a handgun with a barrel longer than her forearm appeared in her hand. She wasn’t sure exactly who it was that had been bad-mouthing her, but it didn’t really matter.

He picked one out of the small group at random, pulled the trigger, and licked his lips as the shitstain’s head exploded.

The silence that followed was music to her ears. The Butcher slowly turned and stalked away, syringes cracking beneath the heavy footfall of her boots. Trash—human and otherwise—littered every one of The Teeth’s bases. Junkies and addicts lounged across piss-stained couches, strung out sycophants shook themselves to pieces, candy wrappers and soda cans and meat and blood and bone made way for her as she swept through her kingdom.

The Teeth never stayed in one place for long. They were nomads. But how could The Butcher abandon Brockton Bay?

It was her city. She’d lived there for a decade. Fought for it. Bled for it. Given her life for it.

That was her, at least, Hannah knew. The others in the collective didn’t give a shit about Brockton Bay.

That just made her want to stay even more.

It caused a lot of issues. The Protectorate were able to mobilize against them. The Empire were an ever-present thorn in her side. Normally, she’d have left by now, before the feds could pull themselves together enough to put up a fight.

But how could she leave?

It was just a city.

But it was her city.

🟂

Hannah gave her life for her country, dedicating every day to defending the values of the place she’d learned to call home.

She gave everything for her country.

She gave everything for her city.

🟂

Dauntless soared through the air, running on nothing as he clashed with Butcher XIV.

Hannah didn’t remember a lot of the battle when she tried to look back on it. The memories were a blur, melting together like watercolor that had yet to dry.

But she remembered the moment Dauntless struck a killing blow.

Accidental. Intentional. An hour of fighting to protect something important—Hannah couldn’t remember what—before The Butcher threw herself on Dauntless’ arclance. She gurgled as the hard light stabbed through her neck, searing the wound shut. The streets filled with the scent of cooking meat.

The Butcher toppled to the ground; soundless laughter reduced to stray bubbles in the blood that poured from her jugular. Dauntless fell back against the pavement, wordless horror on his lips. 

Hannah’s heart pounded in her ears.

Someone screamed.

Dauntless… their shining ray of hope. Some people said he could one day grow strong enough to challenge the endbringers.

The Butcher had done it on purpose. She twitched on the ground, chest heaving as she stared at Dauntless, lips peeled back in a snarl, eyes shining with manic glee.

She’d done it on purpose.

Hannah stumbled in place, suddenly dizzy. Dauntless emptied his stomach on the street. The Butcher just stared.

She’d done it on purpose.

A shining ray of hope. Could she really let the Protectorate lose that? Could she really let The Butcher steal that power away?

She barely had to think for a second before stepping forward and silently pressing the muzzle of her pistol to The Butcher’s forehead.

She’d given everything for her city.

🟂

The Butcher crouched on the rooftop, a formless shadow in the darkness. She clutched the rifle to her chest, far longer than anything she’d been able to use before gaining the enhanced strength of the collective, with a barrel longer than a car and bullets to match.

He peered through the scope, trailing his gaze over the gathered forces of the Empire. The feds didn’t know he could see nervous systems through solid walls, he didn't think; didn’t know exactly how long his range was.

The Butcher had never flexed that power. Not really. Too fixated with the thrill of the fight, getting up close and personal, letting the blood spray across her lips as she tore the stupid shits limb from limb.

It had been hard to convince the collective to take a more tactical approach.

Hard, but worth it.

The Butcher breathed in, then breathed out, watching as the distant bundle of nerves rose above the crowd. It was hard to say who was who, but she had a good guess.

A storm of electrical impulses, bunched in a group, and above them, waving his hands as he preached…

Kaiser.

If anyone deserved it, it was him. The city would be better off once he was gone. He had to pick someone. Why not him?

She was protecting her city.

The Butcher breathed in, then breathed out as she pulled the trigger. Once, twice, five times altogether. She was pretty sure the one at the front was Kaiser, but there was no harm in being sure. They all deserved it. The bitch with the cage on her head tore Animos a new one. The dogfighter churned Spree up like a blender.

They all deserved it.

Worthy targets.

The first shot was louder than a cannon. She didn’t hear the rest. Blood trickled down the side of her face as her burst ear drums slowly stitched themselves back together.

The Butcher watched in rapt attention as the bullets tore through solid steel. She licked her lips as the tug on her power grew stronger, as the space shifted to let each and every bullet find their mark.

Five nervous systems on the stage.

Five nervous systems slowly winking out as they collapsed to the ground.

The Butcher rose from her perch as her rifle disappeared in a flash of green, then vanished into the night.

🟂

“-ilitia, can you hear me?”

Hannah jerked her head as the electronic voice screamed in her ear. Her throat was parched.

Let me out.

“I hear you.” She rasped, leaning her head back against the metal walls of the van. “I hear you.”

The voice said something. Birdcage transport. They’d debriefed her beforehand. Said her goodbyes. Hannah had made her peace.

She blinked against the blindfold, gasping in darkness. It was necessary. The Butcher’s teleportation was limited by line of sight.

Let me out.

She’d given everything for her city.

She’d already pledged her life, why not her mind?

Let me out.

The restraints chafed against her skin, rated for the strongest of brutes. They weren’t necessary. She went there willingly.

They told her it was just voices.

She could handle that.

She wouldn’t be driven mad in the space of an afternoon, wouldn’t be reduced to a raving lunatic by some screaming. 

At least not before she was safely in the birdcage.

Hannah sucked in a shallow breath, then let it out, air hissing through her teeth.

Just a couple screams.

Let me out.

She’d dealt with worse.

Let me out.

She’d laid awake at night blocking out the screams as the soldiers fired on her home. She’d laid awake at night blocking out the screams as daddy beat mommy’s face in like—

Hannah froze, stomach turning over itself. She licked her chapped lips, fighting back the sensation of nausea, the rush of vertigo, the taste of vomit at the base of her throat.

Let me out.

She could deal with a few voices.

Let me out.

Someone said something. Colin, she was pretty sure. She couldn’t see him exactly, but she could still watch his nervous system through the blindfold. He didn’t meet her eyes.

Let me out.

Dauntless was insensate. The rest were almost as bad.

Let me out.

A door slammed shut, and the van shook as it drove off.

Let me out.

“Just a few voices.” Hannah whispered, chanting against the tide. “That’s all.”

Let me out.

“Just a few voices.”

​LET ME OUT!​

Her hand jerked despite herself, and the horror pooling in the base of her gut grew.

Let me out.

Her fingers twitched, writhing like the legs of a spider.

“Stop it…” Hannah hissed, tears staining her bandana.

Her power flashed against her will, shifting before her eyes.

“Stop it…” Hannah begged, spittle wetting her cheeks.

It was just voices.

She ground her teeth, screaming in pain as a grenade appeared in her hands. She howled against the storm as she dropped it, hand jerking against her will.

Let me out.

The grenade appeared again, in another flash of green. She couldn’t manipulate her hands to pull the pin free, held too tightly by the restraints to get the necessary leverage.

“Stop it.”

Another flash of green. The grenade appeared without a pin.

Let me out.

“Don’t.”

It was just voices.

Let me out.

Hannah could handle voices.

Let me out.

🟂

The Butcher screamed as she flew through the air, teleporting in a rush of fire and noise as she chased after Iron Rain.

The bitch thought she could get away with it.

The Butcher tore through her underlings, ripping the tiger-man in half with his bare hands, before blowing another to pieces.

The bitch thought she could hurt her city.

Iron Rain floated in the distance, steel beams showering the streets below as the nazi queen howled in rage. An office building was reduced to rubble as the rods from God fell upon it, showering The Butcher in concrete and rebar.

The Butcher kept up her assault.

A minigun appeared in her hands, whirring as it hummed to life.

“Kill you!” The Butcher screamed, words slowly devolving into animal noises. The collective decided faster in combat, when instinct guided them more than conscious thought. Her weapon tore through the mob of unpowered gangers, space bending as every single bullet nestled itself in a still-beating heart.

The Nazi Queen fired back just as hard, floating on a cloud of knives nearly a mile above the city, well out of The Butcher’s range. The kinetic manipulator changed the density of the air itself whenever she swapped her weapon to something that could reach Iron Rain.

Frustrating.

Smart.

“Kill you!” The Butcher howled in rage, screaming so loud her throat tore, then screaming again as the vocal cords stitched themself back together.

The ground shook beneath them, blood and iron cracking against tongues and teeth. The Butcher lost herself in the blur of combat, driving a tiny chunk of metal into a breathing lung, and a beating heart, and a screaming mouth, and a crying eye as she unwound.

Something stabbed through her chest.

“Kill you!”

Something wet dripped down her face.

“Kill you!”

Someone was screaming.

“Kill you!”

The someone was her.

She tore through the Empire, tore through brick and stone, tore through the people standing between her and the real villains.

Someone was talking to her. The Butcher tried to listen. Someone was begging. The Butcher tried to understand.

Her city.

The Butcher recognized the mask in her arms. Some kind of gladiator helm. The Butcher gasped for breath as the chunk of meat in her hands begged for its life.

“-nnah! Please, it’s me! It’s—”

The Butcher licked her lips as she stared down at the broken form of Dauntless.

“-ve to stop! Please, you—”

The Butcher sucked in one labored breath after another as the battle faded to nothing around her.

Dauntless.

A shining ray of hope.

Dauntless.

Some people they said could one day grow strong enough to challenge the endbringers.

The Butcher froze, horror filling her.

“-this, please don’t do this. You have to—”

Her city.

Her city.

His city.

Their city.

The Butcher snapped the gladiator’s neck without a thought, before diving back into the fray.

Chapter Text

Work was hell, but it usually was.

Wyatt drove home in a stupor, swallowing his yawns. The streetlights lit the inside of his Sedan in fits and spurts, flashing for just a moment as he passed under them, before he plunged back into darkness. Mozart blasted on the radio. If he’d been more awake, he’d have put on Debussy. Little sacrifices, he mused. The track flicked over, and Wyatt hummed to himself as Mr. Amadeus’ next song began, Sonata for two pianos in D. Quick movements, complex rhythms, and short and rapid notes, like raindrops were falling on the keys; perfect for keeping him awake. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he made his way down Sycamore, past First street, then up Albertson; the nicer part of town.

If Wyatt had his way, every part of Brockton Bay would be one of the ‘nicer’ parts, but he didn’t. He scowled, laugh-lines creasing. Most of the time, it felt like everyone but him had their way. The city would be nicer if the lowlifes weren’t dead set on dragging the rest of them down to their level. The city would be better if the PRT grew a spine.

He sighed, sinking into his seat and scratching at his short-cropped hair. It wasn’t fair, he knew, but few things were. He hadn’t exactly joined the PRT with stars in his eyes, and he’d be the last one to call himself an idealist, but he’d at least hoped they’d be making progress. Instead, it seemed like every day was another step backward.

Work was hell, but that was nothing new. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head and pulling at the collar of his button down. He still felt guilty about the decision sometimes, the lesser of two evils was still evil after all, but he’d been getting better at ignoring that nagging voice in the back of his head.

Wyatt stayed well under the speed limit as he made his way out of the city proper, into the suburbs on its outskirts, north of the financial district. He obeyed all the traffic lights, made sure to use his turn signal, and did his best to keep awake. Before long, he was pulling into Brierridge, eyes wide and wired as he drove past dozens of cookie cutter houses, the same few models, painted the same few colors in the same few ways.

Safe, comfortable, and most importantly, predictable.

He glanced at the dashboard and winced at the time. 2:32 AM. Almost 16 hours on the clock. It was fine. That’s just what happens during a crisis, and god, this past week qualified. He craned his neck to check himself in the rearview, then hissed and dragged his attention back to the road. Deep bags crouched beneath his eyes, and his hair was messy from the long day. God, he looked like a bum. His dark hair was sprouting a few grey hairs, and if this kept up, he’d be sprouting a few more before long. “Work is hell,” he sighed. But then again, it usually was. 

His entire body sagged, like he was hauling something heavy on his back. He blinked a little slower. He breathed a little deeper. His eyelids got just a bit heavier as he pulled into his driveway, yawning as the bright music cut out along with the car's engine. 

It was too much effort to climb out right away, so he didn’t. Wyatt sat there, forehead pressed against the wheel as he tried and failed to convince himself to climb out of the car. One second passed, then two, then suddenly it was a minute later without him ever noticing. He took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself to jump into ice cold water, then threw the door open. It was cold outside tonight. It was cold outside every night lately. He stretched a bit as he slammed the door behind him, working out the kink in his shoulder. His briefcase bounced at his side, knocking against his knee as he marched up the driveway. His car was the only one in the driveway. Deb must still be at her mother’s. She’d better be staying the night, he thought. He didn’t want her driving tired. Besides, he’d be nettled if she parked behind him again.

Wyatt pulled his keys free and twirled them around his finger as he made his way toward the house. The lawn was clipped short, well within the guidelines laid out by the HOA, and the house was a clean white, freshly power washed. He cut through the lawn’s corner, dewey grass wetting his pant legs, then hopped over the porch’s middle step as he made for the door. Crickets chirped in the distance, slow and soothing, like they were trying to lull him to sleep.

He tried one key, then pursed his lips. The first one never fit somehow. Him and Deb joked about a rogue cape being responsible, but really it was his own fault for picking the same color for the house and storage unit keys.

The door swung open and Wyatt wandered inside, not even bothering to turn on the lights. Home was where the heart is, and Wyatt knew his home by heart. A nice house. An average house, with furniture that was expensive, if not flashy, and a few key pieces that looked just a little bit more expensive than they really were. Such as it is… or something. Wyatt dropped his keys on the side table without looking and they easily found their mark, clattering into the decorative bowl in its center. Another yawn, a few more slow blinks, and he dropped the briefcase right next to it. Same old, safe old. He pulled out his personal phone and dialed the contact at the very top, ‘AAAAA Deborah.’

“Hey, Deb,” he said. “You’re probably asleep. Made it home okay. Dead-tired,” he sighed, rubbing his eyelids with the base of his palm. “Tell Tyler I love him.” Wyatt wandered toward the little nook next to the coat closet, quickly finding the security panel in the darkness. “You can tell Sharee I love her too, I guess,” he gave a toothy grin. “But don’t make it too sappy. I want her to respect me at least a little bit. Alright. Gonna pass out. Probably sleep for half a day. Love you. Bye.” He slipped the phone back in his pocket, then froze, his good mood evaporating immediately.

Normally, when he came home, his first order of business was to disable the security system. Except… the security system hadn’t beeped when he opened the door. It hadn’t made any noise at all, in fact. Something thundered in his ear, and it took Wyatt a few moments to realize the sound was blood, rushing to his head with a dull, low rumble.

He’d have given anything to crawl into bed just a minute ago, but suddenly, he was wide awake. It took so much effort to turn his head, searching the shadows for whatever it was that was tripping the alarm bells in the back of his mind. The bars lining the stairway—Heavy wrought iron spun in ribbons—looked so much more dangerous in the darkness. Everything looked more dangerous wrapped in shadow. Crystal clear windows and rough wood and… nothing. The air smelled different, cleaner somehow, and the feel of the security panel’s rubber buttons beneath his finger tip was sharper.

He didn’t panic. Nobody at the PRT worth their salt panicked when danger struck. Instead, he kept calm, one hand frozen in place, hovering over the panel as he slid the other toward the inside of his jacket. He brushed his fingertips past his holster, then reached just a little bit further for the pocket containing his work phone.

The intruder struck before he could reach it. Something heavy slammed into him from behind, bashing his head into the security panel. Wyatt gasped in pain, vision spinning as the intruder grabbed his hair and pulled. His neck snapped back, hard enough to give him whiplash, and Wyatt froze as something cold pressed just below his jaw.

“Wow, you’re a clever one,” the intruder hummed in his ear, soft lips brushing against his cheek. “That’s annoying. Don’t move, ‘kay? I’m not being paid to hurt you.”

Wyatt did as he was told. He stared straight ahead, eyes locked on a tiny stretch of wall. Pencil marks, keeping track of Tyler’s height.

“Alright,” he gasped, raising his hands as slow as he could.

“Good,” the voice said, then shoved him to the side. “Now, we’re gonna take a walk. Nice and slow. Don’t try anything,” it warned.

Wyatt didn’t need to be told twice. He hadn’t needed to be told at all.

A hand pushed against the small of his back, guiding him toward the living room. He waddled, hands in the air, constantly aware of the knife at his neck. The intruder swept their free hand over his body as they walked, patting him down. They hummed in surprise or disappointment as they rifled through his pockets. “Oh dear, can’t have that,” the intruder whispered, voice taking on a teasing tone as they fiddled with his holster. In an instant, the weight at his side disappeared. The intruder reached into his jacket pocket, and the phone disappeared right after. “Naughty, naughty,” the voice whispered.

“I’m not—” Wyatt began, only to cut himself off as the knife pressed tighter.

“Shhhh…” the intruder hissed.

They pulled Wyatt’s wallet from his back pocket and flicked it open with their thumb. A few twenties flared out, and the intruder chuckled. “Don’t mind if I do,” they said, tapping the bills with their index finger. The money vanished, and the intruder tossed the wallet to the floor behind them.

Wyatt’s eyes flew open, hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline. 

A cape.

“Just—tell me what you want,” he gasped, legs stumbled as they moved through the house. “I have a wife—I have—”

“I know what you have,” the cape purred. “Like I said, not being paid to hurt you.”

They entered the living room slowly, like they were walking on thin ice. His foot caught on a crease in the rug and he jerked forward, stumbled forward until he caught himself a few steps later. The cape had managed to keep the knife a safe distance away, like they’d reacted immediately. His mind spun in circles as he tried to pick it all apart, to work out his assailant’s identity. Enhanced reflexes? They turned the corner, past the cocktail bar Deb had begged him to install, past the bit of plaster in the wall Wyatt had had to patch up after Tyler took a nasty fall. He kept his eyes peeled, staring at the artifacts of his life. Deb’s life. Tyler’s life.

He didn’t pray, he didn’t have that low an opinion of himself, but he did hope he’d come out of this okay. For their sake, more than his own. His breath came faster at the sight of two shapes waiting for them, one sitting on the arm of the couch, running their hands over the flower-print fabric, the other sinking into the leather armchair across from it, head thrown back over the cushion. It was difficult to make out their features in the darkness, what little light made its way through the sliding glass door only let him make out their vague shape and the most obvious features.

The figure on the couch’s arm grinned at him, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Here,” she said easily, hopping up and gesturing to the cushion. “Take a seat.” The woman—the girl more like, judging by her voice—shrugged apologetically. “Hope they didn’t treat you too badly,” she said, nodding at the one holding a knife to his throat.

“Don’t worry,” the first cape whispered. “I was gentle.” 

“Good,” the second grinned. Wyatt stared at her as he took several heavy steps toward the couch. Her hair might’ve been blonde, but it was hard to make out in the light, and she was wearing a domino mask, Wyatt was pretty sure. He sucked in a deep breath, struggling to put a name to the face.

The first cape let the knife fall away, then pressed it against his back, “There we go,” they whispered. “Nice and easy.”

Wyatt kept his hands in the air as he turned and sat on the couch’s center cushion, sweat pooling on his brow. The first cape backed away, flipping the knife in the air over and over. Wyatt pursed his lips as he stared at… her? He was finally able to get a good look as they stepped into and out of a beam of light filtering through the sliding door. Their costume was patchwork, and their face was pure white, with bright red circles on the cheeks. Wyatt recognized them immediately.

“Circus,” he said. “I thought you worked alone. New MO?”

Circus just grinned, the knife flashing as it turned in the air, again and again and again.

“Hey, Circ?” the blonde girl nodded to the clown. “If he tries anything…” she didn’t finish her sentence, but her accomplice nodded anyway, knife at the ready.

Wyatt’s heart pounded in his ears. His chest grew tight. He blinked a few times as beads of sweat rolled down his face, stinging at his eyes, but he didn’t dare move his hand to wipe them away.

“What do you want?” He whispered, gritting his teeth as he stared straight ahead.

The girl in the domino mask shushed him, and Wyatt snapped his jaw shut with a click. He flinched as the girl grinned. 

“Good boy,” she whispered.

Wyatt’s face scrunched up like he’d just bit into something sour, and for a brief moment, he debated how much he really feared getting stabbed.

The figure in the chair sat up straighter, head lolling. Their body seemed like it was made of odd angles, their back bent at a sharp diagonal, arms moving the opposite direction. It was hard to make out many details in the gloom, but what little Wyatt could see didn’t look good. The figure was painfully thin, bony hands clawing at the cushion as they struggled to right themselves. Their clothes hung loosely around their body, soft, like something between pajamas and medical scrubs. 

The figure’s head tipped forward, long, curly hair curtaining their face. Slowly, they raised their chin to stare at him, a single eye poking out through the curls. It almost glowed in the darkness, neon green.

“Is your house bugged?”

The figure’s voice clawed at his ears, and Wyatt couldn’t shake the sense of vertigo that filled him as he listened. His stomach turned over itself. More sweat poured down his face in thin rivulets. His lips moved of their own accord as he answered.

“No. Of course not,” he said in a dull monotone, then gasped for breath, skin crawling at the strange sensation.

The girl in the domino mask tapped the side of their companion’s head. “Obviously they wouldn’t know if their house was bugged, ding dong,” she drawled, then stood from the armchair, examining the far side of the room. The girl tapped the flatscreen bolted to the wall, ran her fingers over a bookshelf, then finally paused in front of Wyatt’s record player. She took a quick glance back at him, smirked, then began to dig through his records. He sat awkwardly as the girl fiddled with it, staring at his lap, arms straining from being held in the same position for so long.

“Hey, Hot Wheels, d’ya like classical?” the girl in the domino mask said.

“It’s fine,” the one in the chair answered.

Before long, music filled the air, a lilting piano, growing and shrinking, like a wave. Wyatt recognized it immediately, even before the vocal accompaniment began. The girl cranked a knob on the player, and the music ballooned to fill the room. Wyatt held his breath as she wandered back to the armchair, and tried hard to keep his heart rate under control. 

He stared at the capes, and the capes stared at him. All of them kept quiet as the air grew sweet with song.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena.”

“Confidante,” Wyatt whispered, then glanced toward the girl sitting on the chair’s arm. “So you must be Tattletale.” He leaned closer, heart pounding against his ribs, like an animal throwing itself against the bars of a cage. “Listen, if she’s keeping you prisoner, then—”

“Who are you,” the girl in the chair cut him off. Her voice was clear and crisp. Commanding. It echoed, like she was speaking down a long hallway, and Wyatt couldn’t help the rush of nausea that accompanied every word.

“My name is Wyatt Nielsen,” he said immediately. “I work for the PRT. InfoSec. I have a wife, and a son, and I—”

“That’s enough,” Confidante rasped, barely audible over the music. Wyatt’s lips stopped fighting him. He shuffled uncomfortably on the cushion, only able to keep himself seated by staring at the knife twirling in the air.

“Is Deborah going to be home tonight?”

Wyatt’s heart leapt into his throat at the use of her name. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t think so.”

Confidante held out their hand, and Circus strode to their side. The clown flicked their wrist, and a camcorder dropped onto Confidante’s open palm.

“Listen,” Wyatt began. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I can take a good guess. If she’s making you—”

Confidante ignored him, fiddling with the camcorder, then hitting the record button as she asked her first real question.

“Have you provided information to the supervillain Coil in the past?”

Wyatt’s stomach spasmed. His vision blurred. The feeling was so alien, images flashing through his mind, like he was experiencing it all over again. Him sending the files, money being deposited into an offshore account. Enough money to buy a house in a safer neighborhood.

“Yes,” he gasped, like he’d been drowning, and only just now came up for air. “Yes, I have.”

“Are you planning to provide more information to him in the future?” Confidante tilted her head, staring at him intently. Wyatt couldn’t shake the anxiety growing in his chest, couldn’t shake the sensation of being known. Like he was a germ being studied under a microscope.

He shook, like he was going through withdrawal. The three capes watched impassively as he struggled, groaning in pain, then, eventually Tattletale spoke up, sneering down at him.

“Careful,” she cooed in mock sympathy. “If you fight too hard you might give yourself an aneurysm. None of us need that.”

Wyatt’s breath came quicker. She had to be messing with him. She had to be. She— “Yes,” he croaked, hands shaking as Confidante dragged the words from somewhere deep inside him, up his throat and past his lips. “Yes, I’m planning to give him more.”

“Why?” Confidante said immediately.

“Money,” the man twitched. “And—” He gasped. “He wants to make the city better. Drive out the Empire. I want to help.”

Tattletale grinned wider, then leaned down to whisper something in Confidante’s ear. Confidante nodded once, then spoke again.

“Do you know who Thomas Calvert is?”

“A PRT Consultant,” Wyatt gasped. He sat up straighter, raising himself up from the couch a few inches. Circus held the knife higher, and he sank back down. “S-stop…” he whispered. Visions flashed in his mind. Memories.

“When did you last see him?” Confidante said flatly.

“A few days ago,” Wyatt grit his teeth through the pain. “He—”

“It’s interesting, Thomas,” Director Piggot shuffled through the papers on her desk. “You were quite lucky, it seems.”

Wyatt stared at his lap, fiddling his thumbs together, only looking up occasionally, whenever he got the courage. Everyone else looked away.

“Yes, Director,” Calvert said, smiling easily. “I’m told that there’s a witness placing that girl, Tattletale, at the scene?”

The Director stared at him for several long seconds, brows knitted together. “Yes. Yes, it really was a close call.” She leaned closer, folding her hands together in front of her lips. “Do you know why that girl would have targeted you, specifically?”

“I—” Calvert paused for a moment, searching for the right words. Eventually he tapped one finger against his wrist, staring off into the distance. “I can only guess at the inner-workings of the delinquent’s mind.”

Wyatt didn’t breathe.

Piggot was quiet. “Is that so,” she said. “You’re aware that the bombing happened at the exact same time as Miss Hebert’s kidnapping, yes? A car bomb. That’s not random gang violence. That’s targeted.”

“Yes,” Calvert nodded. “It’s quite a coincidence.”

“Quite a coincidence. Yes.”

The two of them stared at each other. No one made a sound.

“Well,” the director finally broke the silence. “Since it seems you’re being targeted for some unknown reason, until we can discover exactly why… you wouldn’t object to a personal security detail, would you? Personally chosen by me, of course.” Piggot held a hand to her chest.

“Nonsense,” Calvert waved his own hand. “I could never take up the PRT’s resources like—”

“I insist,” the director said smoothly. “You’ve been a friend of mine for years, Thomas.” She stared daggers at him. “Please. Let me do this for you.”

Wyatt hissed in pain as he came back to reality. He gasped again and again, sucking air greedily. He’d been talking, he was pretty sure, but he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d—

“Tell me everything about the PRT’s last briefing,”

Wyatt twitched, head pounding as he spoke.

“Yesterday, we talked about—”

“-estimated 45 fatalities. This is unacceptable.” Piggot slammed her desk. “The conflict between the Teeth and The Empire has been—-”

Wyatt’s back arched as he clawed at his throat. His lips were moving, but he couldn’t—

“Of course, we’d all prefer to take a few moments to mourn our fallen comrades.” Piggot gave a heavy sigh. “Dauntless was a valued member of the protectorate. He will be—-”

Tears pooled in his eyes as he grit his teeth through the pain. He was still talking. He couldn’t seem to—

“-a kill order on a bio-tinker, Embolus. Quarantine protocols are officially in effect until their capture. According to reports from Watchdog, their latest project includes what they’re calling a ‘DNA-specific virus’” Piggot stared at the papers, then tossed them back on the conference table. “A disease that is cued to a particular genetic code, undetectable and untraceable. Perfectly harmless, until it reaches its intended target. Obviously, this presents a grave security risk, and we are being encouraged to—-”

He jerked his head back and forth, biting his lip until it bled, and he was still—

“-Rain. According to our analysts, a classical psychopath. But we don’t need analysts to tell us that. Iron Rain is dangerous. The only member of the Empire with more blood on their hands was Hookwolf, and with him gone, she’s our new top priority. Without Kaiser keeping her on a leash, we need to expect that she’ll—”

Wyatt came to in a heap, half buried between two couch cushions. He raised one shaking hand, then let it drop back to his lap. Tattletale was whispering something to Confidante. Circus was standing behind the couch, holding him down. He blinked, again and again, but he couldn’t seem to see straight, no matter how hard he tried.

Confidante nodded once, then Tattletale pulled away. The girl with glowing eyes turned back to him.

“Do you know the kind of people that Coil hires?”

Wyatt nodded. “He used a team of mercenaries to—”

“Did you know that Coil hired murderers?” Confidante leaned closer, sitting up straighter. “Did you know that he hired rapists? Pedophiles? Monsters?”

Wyatt’s heart seized in his chest.

“I didn’t—” he stumbled over his words.

“Tell me,” Confidante hissed.

“I didn’t want to think about it,” Wyatt wheezed.

Someone was laughing. Tattletale was laughing. At him.

The questions continued. Again and again. Wyatt answered. Again and again.

“What’s your social security number?”

Wyatt answered.

“What’s your email?”

Wyatt answered.

“Password?”

Wyatt answered.

“The documents you’re planning to send him next… what are they labelled as?”

Wyatt answered.

“What’s your wife’s phone number?”

Wyatt answered.

“Do you keep secrets from her?”

Wyatt answered.

“Which would hurt her most, if she found out?”

Wyatt answered.

“You have a safe in this house, don’t you?”

Wyatt answered.

“Where?”

Wyatt answered

“What’s the combination?”

Wyatt answered.

“How often does the PRT screen for taps on their devices?”

Wyatt answered.

“Do you know anyone else on Coil’s payroll?”

Wyatt answered.

“Congratulations, Mr. Nielsen,” Tattletale cackled. “Tell you what, you don’t go against us, you don’t tell anyone what happened here, and we won’t leak this video, ‘kay?” she tapped the top of the camcorder. Wyatt’s head drifted from side to side. He saw double, then triple, then double again.

“I—I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, buddy, listen to me.” Someone slapped him. “If you do anything to screw with us, this gets sent to your wife, to your mom, to your boss, to your friends, everyone. You got it?”

Wyatt blinked at the girl in the domino mask, then nodded.

“If you try to remove the taps on your laptop, we’ll know, and we’ll release it. Understand?”

Wyatt nodded. 

Tattletale said something and Wyatt started sobbing. Tattletale kept talking, and Wyatt just sobbed harder.

“Wyatt, listen to me. Listen to me, Wyatt. If you even so much as think about—”

“Tattletale! That’s enough! You shouldn’t—”

“Oh, fuck off, twenty questions! Now you wanna play nice? Look at what you did to him, the guy almost—oh my god, holy shit, he actually did piss his pants! Oh, wow! Still… ew.”

“God, you guys are creepy as hell,” the voice behind him cackled.

“You’re dressed as a clown,” Confidant said flatly.

Someone said something to someone. Wyatt couldn’t keep track of any of it.

“I hope that you’re satisfied with your compensation?” Tattletale said cheerily.

“Oh, I’m happy, yeah,” Circus cackled. “‘pparently the snake was paying him pretty well.”

“Are you planning to double cross us?” Confidante said.

“No.” “Nah.” Wyatt and Circus spoke at the same time. The clown paused, then shook her head. “Okay, no. Fuck that. Do that again, and you’re the one getting stabbed.” Circus pointed the knife at the gaunt figure, only to get a simple shrug in response.

Wyatt floated just on the edge of consciousness, spotty vision, spotty hearing, spotty everything.

Confidante leaned over him, standing straighter. The girl’s hair parted to reveal her eyes, green and glowing and they wouldn’t stop looking at him and—-

“Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Wyatt whispered.

Confidante leaned to the side, supporting all her weight with a cane. Her steps were heavy, stumbling. She looked so tired. “Tell me,” she whispered, static flowing under each and every word. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Wyatt stared up at her as the words blossomed in his chest. Tears flowed freely, mingling with the sweat coating his face. His stomach jerked. His legs spasmed. He wiped at his face, then stared at the back of his hand as it came away bloody. “The worst thing—” he hissed.

Confidante only stared, holding his face, gaunt fingers dragging across his cheeks. She looked at him like he was a worm. Like she knew everything he’d ever done, and she hated him for it.

“The worst thing I’ve ever done is—” Wyatt said. “I-I-I…” he screwed his eyes shut, biting his tongue as shame filled him. Images flashed in his mind. The pain in Deb’s face. The hurt. Guilt clawed at him. The pressure grew, and grew, and grew, until finally—“I missed Tyler’s birth,” Wyatt sobbed, blinking away the tears. “I missed his birth. I was working late at the office. It was an emergency. Something with the Empire.” He held his head. “They made me miss his birth and—”

“Stop.”

He sat in silence. It took so long for him to open his eyes. When he finally did, Confidante’s own weren’t glowing. Not anymore.

“What does the—” she paused, cleared her throat, then said. “I want you to tell me… whether or not they have people watching my dad.”

Wyatt stared, then nodded.

“I—” Confidante stared at her feet. “Will you—um… I want to ask you if you’ll give him a message.”

Wyatt stared up at the girl. He couldn’t seem to breathe. The girl watched him back, biting her lip.

He didn’t need to think for very long before answering.

🟂

Wyatt woke to the worst pain of his life. Every part of his body hurt. Deb held him tightly, shaking him as she whispered in his ear. His pants were wet. His dress shirt was stained with blood, and at some point in the night, he’d vomited on the couch. Every single muscle stung. Every single sense was rubbed raw.

He rocked his head back and forth as he clawed his way back to consciousness, closing one hand around a crumpled piece of paper.

Wyatt sat up, blinked awake, and told Deb he was fine.

Deb said she didn’t believe him, which was… fair.

She left to call someone, and Wyatt unfurled the piece of paper. Two messages, written in ink. The first one’s handwriting was messy, written far too fast.

Dad. I’m safe. I’m with a friend. Well, she’s not a friend. She’s a bitch. But I’m safe. Don’t trust the PRT. Don’t trust anyone. You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. I’ll see you soon. I love you. – Taylor

Below that, a much shorter message in much neater handwriting.

This is the beginning of a wonderful partnership, Wyatt ; ) – TT

Chapter Text

Taylor stared, dead-eyed, at the water of her bath, squeezing her hands together every now and then to make a little fountain shoot from the surface. She rocked back and forth as the sponge dug into her back, a bit too hard to be an accident. The sound of the generator outside crept through the thin walls. Grating. It was like the dull hum and the mechanical clang of the gears was in there with her, right there in her mind.

Taylor was tired.

She was so tired, all the time.

Her hair hung over her eyes in thick, wet ropes, dragging across the surface of the water. The sponge pressed in between her shoulder blades, digging in until the skin was raw. Taylor opened her hands under the water, then closed them again as she looked away, flinching like the sight of her own body was physically painful. The image appeared behind her eyes anyway whenever she closed them, skin hanging off her bones, bones pressing tight against her skin, as they wormed their way to the surface.

Bodies…

Bodies and bodies…

Occasionally, the water would slosh hard enough to pour over the side of the tub and splatter against the floor. Someone swore when that happened, but Taylor couldn’t tell if it was her or Tattletale.

The water smelled like it came from a public pool.

Taylor was so tired.

She opened her eyes, blinked once at her hands, then closed them again, leaning forward to let the ends of her hair dip into the bath. She’d read once in a magazine—at least she thought it was a magazine—that every cell in the body replaces itself over a period of seven years. Taylor rocked back and forth, taking a moment to imagine what she looked like seven years ago. She was probably just starting third grade, Miss Moreno’s class. She could see that happy, smiling kid so clearly in her mind, like she was right there, waiting just under the surface of the water.

If every cell had already been replaced, then… in some ways, that girl was already dead. But anyone could’ve told you that after looking at Taylor now.

The real question was, what kind of fucked up, drunkard cells did Taylor have that they could screw up their job so badly? At least a few of them were apparently staging a coup in her motor cortex, but the rest of them were no better. How badly did they have to mess things up to reduce that happy, smiling girl to this.

Taylor was so tired.

She wrapped her arms around herself, the closest thing she’d gotten to a hug since Tattletale had thrown her in the backseat of that car.

The villain chattered above her, talking to herself, mostly. If she was insulting Taylor, Taylor wasn’t listening.

She was too busy staring at her reflection.

Taylor raised a shaking hand to paw at her eyelids, pushing them up, then down again. The flesh sagged around the sockets, yielding to the slightest touch like an overripe peach. Her eyes had always been green, but not like this. Nothing like this.

She stared at the gaunt face hidden in the water's ripples, and the face stared back. Something thrummed behind her eyes, behind her glasses, behind her skull and brain. She pressed against her eye again, suddenly worried that whatever was behind it would pop like a pimple, and her face would split open, straight down the middle.

Or maybe it would claw its way out all on its own. 

Maybe…

No.

That wouldn’t happen.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t moving. Taylor could feel it, more than she could see it, that pressure just behind her eyes, pushing against the top of her skull. It wasn’t moving, but it desperately wanted to.

Taylor shut her eyes and let her head loll forward.

She was so tired.

🟂

“Hey, hey, wake up, Wheels,” Tattletale shook her back to consciousness. The villain loomed over her, plain blue T-Shirt already soaked clean through as she knelt next to the bath.

Taylor blinked at the girl, watching the reflection instead of raising her head. She was too tired for something like that.

“Come on,” the villain scowled. “I can’t have you drowning on me.”

Taylor was too tired to respond. She responded anyway, almost on instinct.

“What do you want?”

Tattletale’s back went rigid as she turned her lip up at Taylor. “I want you to not fall face first in the water.” The girl slapped the sponge against Taylor’s back again, only technically washing her. “Or, you know, you could help me. That too.” 

Taylor raised her head and turned to look at the villain. Her hair was pulled back in a bun so tight Taylor could see her cheek bones.

“Feeling pampered yet?” the villain smirked. 

Taylor just rolled her eyes.

“Why was there a bath in a factory anyway?” she said, voice echoing off the walls of the backroom as she lightly splashed the water.

“There wasn’t,” Tattletale said immediately, as if that answered anything.

“Ah,” Taylor nodded, sitting up straighter as she pulled her knees to her chest. The room was small, but it was still tiled, with a toilet in the corner. It’d probably been a bathroom before this place shut down.

The villain squeezed roughly half a bottle of shampoo out on the top of Taylor’s scalp, then yanked at her hair, just hard enough to teeter on the edge of plausible deniability. “Oops. Sorry, ” Tattletale said in a voice that was anything but.

Taylor scowled, feeling a lot like a wet cat.

“What’s your problem?” she growled, voice clear and crisp.

Tattletale twitched above her, then answered smoothly. “Gosh, there’s so many, but if I had to pick just one… I guess it’d be you, ” she smirked, then slapped the sponge against Taylor’s back again.

Taylor rolled her eyes. “If you’re so against it, why don’t you just hire a nurse to help?” 

“Because I don’t want to invite a stranger to our secret hide-out? It’s one thing letting Casey crash here. A nurse is an unnecessary risk.”

Taylor rocked her head back and forth, grabbing the side of the tub as she raised herself even higher. “Oh, come on. You’re the one who kidnapped a terminally ill girl. What, you didn’t have a plan for the kinds of things I’d need?”

“Okay, first of all—” Tattletale began, then flinched as she was dragged back to the question. “I did plan for it,” she said, voice filling with venom. “Obviously, anyone who wanted to find you would keep an ear to the ground for caregivers. Duh. ” She dug her hands into Taylor’s scalp, lathering her with all the gentleness of a rollercoaster.

Taylor hissed in pain, holding the sides of the tub as she grit her teeth.

“Besides, caregivers are expensive, ” Tattletale said, voice mocking as she tapped the side of Taylor’s head. “ Think, hon. Limited funds. That’s why your Dad never hired one, right?” She leaned to the side of the tub to stare at Taylor, chin perched on her fist. “That’s really sweet, by the way. He must’ve really loved you to put up with all of that himself.”

Taylor’s cheeks burned bright red. She probably would’ve punched the villain if she still had the arm strength. Right now, she was considering it anyway.

“You’re a bitch,” she croaked, staring at Tattletale out of the corner of her eye.

“Ooh, scathing, ” the blonde girl cooed. “Did your high school buddies teach you that one?” The villain gave a mock gasp and covered her mouth. “Oh wait…”

“Why are you even doing this?” Taylor leaned against the edge of the tub, the tip of her nose inches from Tattletale’s.

“Because I’m bored, ” the villain sneered, eyes sparkling. “I’m bored, and my life sucks, and this makes me feel better. You’d get the same answer asking any of those girls from your school. How does that feel to hear?”

“Shitty,” Taylor hissed.

“Welcome to the club.”

Taylor looked away, and they fell back into a tense silence. Wet slapping and sloshing bounced off the walls. She wasn’t really tired anymore. Now she was just annoyed. A part of her wasn’t sure which she preferred.

“If you’re so bothered, why don’t you just get Casey to do it?” Taylor snarled as she stared at her rival.

“Funny,” Tattletale barked a laugh. “You’re funny. We both know he won’t do anything unless he’s paid,” the villain said, voice sickeningly sweet. “And, hate to say it, but there’s not enough money in the Bay to get a guy to touch you,” the water sloshed as she folded her arms and leaned on the tub’s rim, fluttering her lashes and pouting. “Sorry, babe.”

Taylor splashed water in Tattletale’s face, taking some tiny pride in the way the girl blinked in surprise. “Shut up,” she grumbled.

“Or what,” Tattletale smirked. “You’ll roll over my toes?”

“Question,” Taylor rasped. “Am I your first friend? Or was there someone out there who could tolerate you?”

Tattletale went still, upper lip twitching, tongue wagging in her mouth as the words were pulled out of her. “Of… course not,” she wheezed, before clawing back some confidence. “Because we’re not friends, hon.”

“So… no friends, then?” Taylor said, doing her best to copy Tattletale’s mock sympathy. “Have you ever had anyone who actually liked you for you? ”

The villain leaned back on her heels, glaring daggers. “I—” she croaked. “I haven’t.”

Taylor could see it. She could feel it too. Loneliness. Being surrounded by people on all sides, but still being alone. It stung. A part of her wanted to give the girl a hug.

But then she remembered that girl was Tattletale.

“That explains a lot,” Taylor nodded. “You’re sticking with me cause I can’t run away.” She tapped her knees. The water was getting colder, but Taylor felt like she was on fire.

“Oh, wow. Oh wow. You wanna talk about friends?” Tattletale cackled, leaning back as she wiped suds from the bridge of her nose. “Listen, you do not wanna go there, Rolling Thunder. Think of it this way: The chair thing’s a great excuse for never leaving your house!” 

“You took it there first,” Taylor grabbed the side of the tub and hefted herself off the bottom, raising herself into the air so she could loom over the villain. “ I’m not the one who had to kidnap a girl just to have someone to talk to,” she said, dripping water on Tattletale’s face. Her hair hung down, brushing against the villain’s cheeks and sticking there.

“Okay, for the record,” Tattletale held up a finger. “Saved. Saved a girl. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“At this point, I think I’d have preferred the supervillain’s creepy basement!” Taylor hissed, 

Tattletale broke into a full on cackle, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. “Oh, wow! There are better ways to get laid, Tay,” she cooed. “And besides, he likes them a little younger,” the villain said with a wink.

Taylor shivered as her heart dropped back into her stomach. Her knees wobbled as she slipped back down into the water. “That’s gross,” she said softly, then a few seconds later. “You’re gross.”

Tattletale didn’t look at her. The blonde girl just stared at the base of the tub, lips held in a tight line. For a second she looked like she was about to apologize. Taylor should’ve known better. “You’re one to talk,” Tattletale drawled, eyes burning holes in Taylor’s skin. “Just looking at you is making me nauseous.”

Water splashed, then splattered across the tile. It took Taylor a few seconds to realize her arm was hanging in the air, and a few seconds more to connect that with the red welt on the side of Tattletale’s shocked face.

“Fuck you…” the villain said quietly.

“Fuck you,” Taylor answered, hauling herself halfway out of the tub.

“Fuck you!” Tattletale shouted.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you! ”

“Fuck! You!”

The two of them stared at each other, breathing hard. A beat passed, dead silence that pushed down on them like a hydraulic press. Neither of them moved, both completely still, save the rapid rise and fall of their chests.

Eventually, Taylor settled back down, slipping back into the water as she stared at her lap.

“Can you get my legs?” she mumbled.

“Whatever,” Tattletale spat.

🟂

Tattletale helped Taylor dry and dress herself, then loaded her into her chair. Neither of them said anything, and a part of Taylor wondered if it might’ve been the longest span of silence they’d ever had between them.

She held her head high as Tattletale wheeled her back into the main room of the factory, wide awake and alert. It seemed a little bit more lively than when they first arrived, though no less dirty.

Casey sat at a table in the far corner, staring at a series of twenties under a microscope. He raised his head for barely a second before going back to whatever he was doing, sending them a stiff wave and a “Hey,”

Taylor gave the requisite response.

Tattletale stayed quiet.

“So…” Casey began as the two of them rolled past. “Heard some shouting. Everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” Taylor lied.

Casey raised his head to stare at her. His dark hair was a startling contrast to his pale face, and his plush lips were pursed in concern. Dark brown eyes stared at her for a long moment… and then the thief shrugged. “Y’alright,” he said, then went back to studying his money.

Taylor nodded, and the chair kept rolling, past the table, to the dingy couch in the center, what had become their impromptu ‘living-room’. It had been a little hard to adjust to Casey being there at first. Really, things had been awkward between them ever since she first saw the way he looked outside of costume and Asked him ‘which one are you, really?’

Casey was a pretty good sport about it. He just shrugged and said ‘Depends,’ like it really was that simple, then never brought it up again, like it was completely forgotten.

Taylor wished she could forget it too. Her ears still burned whenever she thought about it.

Conspiracy boards covered every wall, bright red string tangling around them, at least a dozen in total. Some leaned against the cheap wood, and some were hung on cheap pegs. It made Taylor feel a bit like she was in a crazy person’s home.

She probably was in a crazy person’s home, actually, now that she thought about it.

“Up,” Tattletale tapped her shoulder, and Taylor raised herself out of the chair, wobbling to the couch. Usually, even those few steps took all she had, but today must’ve been a good day, because she still felt alright.

The couch was lumpy, and it took Taylor a little while to get comfortable. It was the exact kind of ratty furniture you’d find on the side of the road, but Taylor had yet to work up the nerve to Ask Tattletale where exactly she’d gotten it.

The generator buzzed in the background. The heating sputtered along. Casey muttered to himself as he shuffled through his bills.

Taylor bounced up a few inches as Tattletale flopped onto the opposite side of the couch. Taylor glanced at her, and the villain sent her a half-hearted shrug before immediately pulling out her laptop and getting to work. “Alright,” the blonde girl hummed, tapping away at the keys. “New email from Wyatt,” she grinned. “Good boy. Agent Morgan is keeping up his side of the bargain too.”

Taylor leaned forward to grab her chair, then dragged it her way, spinning it to grab the small bag hanging from the back. She zipped it open and reached inside, humming to herself as she pulled out her personal effects.

It wasn’t much, really. Just everything she had on her when her Tattletale snatched her up, a few paperbacks the villain had gotten to keep her entertained, and the letter from her dad. She pulled the letter free and read it for the dozenth time, then held it to her chest.

“Alright,” the villain mumbled beside her. “Teeth are making moves. Calvert is still under protective detail, and the Chosen…” Tattletale bit her lip, then raised her head toward Taylor, looking only a little bit guilty.

Taylor stared at the villain out of the corner of her eye. Her face scrunched tighter, like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “We already talked about this,” she said flatly.

“Oh, now you grow a conscience,” the villain rolled her eyes. “Where was that moral backbone during your last interrogation?” Tattletale stared at her, accusatory.

Taylor crossed her arms and chewed her lip. There wasn’t a lot to chew. “We don’t have to, is all.”

Casey raised his head. “Whazzah?” he said from across the room.

“Nothing!” Tattletale called out.

Taylor sat completely still for a few moments, then echoed her. “It’s nothing.”

Casey stared, then nodded and turned away.

He really was low maintenance, Taylor thought appreciatively, then winced as a sharp pain shot through her legs.

“Listen, I don’t care if it makes you ‘uncomfortable’,” Tattletale hissed under her breath, leaning across the gap to stare at her. “It’s the right move.”

Taylor twisted to face her as she shoved the letter back in her bag. “We are not getting help from the Nazis, ” she growled, eyes flashing. The lights overhead flickered as Casey raised his head again. “We don’t have to, is all,” she added.

Tattletale glanced back and forth, hands raised. “It’s not getting help from them. It’s using them. You—look, you don’t—”

“I don’t care how you justify it to yourself,” Taylor leaned even closer. Their faces were barely a foot apart. The distance felt a lot longer.

A fly buzzed in the distance, stumbling through the air before tapping against one of the lights hanging from the ceiling.

“Listen,” she hissed. “We already have proof he’s willing to out people,” Tattletale said, gesturing to herself. “We have proof he’s been gathering info on their identities. It’s not getting help from them.”

“Well why would we have to say it’s from us, then?” Taylor said. “Why can’t it be anonymous?”

“Because it has more weight coming from someone he’s already outed!” Tattletale said, halfway to frantic. “Just—look,” the villain set the laptop to the side and pulled her legs up under her. “Look, if it’s gonna happen anyway, then—”

“I don’t want to associate with nazi’s.” Taylor crossed her arms and looked away. A part of her felt queasy.

“It’s not associating. It’s aiming them . It’s—” Tattletale held her hands in front of her, gritting her teeth and groaning. She grabbed the sides of her head and flopped back, head laid across the cushion as she stared at the ceiling.

Taylor tried not to pay attention as the villain mumbled under her breath.

Casey stared at the two of them.

Taylor tried not to pay attention to that either.

Eventually, Tattletale pulled out her laptop again, clicking through her endless folder and files. Taylor didn’t understand most of it. Half the time it was set up specifically to make sure no one but Tattletale could see.

“No,” the villain whispered. “No, not you.”

Taylor stared at the far wall, counting the swirls in the wood. She was almost able to forget where she was after a while. She was almost able to forget the pain in her legs, and the thrumming behind her eyes.

She came back to herself when Tattletale gave a sharp gasp, chest twitching as she stared at the screen.

Taylor quirked an eyebrow, but the villain didn’t respond. After a while, she scooted over to see what the blonde girl was looking at. Her heart fell the moment she got a good look. Tattletale had a series of internal documents from the PRT pulled up, crime scene photos, specifically.

The photos were labelled according to the perpetrator. Tattletale had frozen on the first, attributed to Iron Rain.

Taylor wet her lips as she studied the mutilated body, limbs bent at odd angles by the metal rods pinning it to the wall. The man’s face was torn clean off, leaving a broken skeleton staring into nothing. Taylor could almost smell the blood and iron through the screen. 

The dark-haired girl looked away when she finally dragged her eyes away from the body long enough to notice the slur written on the wall above the man’s head. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was made of the man’s blood or something else. She didn’t really want to look any closer to find out.

Tattletale didn’t look away from the screen.

The villain didn’t move an inch.

Taylor laid a hand on her rival's shoulder, speaking as soft as she could while using her power.

“What is it?”

Tattletale turned to face her, eyes sinking into her skull as she answered.

“I think I might’ve fucked up.”

Taylor sat up straighter, face paling. “What do you mean?” she said.

“You know that thing you said we shouldn’t do?” Tattletale said, laughing awkwardly, looking truly guilty for the first time as far as Taylor had seen. The villain coughed into her fist, then shrugged. “Uh. Funny thing is… I already did it."

Chapter Text

Her life before getting her powers really wasn’t that different from her life after. Most of her days were spent twiddling her thumbs, waiting for stuff to happen. Occasionally she’d be holding her breath, waiting to see whether or not she was about to die, but if she was being honest with herself, that wasn’t really any different from her life before either.

She’d stopped hoping she’d get better around the same time the nurses stopped telling her all about her latest results and started talking to her dad privately, out in the hallway. 

Waiting was her life. She waited when the nurses said she had to; went with them when they said she had to. Half her life was spent sitting patiently in her bed, and the other half was spent being dragged out—or drugged out—by the smiling faces of people who wouldn’t be honest with her if she held a gun to their head.

That was different, at least. Nobody could lie to her anymore.

Tattletale couldn’t lie to her.

Things were better between her and the villain, for a very specific definition of ‘better’. Less an end to the war, more a ceasefire. The aftermath of the Tattletale’s surprise revelation hadn’t been pretty. Lots of screaming. At one point, Taylor threw a book at the girl. The flimsy paperback managed to fly two feet before flopping onto the floor, a new record.

Mostly it was just tense.

She didn’t bother Tattletale, and Tattletale didn’t bother her.

It was boring.

It was nothing.

Taylor clutched her stomach, flinching as it growled. She stared out the passenger window, mouth watering as she watched two pigeons squabble over the remains of a sandwich. Their car sat idle on the side of the road, a block away from their target, some upscale apartment building they’d been staking out. The mark was supposed to arrive two hours ago, but Tattletale insisted on staying to keep watch, in case they were just late.

So they stayed.

Waiting.

Taylor clutched the loose fabric covering her legs, gaunt fingers twitching around the smooth blue cotton blend of her costume. She’d never asked whether Tattletale’s choice to make it look vaguely similar to a hospital gown was intentional. She didn’t need to.

Tattletale wasn’t even wearing her costume. She had a habit of trying on disguises whenever they had to venture into the outside world for their little espionage missions, fake platform shoes to make her seem shorter, her hair in a tight bun, obnoxious glasses that covered her eyes, and just enough makeup to make her look subtly older.

Apparently, Taylor was too recognizable to even bother. Jerk, she grumbled, then threw her head back against the car seat as she got back to the important task of waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Taylor’s room had been closest to the front desk for Brockton Bay General’s oncology wing. The woman manning it during the night shift was nice enough, but she always kept a radio blasting next to her, and Taylor’s room was close enough she couldn’t really drown it out.

That was her life back then, staring at the ceiling, waiting patiently, listening to terrible music.

Now?

Taylor stared at the speaker, scowling as it blasted ABBA.

Wonderful.

“Money, money, money, must be funny. In the rich man’s world.”

She leaned forward and flicked the stereo off. Tattletale flicked it back on a moment later.

“Money, money, money. Always sunny. In the rich man’s world.”

Taylor stared straight ahead, fingers twitching in her lap as she scowled.

Tattletale pretended not to notice.

“Aha, all the things I could do if I had a little money. It’s a rich man’s world. It’s a rich man’s world. ”

Taylor flicked the stereo off.

Tattletale flicked it back on, faster than she could blink.

Taylor flicked it off.

Tattletale flicked it back on.

It made the singer sound a bit like she was hiccuping.

Taylor turned to stare at Tattletale, and the villain did her best to look perfectly innocent. Her best wasn’t very good.

Off—on.

Off—on.

Tattletale kept her finger hovering directly over the button, even as she stared straight-ahead, blank-faced.

“Really?” Taylor said, crossing her arms as she glared.

“Really,” Tattletale said flatly.

“You could at least play a different band,” Taylor huffed and stared out the window.

“I like this band,” Tattletale shrugged.

“No you don’t,” Taylor said immediately.

“The CD came with the car, remember?” Tattletale lied, bold-faced.

“No it fucking— we’ve swapped cars half a dozen times since then. ” The curly-haired girl slapped her hands against her lap as she whipped her head toward the villain. “Did you seriously grab it from the first car just to fuck with me?”

“Of course not,” Tattletale snapped at her. A beat passed, before the villain added. “I bought it a few days ago.”

Taylor and Tattletale stared through the windshield, tension thick in the air.

“Money, money, money, must be funny. In the rich man’s world.”

“Besides, I like this song,” Tattletale nodded, a pointed grin stretching to her ear. “It suits me.” The villain watched Taylor out of the corner of her eye, checking for a reaction. Taylor stayed quiet, arms crossed, staring straight ahead.

“Money, money, money, always sunny. In the rich man’s world.”

Taylor pretended it didn’t bother her.

Tattletale frowned slightly.

“I like this band,” Casey said from the backseat. Both Taylor and Tattletale startled slightly. They turned to stare at the twenty-something lazily swiping through their phone.

Tattletale flicked the radio off. 

Casey held out his hands, mouthing something like ‘What did I do?’ The blonde girl just sighed and flipped up the center console to grab a bottle of pain pills. She winced as she tapped one out onto her palm, then swallowed it dry.

The silence almost felt louder than the music.

Taylor huffed and threw her head back against the seat. She felt more tired than usual, like her limbs had weights tied to them. “I’m hungry,” she said softly, staring out the passenger-side window.

“You ate this morning,” Tattletale said immediately, pulling out a pair of binoculars and peering at the target.

“That was five hours ago,” Taylor crossed her arms. Even that took a lot out of her. Her head rocked from side to side.

“Oh my god.” Tattletale dropped the binoculars to her lap, groaning loudly. “Since when do terminally ill people have an appetite?”

Taylor stared at the villain, straight-faced. “You gave me an apple…”

“I only had an apple too,” Tattletale said, exasperated, making a show out of rolling her eyes.

Taylor just kept staring. “Do you have an eating disorder or something?” she said gently, voice thundering in the silence.

“Kinda! Maybe!” Tattletale shouted. “No! Yes! I don’t know!” She turned back toward the target, raising the binoculars once more. “Pick your favorite answer out of those,” she grumbled, irritation bleeding into every word. “God, are all cancer patients this high-maintenance?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Taylor shrugged.

Tattletale twisted the binoculars to adjust the focus. “Oh, your poor dad,” she said.

Taylor narrowed her eyes at the villain. “Do you want me to ask about the eating stuff some more?”

“No, obviously,” Tattletale dropped the binoculars to glare at Taylor.

For a moment, Taylor could imagine herself as one of the cowboys in those movies her dad used to watch, like she and Tattletale were standing at 10 paces, hands twitching over their holsters, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Except their holsters were filled with insults instead of guns. The metaphor broke down even further from there.

Taylor’s stomach growled and she pressed a hand against it. She felt a little better, actually. Good enough to slap Tattletale if she really wanted, actually. She didn’t really want to, though. And she was still hungry.

Taylor frowned, and quirked her head, peering down the bridge of her nose at the villain. “I’ll drop it if you get me some food.”

“Deal,” Tattletale said immediately, tossing the binoculars into the backseat and switching the car into reverse. Taylor slid forward as the car lurched backwards. Circus had to duck to avoid being struck in the head. Somehow, the thief in the backseat didn’t have any trouble keeping upright as Tattletale peeled the car out onto the road. They stayed perfectly balanced as they swiped through their phone.

“I didn’t know you were terminally ill,” Circus said flatly.

Taylor whipped her head back at her. Tattletale adjusted the rear-view mirror to stare at them. The two of them spoke at the same time. “You’ve been working with us for weeks now.” “Are you serious? Look at her.”

Casey just shrugged.

Tattletale white-knuckled the wheel as they made their way through side-street after side-street, and Taylor kept a close eye for any cars that could be following them. Perfect memory wasn’t that useful as a power, but at least it let her key into any familiar vehicles.

“Do you want Fugly Bobs or Jumbo Burger?” Tattletale said.

Taylor’s frown deepened. “We can’t do a sit-down place?”

“No,” Tattletale shook her head, exasperated. “The meeting with our contact in the Teeth is in—” she glanced at the dashboard. “–an hour and seventeen minutes.”

“Okay, but, can we not at least do a better fastfood place?”

“Fugly Bobs and Jumbo Burger are the only two that don’t have cameras for their drive-throughs. Those are the choices.” Tattletale pressed the butt of her palm against one eyelid as they rolled through a stop sign.

Taylor sighed. “Jumbo Burger.”

Cars screamed at each other as they drove down main street. Taylor stared out the window, watching buildings rush past. More than a few had broken windows, chips in the brick, or cracks in the foundation. One unlucky structure had a massive girder slammed through the roof, artifacts of the recent struggle between the Teeth and the Empire. Or ‘The Chosen’. Whatever they called themselves now.

Taylor glared at the structure, something unpleasant twisting in her stomach.

Useless.

She was useless.

And there was nothing she could do but wait.

Eventually they arrived at the restaurant.

Eventually the line at the drive through cleared out enough for them to order.

Eventually the acne-ridden girl running the window handed them their food.

Eventually Tattletale found a place to park.

Eventually Tattletale dropped the greasy bag into Taylor’s lap.

Useless.

Taylor grabbed the burger from the bag, took a single bite, and winced as the twisting in her stomach only got worse. She technically wasn’t supposed to eat stuff like this. That was what the doctor’s said, at least. Her body apparently agreed. Eating food this heavy usually left her feeling like garbage.

But she always felt like garbage, so what was the difference, really?

She took another bite, flinching at the sour taste in the back of her mouth.

“Jesus,” Casey mumbled through a mouth full of fries. “Guess you like burgers?”

“ Hungwhy, ” Taylor growled, sounding a little like something feral. She took another bite, ketchup dripping down her chip.

“What the hell…?” Tattletale mumbled, staring, wide-eyed at her, then winced and held her head, popping another pill.

Taylor wolfed the burger down, then lounged back against the chair. Still hungry.

“Fry,” she commanded. Tattletale raised an eyebrow, and Taylor said again. “Fry.”

“Uh… ‘kay?” The villain pulled one free and held it over Taylor’s head. The gaunt girl craned her neck, grabbing it from the villain’s fingers like a trained seal.

Useless.

She grumbled under her breath.

Useless.

She snatched the container of fries from Tattletale’s hands.

“Hey, what the—give those back!”

Useless.

Taylor scarfed them down, grease staining her cheeks.

And she was still hungry.

It didn’t do anything.

The food didn’t do anything.

Taylor hung her head, hair twisted over her face. Slowly, stealthily, she peeked out of the knotted curls, one eye glowing in the darkness as she stared at Tattletale.

Tattletale stared back, biting her lip like she was worried about something, as if she had anything to worry about.

“Why’d you only get fries?” Taylor wheezed. Her voice shook the windows, like the stereo’s bass was turned too high.

“Because I’m watching my figure. I didn’t wanna have to work the burger off.” Tattletale said immediately. She blinked, then shoved herself against Taylor “Hey, hey, okay, no, not doing that.”

Casey leaned back, further away from Taylor, staring at her.

Taylor leaned closer to Tattletale, lips moving on autopilot. “Why’d you contact the Chosen?” 

“Because I felt useless just sitting there doing nothing,” Tattletale said, then clawed at Taylor’s face. The villain’s nails were sharp. Something came away red. “Hey, hey, hey! ”

“You’re an idiot…” Taylor wheezed.

Tattletale pulled her leg to her chest, then kicked Taylor in the shoulder. The thin girl jerked into the window. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” she shrieked.

Taylor hissed, holding her stomach. Still hungry.

So hungry.

“You’re a shallow, self-absorbed jerk,” Taylor’s voice screamed out her throat like a steam train. “You must’ve been so proud of yourself, seeing the kind of people you’d contacted.”

“You fucking hypocrite! Where the hell was this ‘Holier-than-thou’ crap when we were—”

“What were you thinking?”

Tattletale’s jaw snapped shut as Taylor cut her off. Taylor pulled harder, finding the answer that would hurt the most. The girl tried to keep her mouth shut. It was useless. The word crawled up her gullet, forcing her lips apart.

“I was imagining Coil in that man’s place,” she said, face pale. Her pupils shrunk to points. “It was a stupid, intrusive thought!” she hissed, then clawed at Taylor’s face again.

“Was it really?”

“Yes!”

The car rumbled. The window whined under the pressure. Taylor whipped her head toward the backseat, searching for another meal. Casey had vanished at some point, nowhere to be found. She scanned the parking lot. Their newest recruit was walking away, glancing back behind them every now and then. Taylor searched more. More, her stomach tearing itself to pieces.

The customers were staring out the window, watching them.

Everyone was watching them.

She was so hungry.

Taylor’s vision snagged on the girl in the drive through, eyes like saucers, face greasy and pale, covered in pimples. Taylor imagined herself playing connect the dots on her cheeks, laughing as she did it.

“That girl in the window,” Taylor hissed. “What can you get on her?”

Tattletale’s lips moved on their own. Her voice hummed like air pouring through a pipe, musical and sweet and Taylor was so hungry.

“She’s worried about someone,” the villain said blankly. “She was checking her phone. Trying to—no, expecting someone. A boyfriend. She’s worried about—”

That was all she needed.

Taylor threw the door open. Before she knew it, she was across the parking lot. Before she knew it she was standing in front of the drive-through window. Before she knew it the girl was staring at her, paralyzed. Before she knew it, Taylor was speaking.

She was so hungry.

Taylor said something.

The girl answered. Taylor saw the fear in her eyes, felt it, more than she saw the words, fears of not being good enough for him. Not pretty enough for him.

The girl’s tongue waggled in her mouth like a worm.

“-cheating on me. I smelled someone’s perfume and–and—”

Tears poured down her face. Taylor pulled harder.

“Do you really think you deserve him?”

The girl’s voice broke as she whispered “No.”

Taylor pulled harder.

Harder.

One question, then two, then five. The people in the window stared, horrified.

“Do you think your parents really love you?”

“Why not?”

“Do you know what they would change about you?”

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

“How did that make you feel?”

“What were you thinking when they walked in on you?”

Taylor blinked at the girl’s face was flooded with tears. She blinked, and suddenly her hands were on the girl’s shirt collar, dragged her halfway out the window.

She pulled the girl apart, left her a broken mess, half hanging out the window as she sobbed helpless.

Taylor saw it all, storing it away, committing it to memory. Her hands fell away as she stumbled backwards, stronger than she’d felt in ages, more energetic, more lively. She stared at her reflection in the glass. Her face was bloody, but there were no wounds.

Perfectly healthy.

She let her head loll back as she shuffled backwards, away from the weeping girl, finally full, finally satisfied.

And then she came back to reality.

The customers in the restaurant watched her, horrified. Taylor saw herself reflected in their eyes, like tiny mirrors. Bile rose in her throat as she moved away. She took one step, then two, then tumbled to the floor. Her hands scrabbled across the pavement, searching for her chair.

It was nowhere to be found.

So how had she gotten to the window? How had she—

Taylor twitched as she emptied her stomach. A camera flashed in the distance as she writhed like a roach on the pavement.

“What the fuck was that?” Tattletale hissed, standing over her. Another camera flashed, and the villain winced. “Fuck, fuck, okay, this disguise is shot, just—” She grabbed Taylor’s wrist and started dragging her toward the car. “Fuck. And the car is compromised just—what the fuck was that?” she practically screamed.

Another pair of hands grabbed her, stronger this time.

“Wow, thanks for the help back there,” Tattletale hissed.

“Yeah, I’m not messing with that,” Casey drawled. “Help me load her into the car?”

“Just—fuck, fuck. ”

Taylor blinked at the sky, moaning as they stuffed her in the backseat. “Wha—” she coughed up something wet.

“God…” Tattletale climbed into the driver’s seat and whirled on her, eyes burning. “You feel better now, wheels?”

Taylor stared at the blonde girl, face hanging slack. “Actually… yeah,” she said, before dropping back to the seat. “Way better,” she whispered as her eyes slid shut.

Chapter Text

First rule of running the show: Look like you know what you’re doing.

The second rule doesn’t exist.

Lisa paced back and forth in the parking garage, eyes darting across the too-open space. Shadows stretched like the branches of a gnarled tree, growing across the floor. The sky glowed a dim orange as the sun set in the distance, huddling behind the Medhall Tower. The breeze picked up, and a chill scraped up her spine. Lisa checked her phone. 46 minutes until the meeting. She checked her surroundings. Still empty. She checked herself. Still in control.

Lisa whipped her head back toward Circus, chewing her bottom lip as they loaded Taylor into the second car. 

Circus had their hair tied up in a loose ponytail, the tip dyed orange. Their shirt was a plaid button down, tied in the front, and their shorts were khaki’s. A fashion disaster, in short. Unlike Taylor, who was just a normal disaster. The clown raised their eyes toward Lisa, and any sign of worry on her face vanished in an instant. A smirk sprung up to her ear, and she stood casually, fist on her hip. “You really can’t lift her?” she drawled. “The poor girl’s 90 pounds soaking wet.”

Circus grimaced, stumbled slightly as Taylor shifted in their arms. “You could help, you know.”

Eyes darting across the area. Anxious. Hiding it. Considering leaving. Considering—

Lisa winced as the pressure in the front of her skull grew. She hid it well, though—she’d always been good at hiding things. “Nah,” she folded her hands behind her head as she wandered away. “I’ve got more important stuff to do.”

Very important things to do.

‘Life and death’ important.

They didn’t need to know that, though.

Lisa kept the smile stapled to her face as she sauntered up to the barrier wall and leaned against it, dragging her hands over the rough concrete. What a mess. Another disguise shot, another car compromised. She tapped her finger in a steady rhythm as she thought. She’d have to call her car guy to dispose of it. And her disguise guy. She had a guy for everything, nowadays. For everything important, at least. Anyone who was anyone did.

The parking garage was still deserted. This one usually was. Apparently, the city had built it in preparation for a rush of new office buildings on the outskirts of the boardwalk. Only the office buildings hadn’t come. The development stalled, and what little there was ended up moving away, further from the city. Most coastal cities did that, nowadays.

Stupid, Lisa shook her head, laughing to herself. No matter where you were, there was always some idiot jumping the gun.

Think.

Think.

Think.

She tapped her fingers faster, eyes twitching across the open space. Her head pounded, a blunt pressure pushing against her skull. Lisa sucked a sharp breath through her teeth. She could almost feel her head bulging like a pipe about to burst.

Think.

She turned on her heel, smiling wide at their contractor. Circus was just about finished buckling Taylor into the backseat. The little weirdo’s head lolled from side to side as she mumbled under her breath.

What a mess.

Lisa’s smile twitched. One eye followed suit. Another moment, a tiny breath, and a mask smoothed over her features, more real by far than any costume. Taylor raised a shaky hand into the air, cracked one eye, then let her arm drop back to her lap. Lisa kept the mask on as she strolled back to the car, burying her discomfort as the weirdo’s single green eye stared at her through the blanket of curls, far brighter than any normal eye. The girl’s lips were moving, ever so slightly. Lisa leaned closer, craning her ear to catch what she was saying. The girl’s eye glowed. Lisa could almost hear it buzzing like a neon sign. Or m̸a̷y̸b̶e̶ ̴t̴h̶a̶t̶ ̷w̵̝͝ǎ̴̜s̷̺͊ h̷̢̧̰̞͗͝͠ȅ̷̪̏̈́͘r̶̤͛̄͒ h̶̛̜͕̲͖̾͊̒͑͛͌͒͋͐̅̈́́̓͒̕͠e̵̡̲̘̭̺̳̝̝̯̬̘̹͎͍͂̀̒̽̑̋ͅͅa̸̡̛̘͔͍͎̖̩̦̪̗͔͙̝̦͂̈̀̉̿͂̀̓͐̽̑̕̕͠͝d̷̢̡̛̛̗͚̘̝̍́.̷̧̡͖̻̥̠̯̠͉͔̳̬͈̩̼͈͋͛

“I didn’t mean to,” she mumbled, holding the shattered glass higher. Shards dug into her hands.

Her mother stared down at her, smiling at her for the first time in months. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she said, patting her on the back. “I know what we need to do.”

She looked up at her mother, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Just… repeat after me.” Her mother held up a finger. “I don’t know what happened to it.”

She stared up at her, nodding along. “I don’t know what happened to it?”

“It must’ve broke on its own.”

“It must’ve broke on its own.”

“Good,” her mother smiled wider. “We were out getting… oh… coffee! Yes.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Then… ice cream. Yes. Got it?”

She stared for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. Now put it back where you found it.”

Ļ̵̡͔̩̳̲̼̝̮͔͙̖̿̏͒̑̎͘͝ͅi̴͉̊s̸̨̢̘̩͖͖̊͛͌͛̑̊̽̋̋̈́a̸͚͐̇̾̍̑͑̊͊̎̊ f̴̪͋l̵̗̆i̴͇̓n̸̜̆c̶̰͐h̸͕̀e̵̗͗d̴̰̐ a̷w̸a̸y̸,̵ grimacing as the pain screamed in the back of her mind. She held her hand against her jaw, forcibly keeping it shut. The weirdo stared at her, and Lisa stared back, opening the floodgates to find something on her so-called ‘partner in crime’.

Wounds closed. Stronger. Healed by power. Healed by secrets. Normal questions don’t help as much. Healing linked to emotions they cause? Embarrassment? Shame? Power feeding on—

Lisa slammed the door on the obvious. She already knew that. 

Or at least she knew something like that, even if little miss Make-a-Wish foundation didn’t. She definitely wasn’t being kept alive the normal way anymore. The girl had used the bathroom exactly once since she’d arrived at their little hideout two weeks ago. Once, in two weeks. Who knows how a girl with ‘perfect memory’—whatever that means—could miss that. Let alone the doctors. Let alone the little weirdo’s dad.

Idiots. Lisa’s grin grew sharper. Guess thinker powers really aren’t everything.

Circus stared at Lisa as she idled next to the car. The blonde girl took out her phone and pretended to text someone. It was good to look like you were busy, even when you weren’t, and especially when you were. Her smile grew, self-assured, self-satisfied, self-confident, as she stared at their employee in the window’s reflection.

Glancing at the wheel. Looking for an opportunity to leave. Looking for an opportunity to jump ship. Regretting—

The pain in her head grew. And grew. And grew and grew. “Hey, by the way?” Lisa hummed. “What are we paying you for today again?” Her eyes sparkled as she glanced toward the clown.

They looked at her warily, watching her from the corner of their eye. “Not enough,” they said flatly.

“Let’s triple that, then.” Her smirk grew wider.

Circus stared at her, thin lips pursed. “Sure,” they shrugged, trying to act bored and failing miserably. “You’ll pay me up front?”

Her smirk grew even wider.

“Don’t worry,” Lisa cooed. “I’ll have the extra dropped off at your apartment.”

Wider.

Circus stared at her.

Wider.

“Alright,” Lisa clapped her hands together. “Hole up here for a sec? I’m gonna change up my style,” she said with a wink. Circus gave a slow nod, and Lisa reached into the new car, pulling out the supplies for a perfect disguise, neatly folded into a small suitcase under the front seat. “Don’t get into any trouble,” she whispered to the maybe catatonic form of the creep in the back seat. She blinked once, eye flashing neon green. Lisa swallowed her shiver and strutted away.

Her knees didn’t wobble.

Her hands didn’t shake.

Her smile didn’t fade.

She knew what she was doing, always. And if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be too long before she found out. And if she couldn’t, then it probably wasn’t that important anyway.

What a mess.

What an absolute mess.

Picking up the chemo queen was a risk, and so far it hadn’t paid off, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t. She wasn’t the best at being honest. She was self-aware enough to realize it, but not enough to do anything about it.

Not that she needed to, of course. 

Part of her really liked the weirdo in the wheelchair. She was smart as a whip, with a bit of steel inside her eggshell-fragile body. A bigger part of her absolutely despised the girl. Visions danced before her eyes whenever something personal was dragged out of her, visions of things that really ought to stay buried. Being forced to be honest, being forced to peek behind the mask.

It was like i̷t̴ ̴w̴a̴s̸ ̵t̵a̶i̸l̸o̶r̴-̸m̶a̷d̴e̶ t̵͎̂o̶̯̘̎ ̴̘̬̂͌s̵̨͇̑͆c̷͓̱͛r̶̮̩͗̊ė̴ͅw̸̨͕͛̚ w̶̞͇̪̾i̷͇͉͈̤̓ͅt̴͉̀̋̽̈́̆̚h̴̟͚̗̮̥͆͘͝͠ ̶̧̲̐͛̈́̄̈̀͘ḧ̷̟̦̫̭̪̗̯́̾̐̇́͂̈́ȩ̶̬͎̬̘͌r̴̝̦̋̂̿̑̈́̊.̸͉̠̩̹̎͛͐͆̚ ̴͉̬͚͆

“Remember,” her father whispered. Passionate. The most passion he’d ever shown. “What do we say?”

“We haven’t been to our beach house in months,” she said robotically. “We didn’t see Carmen the day she died. We were in Ojai.”

“Good,” he let out a breath, then grabbed her shoulder. Hugged her. Had he ever hugged her before? “Good.”

L̵̡̜̣̱̭̓͠i̸̧̧̤̣̼̟̩̩͓̖͖͍͎̓͆͐͐s̴̘̪̼̝̭̟̤̞̆͂͐̌̐̒͂͑̂͝a̴̡̯͚̒̉̈́̈́̒̾͐̂̍̆͂͗̚ s̷̢̝̼̃́t̶̻͔͛̌̑u̷̠̐m̶̗̱̎̿b̷͓̼̜̆̐͋ļ̴̦͍̌ë̷̹͚́d̸͈̪̄͊͜ f̶o̷r̷w̶a̴r̴d̵, blinking as the images faded away, then whipped her head around to stare at the car in the distance, at the too-green eye, peeling her open. The girl in the backseat had shouted something at her, a question, then immediately passed out again.

Lisa held up her middle finger, scowling as she moved away.

She rubbed the base of her palms across her eyes, held her breath, counted to three, then let it go. Then did it again. Then did it again.

Lisa shook her head, working out the kinks in her everything.

Maybe she was in a bit of a pickle. Walls on every side. Coil breathing down her neck. The undersiders going belly up once the Teeth sauntered into town. No where to go but forward, because Lisa refused to back down. 

The plan was supposed to be simple. Get the girl. Use her power to publicly out Coil in front of the PRT. Worst case scenario, she refused to cooperate. Then Lisa could just roll her off a pier or something. At least then her so-called ‘boss’ wouldn’t have her either.

Except that wasn’t the worst case scenario, as it turns out. Who knew that Coil was a sore loser?

Lisa probably should’ve. She was a sore loser too. She probably should’ve planned for it, but she was good enough to adapt on the fly. Another deep breath. Then another. The plan wasn’t a failure. It just got a bit more complicated. That’s all.

It was easier to look like you were in control when you actually were. So Lisa was. It was as simple as that. She hugged her suitcase to her chest as she wandered across the open space, toward the bathroom on the far side.

The tiles rattled as she slammed the door behind her, and she immediately got to work removing her makeup, changing her outfit, becoming someone new. A mask over a mask over a mask over a mask, piled so high they wobbled whenever she so much as moved. They wouldn’t fall, though. Lisa was good enough at this to keep the balance.

The bathroom stank like rotten eggs, the tiles had long since faded from a bright blue to a pale, musty grey, and the lights overhead flickered every few seconds. A perfect hideaway. She stripped her foundation, then searched through the tones, practiced eyes scanning the collection for a suitable replacement. She grabbed the sponge and piled on the replacement. A little messy, a little bit off-color, but that was fine too. She could work with that. The previous disguise was evoking ‘Wealthy soccer mom’. Someone with money that didn’t actually feel the need to flaunt it. Now she was thinking… college burnout?

Yeah. That worked.

It was harder than it looked to apply make-up in a way that looked amateurish, while still being believable, but Lisa was just that good. The clothes came off. The shoes came off. She winced as she touched the greasy tile with her bare foot, then immediately pulled it away and settled for standing on her clothes.

Her brain pressed against her skull. Lisa ignored it. The lights stabbed at her eyes. Lisa ignored it.

What a mess.

What a mess it all was.

She could probably release Coil’s name to the public too, as payback, but all the data said he’d probably have his men murder the weirdo’s dad in retaliation—they were still watching him, as of two days ago. It didn’t really affect Lisa, but…

Well, it would leave the weirdo pretty upset. And it’d be a lot harder to work with the girl if she hated her.

Lisa would prefer not to make any more enemies than she already had. So, yeah. The downsides outweighed the upsides. Besides, she didn’t need to give the sore loser another opportunity to flip the table. Just let the nazi’s handle him. There was a layer of separation there.

So! The new plan: Get them all to kill each other. Lisa nodded to herself. Smirking at the girl forming in her reflection. Get the Chosen to kill Coil. Get the Teeth to kill the Chosen. Get the PRT to kill the Teeth. Enter Lisa, sitting on the top of the pile, laughing her head off.

A perfect plan, once she figured out all the steps.

A stray movement, and her makeup bag fell open. Glass and plastic clattered into the sink. Lisa swore under her breath, then collected it, then knocked it over again.

She left it the second time, holding her head in her hands when it all got too much.

One second. Two. She readied herself to raise her head from her hands like she was preparing to jump into an ice cold lake, counting down from 10, then chickening out at the last moment.

It took her three tries to actually go through with it.

She came up fresh faced, with a bright smile.

New clothes. A new car. A new plan. A new everything.

Lisa stared at the girl in her reflection, subtly critiquing her make up, the way she dressed, the way she presented herself. Caked on makeup, garish eyeshadow, lipstick that was just a little bit smeared. Bags under her eyes. Frizzy hair. A crop top, jean shorts. Fishnets, torn on one side, of course.

She looked like an absolute mess. Lisa nodded approvingly. A perfect disguise; the exact opposite of her.

Lisa collected her things and threw the bathroom door open, walking quickly, confidently. Circus was still there, by the car. Good. Lisa let out a breath.

She stumbled a little, and had to spend a few seconds picking up her stray makeup. One of her platforms shoes dropped onto the concrete, and Lisa chose to leave it there. The grin slipped, and she shoved it back into place. Her eyes jumped, and she forced them to stay still. The sun slipped down. And down. And down.

She pulled out the bottle of pills and doubled the recommended dose. A quick check of the time showed 23 minutes until the meeting. Lisa nodded to herself.

More than enough time.

🟂

Lisa ended up being fashionably late to the meeting, just enough to establish who exactly was in charge. She kept her eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, chewing her lip whenever Circus looked away. Once, she barely avoided crashing into an oncoming car. Once or twice.

“What the—” Circus pulled their legs into the chair. “What the hell is wrong with you!? Do you even have your license!?”

Lisa just rolled her eyes. “Obviously,” she lied.

Their car jumped as it rolled over a pot hole. The sky got darker as they moved further and further into the Teeth’s territory. Taylor was still sitting in the backseat, clutching fitfully at her scrubs as her head drifted back and forth. She was in pretty bad shape, but it was nothing a little rest and relaxation couldn’t fix.

Circus was still planning to jump ship, but it was nothing a little blackmail couldn’t solve.

Lisa kept a cool head, kept a tight seal on her power, preserving it. She didn’t need it to make things go her way anyway.

Messy. It was all so messy. She did the calculations in her head, ignoring the pounding of her skull. Six thousand dollars for the day; Circus’s fee. Fifty two thousand dollars in their stash total, after expenses. Thirteen of Coil’s men under her thumb—Taylor was pretty good for blackmail, admittedly—and dirt on seven members of the Chosen. According to her intel, they were planning to make a move on Coil sometime tonight. It wasn’t enough intel and it wasn’t enough people. 

No… not nearly enough. But that was fine, because Lisa had a plan. It wasn’t enough but it would be enough because Lisa had a plan and everything was under control.

“Are you gonna get out?” Circus said, annoyed.

Lisa blinked. The car had been parked for almost half a minute. “I’m making them wait,” she shrugged easily. “Making an impression,” Lisa winked at her employee, then threw the door open wide. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness as she wandered into the empty lot. Orange-grey soil that smelled like sewage. Rebar twisting in the ground like massive metal worms. Rotting wood and rotting garbage and rotting people.

The Teeth to a ‘T’.

She watched the hulking shadow on the far side of the lot and studied it closely.

Waiting. Waiting for you. Tense. Ready to attack? Ready to flee. Watching. Not watching for you. Watching for other members. Other members don’t know they’re there. Acting on her—

Lisa bent her head to the side, swallowing the nausea churning in her gut. She whistled easily, shoving her hands in her jean shorts as she strutted toward the center. Circus climbed out of the car, suddenly in costume, ready to step in if needed. They probably wouldn’t be able to save her if the meeting went sideways, if Lisa was being honest, but that was fine, because the meeting wouldn’t go sideways.

The figure in the shadows watched her, growled in a rage, then pounced. Three beasts, the size of cars, leapt from the darkness. The one in the center moved closer, something wet dripping from its maw. Their paws pounded against the dirt, and their spikes scraped against each other as they watched her, red eyes burning like coals. The one riding on its back gave a sharp whistle as they approached, and the monsters began to growl, so low and loud Lisa could feel it in her chest.

She stared up at Bitch, grinning sweetly. Her costume wasn’t too different. More bones. More spikes. The same cheap, plastic dog-mask. The same coat, with the same fur collar.

Shoulders tense. Angry. Furious. Didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect you. Thinks it’s a trap. Thinks it’s—

“It’s so good to see you again, Bitch,” Lisa said, putting her hands on her hips. “How are you doing? How are the Teeth treating you?” Her head pounded. Her knees shook. But that was fine, because she had it under control.

Bitch stayed quiet, Amber eyes glaring through the holes in her plastic bulldog face. Another click of her tongue, and the dogs moved closer, teeth the size of Lisa’s forearm flashing in the darkness.

“Hey, hey, hey, I wasn’t—” Lisa took a step back, then remembered herself. “Listen,” she said smoothly. “I’m not fucking with you. Honest,” she ran a hand through her hair. Circus was tense, ready to strike the moment Lisa gave the signal, and only when she gave the signal. Lisa was hoping Taylor would be awake for this. A guarantee that Lisa was being honest would’ve been valuable, but she was smart enough to handle it on her own.

Bitch didn’t say anything. The dogs moved closer. Lisa’s skull felt like it was on the verge of splitting open. But it was fine.

“I wasn’t lying,” Lisa said, a slight panic creeping into her voice as she scurried backward. Only enough to let Bitch feel like she was in control. “I can tell you where Empire safehouses are,” she said, almost out of breath. “Where their dog-fighting rings are, their—” she trailed off as the girl in the cheap, plastic dog mask hopped off the back of one of the monsters. Maybe she’d made some headway. Maybe—

Arm tense. Still angry. Still—

Lisa’s train of thought derailed as the dog-girl’s fist crashed into her nose. She fell backwards, sprawled across the rough pavement, hacking from the impact and wiping away blood. “Listen,” Lisa coughed. “Listen, you—” she did her best not to scream as Bitch laid a heavy boot on her knee. The pain grew stronger, lancing up her knee and out the top of her head, so sharp her vision went white.

The rough girl tore the cheap, plastic dog mask off her face, elastic bands snapping as she ripped it away to reveal hard eyes, a crooked, blunted nose, and thin lips, turned up in a snarl.

“Why would I ever want your help?”

Bitch’s words were short and clipped, dripping with rage.

Lisa only barely stopped herself from laughing. A manic grin spread across her face as she wiped away the blood. It didn’t matter that Bitch had all the power. It didn’t matter that she could maul her with a snap of her fingers.

“Because,” Lisa hacked, smiling sweetly as the blood dribbled down her chin. “You hate the Empire more than you hate me.”

Bitch stared back at her, dark eyes drilling holes in her skull. She was angry. Furious, really. That didn’t matter either.

It didn’t matter how much pain Lisa was in. It didn’t matter if Bitch decided to hurt her even worse. The fact the girl had said anything at all meant she was already considering it.

Lisa’s smirk slowly morphed into a savage smile.

She’d won the moment Bitch opened her mouth.

Chapter Text

Statement of Trudy Carlisle//February 27th, 2011//Statement taken by Taylor Hebert, in situ.

Statement begins:

Uh, hi. My name’s Trudy. Uh, Trudy Carlisle. I work at Jumbo Burger, the one off Freemont. It’s… fine. It’s hard work. And I guess the oil isn’t great for my skin. Pays like garbage too. But, y’know, it’s fine. I could probably get a better job, but I, uh… haven’t.

I do pretty well in school. I’m a senior. Go Catamounts! Heh…

Have a boyfriend.

He’s nice.

Most of the time.

My Gram’s nice too, she—

Oh, I live with my Grandma. Have for—y-yeah. My dad sorta… died, a little while back. Years now, actually. I was 10 at the time, and my mom wasn’t—

Yeah, I can tell you about that.

Yeah.

🟂

I grew up on a pig farm out in Wacamaw county. It wasn’t one of those industrial ones, there wasn’t one of those for 50 miles. No, just a small, family-run farm, and even that was pushing it, cause I didn’t really start helping out til’ I was eight or so. I mean, I helped out a little. Since I was three at least. Everyone helps on a farm. But how much help is a toddler ever gonna be?

I probably got in the way more than anything

No, it was really just my dad. He fixed fences, fed the hogs, did the… y’know. Um… yeah. He did it all. We couldn’t have ever had more than 30 hogs at a time, but it still kept him working from sunrise to set.

My mom left when I was younger. Got sick of him, the way he tells it. She got the money, he got me. I got my name from her, and I guess a lot more than that, cause I got sick of him too, by the end.

He’d tell me I was doing things wrong a lot of the time. He did that a lot more when he was holding a bottle. I—he said it was for my own good. And most of the time he was right. Hog farms are dangerous. People don’t really think about it, but…

I think he liked scaring me, looking back.

It made him feel big. He told me once about a man who had a stroke and fell into the pig pen, how he couldn’t move. The pigs didn’t wait for him to die to start eating him. He lived up til they reached his lungs, the way dad told it.

It’s… messed up. It’s a messed up thing to tell a five-year-old, I guess, but I took it to heart. Those lessons stick. No matter how friendly they seem, no matter how cute they look, and gosh, they look cute… they won’t hesitate. ‘They’re animals, Trudy,’ he’d say. ‘You gotta treat ‘em like it.’

I think he’s wrong about that, now that I'm older. At least a little bit. They’re a lot like us. You can tell when you look in their eyes, they look like a person’s. They’re thinking behind them.

I don’t think he’s wrong about what they’ll do to you. No. But… it’s not cause they’re animals.

People don’t hesitate either.

Sorry, I’m—getting sidetracked. Um.

I was about 10 when he died. The spring before, I helped him deliver a new litter—uh, he called it a ‘farrow’, actually—a new group of 11 little baby piglets, and—gosh. I didn’t really play much with them before. I was a little scared of them before then, which… makes sense. But, that spring…

I didn’t care much for most of them, but the smallest one, the runt of the litter, he was the sweetest, most precious little thing… all pink and so wrinkled you could bunch up his skin in your hand. I just about died the first time I saw him, held him in my lap. He didn’t open his eyes for three days, and when he did…

I don’t know what exactly was different about him, looking back. It’s hard to pin down what separated him from the rest. He was smaller, sure, but he didn’t act any different. He didn’t look any different.

It was something about his eyes.

You could tell he was planning. From the moment he opened his eyes, he was planning something. I remember, the first time he opened them and looked up at me, and I could feel it, something just as smart as me, thinking just as much as me.

I loved him.

I really did. I think I loved him more than my dad, to tell the truth. Named him ‘Rudy’. A little joke. A bad one. Trudy and Rudy.

I spent all summer playing with him, every day, and he grew, and grew—pigs grow fast, you know. He was the only one I ever took out of the pen. He’d follow me around, staring up at me, trotting at my heels. He’d come when I called him. I swear he knew his name, and late at night, I’d sit in the barn and I’d talk with him and he’d hear me. Really hear me. I know he could. He’d stare up at me with those big, brown eyes, eyelashes fluttering, and he’d know what I was talking about.

My dad didn’t like it much.

My dad didn’t like him.

A lot of times Dad'd sit on the porch in his rickety little chair, sipping a can of something or other and just staring at the two of us.

You know what happens on pig farms.

Of course you do.

I knew too, I think. But… it was a vague thing. Abstract. There weren’t many buildings on the farm. There was the house we lived in, old—older than old—built in the 50s and sagging in places. There was the shed, where dad kept his tools, all the dangerous stuff he warned me not to touch. There was the barn, and the pen. Wide. Very wide. Pigs take up a lot of space.

And, then there was the building dad told me not to go in.

That’s where he took the pigs when they were ready to be sold. Some farms actually don’t kill the pigs themselves, nowadays. Sometimes they’ll sell them to slaughterhouses, let them do the dirty work, but…

I think my dad liked it, actually.

I think he enjoyed it.

The building was the smallest of the four, ramshackle, made of rusty tin and a dark wood that left splinters when you dragged your hand across it. It wasn’t anything special to me, looking back. I never really even thought about what happened to the pigs he brought inside, but then again, I never really got attached to any of the pigs before Rudy.

I wish I hadn’t gotten attached.

He woke me up one night that fall, late enough you could almost call it morning. His breath smelled like beer, and his beard scratched against my cheek as he shook me, whispering ‘Get up, Trudy. You’re old enough now. It’s time you earned your keep.’

I rubbed my eyes and blinked up at him and asked him what he was talking about, but he just said the same thing again and again.

‘You’re old enough now. It’s time you earned your keep.’

I threw on my pajamas and followed after him as he left the house. It was muggy that night. Crickets were screaming, so loud it was like they were parked right inside my ear. I just shuffled after him, didn’t ask many questions.

Dad was stumbling a bit, and every now and then, he’d turn back to make sure I was still following. His eyes were red, and he kept wiping his lips, and when I asked what was wrong he’d just say it again.

‘You’re old enough now. It’s time you earned your keep.’

The pigs weren’t happy when Dad woke them up. One of ‘em bit at his boots, and he kicked it in the jaw.

I stayed outside after that, hugging myself. It wasn’t really cold yet. Summer was still holding, but I kept rubbing my arms anyway.

Dad came out a little bit later, lugging Rudy. He was big by that point, big enough dad couldn’t pick him up. Pigs grow fast, like I said, and it’d been a long time since Rudy was the runt of the litter.

Dad made me follow him. He dragged Rudy behind him with a lead. Rudy kept pulling away, and when I asked what he was doing with my friend, Dad’d just keep saying ‘You’re old enough now. It’s time you earned your keep.’

He opened the door to the building I wasn’t supposed to go in. It was latched shut with a heavy iron lock, and when the door swung open, the hinges growled at us.

It was so hot that night, but it was even hotter inside.

Have you ever been inside a slaughterhouse? Usually the killing floor is set about a grate of some kind, a place to let the blood flow.

The floor of the building was wood.

It stank.

Copper and sweat and shit and so much blood I could taste it in the air. I coughed again and again, and my eyes watered, but when I asked him what he was doing, he just shook his head and grabbed my wrist and whispered ‘You’re old enough now. It’s time you earned your keep.’

It was like the boards had been soaked clean through. They sagged beneath my feet like wet paper, like they were soggy with all the blood they’d drank up over the years.

Metal tools lines the walls, and something brown splattered across a rusty table pressed against the back wall. Rudy wouldn’t stop screaming. Not squealing, not any sound you’d imagine a pig making. He was screaming. He was screaming like a little boy, looking up at me with those big brown eyes, so much like a person’s. I grabbed my dad’s leg, and begged him not to hurt my friend, but he kicked me away, muttering again and again and again that ‘You’re old enough now. It’s time you earned your keep.’

I started crying once I understood what was happening. Really understood.

Rudy wasn’t even old enough to be sold yet, I don’t think. He wasn’t big enough.

Dad was just doing it to be cruel.

He tied Rudy to a hook hanging from the ceiling, and handed me something heavy and metal, with a long tube coming out the bottom. I’d never seen a bolt gun before, let alone used one. I asked dad why he was doing this.

You know what he said.

He grabbed my arm, so rough I had bruises, and guided my hand until the gun was pressed up against Rudy’s forehead. I kept asking him ‘Why are you doing this?’. Rudy’s snout pressed against my hand. He stopped screaming by that point, and when I looked at him he was crying. Crying, just like me.

Those big, brown eyes kept blinking up at me. Smarter than dad, maybe even smarter than me. I could see it. He was planning something. His little lips were flapping, like he was trying to speak. He’d always been planning something, but it was the first time I understood what he was thinking about. It was like he was telling me what to do.

I listened.

Dad was slow that night. Slower than me. He took out a cigarette and popped it between his lips but fumbled the lighter. He dropped it on the ground, then bent to pick it up. That's when I turned towards him, pointed the bolt gun at his head, right up against the skin.

He wasn't fast enough to stop me.

His neck whipped back from the force of it, and he fell backwards onto some of the tools. They made such a clatter as they rattled against the wall, and then it was quiet. Rudy wasn’t screaming anymore. I wasn’t crying. It was totally quiet, except for the crickets.

I just stood there, breathing hard while Rudy pressed his snout up against my side. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.

Dad groaned, and I screamed. His foot twitched.

I didn’t know how bolt guns worked at the time, but I do now. They don’t kill the animal. Not at first. A piston drives through the skull, destroying crucial parts of the brain and leaving them unconscious, but alive. It’s like a hand-held lobotomy.

He was still groaning, gargling, really, like he was choking on something. I must’ve not done it right. Or maybe humans are different. I’m not sure, but…

He kept twitching, and when I got up enough courage to look at his face, half his forehead was caved in.

I was so scared.

I don’t know why I did it. To this day, a part of me still thinks it was Rudy’s idea, not mine. I just listened, but…

Whatever it was, Rudy helped me drag him out of the building. I’m sure of that. My dad was a big man. I never could’ve dragged him myself. That’s what the police thought too. I never could’ve done something like that.

Me and Rudy dragged him to the pig pen, and tossed him inside. It took a lot of work to get him over the fence.

I put Rudy away in the barn, then went back to bed, and in the morning, I called the police.

Most of him was gone by that point, but they tested his blood, probably found it was more alcohol than anything else at that point.

The Medical Examiner ruled it an accident. Said he most likely fell in after getting drunk. The report said he died pretty quick after that, but that’s wrong. I know it is.

I could hear him. Even when I put my pillow over my ears, I could hear the pigs and I could hear him.

He lived for such a long time.

Statement ends

Chapter Text

Taylor jerked awake in a panic, gasping for air like she was coming up from deep water. Sweat-soaked and sleep-muddled, she flailed her arms blindly, lashing out at whoever or whatever was near. Her eyes jittered against the backs of their lids, struggling to flutter free, and when she kept them closed for too long, visions passed by, the sharp ‘c’thunk’ of compressed air, the sharper smell of iron on her tongue, and in the back of her mind, a pig screaming like a boy.

It took a long time for her to realize the person holding her wrists wasn’t her dad, gripping her tight enough to bruise, and even longer to remember her dad would never do that.

Taylor blinked at the girl in front of her, taking in the freckles and the forest-green eyes. Tattletale looked worried. Taylor almost didn’t recognize her without a smirk.

“-to me? You’re fine. You’re okay.”

Taylo took another heavy gasp, nodded, then quickly scanned her surroundings. They were back in their hideout. The same rotting pallets, the same dirty lightbulbs swinging from the ceiling, the same boards leaned up against the walls, cocooned in red string. She’d been lying on a couch, and then—

“Okay, good, you’re okay,” Tattletale said, before whacking her upside the head. “So what the heck was that?”

Taylor flinched backwards, staring, wide-eyed. “What! What was that for!?” she said, holding up her hands to block any other strikes.

“For compromising a disguise, an entire car,” Tattletale ticked off her fingers, staring daggers Taylor's way. “For annoying me! For going on your little dreamquest while I was meeting with the contact!”

Taylor shoved her away, toppling backwards. She held her head, gritting her teeth as she tried to right herself. A moment passed as she opened her mouth to respond, only to pause when she noticed there was something different about Tattletale.

She was shorter.

Taylor snapped her gaze toward her legs, only just now realizing she was standing. She’d been standing for more than a few seconds, and she didn’t feel tired at all. The lights overhead buzzed like crickets in the night, and Taylor pressed the butt of her palms against her eyelids.

When she brought her hands away, and chased the spots from her vision, the image hadn’t changed. She was still standing. Taylor held her hands out in front of her. Still painfully thin, almost skeletal. She looked the same, mostly, but something had changed.

Maybe her skin was a little less pale.

But mostly—

It took Taylor a moment to realize what exactly was different, aside from her position. It was hard to notice the lack of something. She almost cried once she realized she wasn’t hurting. Her body wasn’t aching the same way it had every single day for the past few months. Her head wasn’t pounding.

She actually felt alright.

Taylor let out a shaky, shallow breath, hands jittering as she reveled in the feeling of utter bliss. No, not bliss… she didn’t feel good. She didn’t feel better. She just… didn’t hurt.

She felt exactly like she had for most of her life. Just… normal.

Even that was almost enough to make her break down in tears, sobbing in joy.

“By the way, that’s bitch,” Tattletale nodded towards a girl sitting on a crate pushed against the far east wall. Taylor snapped out of her reverie as she followed the villain's gaze. She hadn’t even noticed her until that moment. 

The girl on the crate was scowling, leaning back against the wall, one heavy boot propped up on the crate. Her auburn hair was short and messy, like she’d cut it with a kitchen knife, and her nose was crooked, like it’d been broken and never set quite right. Her dark green jacket was old, so well-worn the fur rimming the collar had worn away in place. At her feet were three dogs, and at her side was a cheap plastic mask. 

A bulldog's face, with spikes of bone messily pressed through the top and sides.

“Don’t mind her,” Taylor said, frowning slightly. “She calls everyone that.”

The girl blinked at her. “What?” she said, obviously confused.

“‘Bitch,’” Taylor answered immediately. “She calls everyone that.” She rubbed her eyes, then wandered toward the door to the improvised bath, clenching and unclenching her hand again and again. “I’m gonna go make myself less—” Taylor gestured to her body. “–this, real quick.”

“Wait!” Tattletale grabbed Taylor’s arm, then pointed toward the girl sitting on the crate. “Ask her if she’s planning to attack us so Circus can leave.”

“Yo.”

Taylor turned behind her to see Circus, still in costume, holding a knife high, ready to throw it at the girl on the crate at a moment’s notice.

“Oh. Okay,” she said, then turned back toward dog-girl. “Are you planning to attack us?”

“No. Don’t think so. Not unless you act like butts.” The dog-girl sat up straighter, like she’d only just realized her lips were moving. She dragged her fingers over her mouth, then glared at Taylor, eyes burning like coals. “Do that again and I’ll break your fucking jaw,” she said.

Taylor shrugged and answered. “That’s fair, I guess,” then wandered toward the bath.

🟂

She’d missed taking baths on her own. It was amazing how simple some of the things she’d missed were. She stayed long past when the water was cold, just for the sheer joy of not needing someone else to help her out. Usually, there’d be someone waiting by her side, tapping their foot impatiently. Not now, though.

Now, there was someone waiting in another room.

Taylor chuckled, leaning her head back in the water, letting her hair fan out.

Eventually, the water got too cold for her to stomach—being this thin meant she had a hard time keeping warm—and Taylor dragged herself back onto dry land. Her knees wobbled when she righted herself, and she had to lean against the wall to keep herself steady. For a brief moment, she was terrified she’d collapse again, and have to beg Tattletale to come rescue her. The moment passed, however. Taylor breathed a little harder as the barest traces of her good mood gave way to pain.

Just a little bit, like fog slipping through the crack under a door.

Weakness, slipping back in. Taylor dried herself with the towels Tattletale had left, staring at herself and wincing. Now that she was paying attention to it, it was hard to miss, that feeling like she was getting weaker by the second. Barely. Imperceptibly. Like a battery draining.

Thinking about that made her think about why exactly she’d been feeling so good. Taylor winced as the events of the last day came rushing back to her. She hadn’t forgotten them, she wasn’t that lucky, but it was hard to be introspective when she was feeling so good for the first time in forever.

It was still hard to feel bad about it.

When she thought about it too long, visions of the bolt-gun flashed in the corner of her eye, but then she was back to feeling so… normal, and suddenly, it was hard to muster any sympathy.

She still tried her best, though.

A good person would feel bad about re-traumatizing an innocent girl. A normal person would feel bad about it.

She wandered back toward Tattletale and the dog-girl once she’d dressed herself in casual clothes—and god, wasn’t dressing herself a rush? Circus was gone by the time she came out, and Tattletale and the dog-girl where in the middle of a tense conversation. Taylor kept her hair tied above her head, wrapped in a towel as she walked confidently through the door to the main area. Then stumbled, when the strength left her for a moment. Then shuffled, when she was at her weakest. Then walked confidently again.

Tattletale leaned back in the ratty armchair, legs thrown over the side, arms crossed. The villain pulled out a bottle of pills, tapped one out, then threw her head back as she took it. Tattletale sighed, staring at Taylor, eyebrow raised. “You enjoy yourself?” she drawled.

Taylor just shrugged. “I feel pretty good, I guess,” she said, smiling slightly as she stared at the ground.

“Well, I hope it was worth the inconvenience,” Tattletale huffed, then added a moment later: “Stop looking so happy.”

“Sorry,” Taylor shrugged, then tried her best to look normal.

Tattletale stared for a moment, then groaned and looked away. “Whatever.”

Taylor settled down onto the lumpy couch, head spinning with the sudden motion. “So…” she said, settling into the cushion. “I guess I feel better when I ask people questions.” Taylor glanced toward Tattletale, still looking away. The gaunt girl pursed her lips. “I don’t really wanna say I feed on secrets, I—that sounds,” she looked away, cheeks flushing. “A little silly.”

Tattletale just sighed. “Wow, what a power.” She rolled her eyes. “You literally draw strength from bullying service workers.”

Taylor frowned. “I don’t—” she started, then paused. “Hold on, since when do you care about service workers?” she said, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know, since you bullied one? Oh my god, ” Tattletale threw her head back, holding her temples as she grimaced. “Whatever. Just don’t use your creepy powers on me. We’ll find you some adulterers to traumatize or something.”

Taylor pursed her lips. “I don’ want—”

“What?” Tattletale hopped to her feet. “You want me to have to keep bathing you?” She tried her best to look scandalized. “You know you can just say so,” the villain said with a wink.

Taylor’s face burned as she sat up straighter. “I’m not saying that, I just—”

“Oh! Also, there’s this.” Tattletale pulled out a pocket knife as she sauntered towards Taylor, grabbed her wrist, and dragged it across the thin girl’s palm before she could blink. Taylor hissed in pain, jerking her hand away. Taylor grabbed her palm, ready to scream at the villain, but when she looked closer at her palm, the wound was gone.

There was blood there, just a bit, but beneath that, no wound.

Taylor breathed harder as a wave of exhaustion hit her. Her eyelids got just a bit heavier. Her knees ached just a little bit more.

“That’s—” Taylor wheezed. “Interesting.” She frowned at the villain. “ Don’t do that again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tattletale waved her away, already wandering back towards the dog-girl. The villain clicked the knife shut, then handed it over. “Thanks,” she said.

The dog-girl grunted in response.

“Me and bitch,” Tattletale gestured to the girl on the crate. “Have been chatting about the Empire,” the villain grimaced again, screwing her eyes shut. She recovered quickly. “Letting her in on the location of a few safehouses, dog-fighting rings.” the blonde girl shrugged. “The works.”

“Alright,” Taylor sighed, leaning over the arm of the couch to stare at the dog-girl. “Fuck nazis,” she said plainly.

“Yeah,” the dog-girl nodded in approval.

“Alright,” Tattletale clapped her hands. “First order of business—” She stepped forward then wobbled in place, holding her head. “Oh, woah… First order of business is fixing this headache,” she mumbled. “One sec. Play nice. Don’t make any orphans cry while I’m gone or whatever.”

Tattletale was gone a moment later, rifling through a bag in the far corner. When Taylor strained her ear, she could just barely make out the tinkling of pills in a glass bottle.

“Bitch,” she sighed.

“Yeah?” the dog-girl said.

“Yeah,” Taylor nodded. “She is.”

The dog-girl narrowed her eyes in confusion.

“Sorry you have to deal with her,” Taylor mumbled.

The dog-girl pulled her lip back in a snarl. “Yeah,” she growled. “Me too,” then added a moment later. “Didn’ wanna have to put up with her again.”

Taylor stared, eyes wide as she drank in their guest. Seconds passed as the girl shifted uncomfortably.

“Again? ” Taylor said, shattering the silence. “ You had to put up with her before?”

“Yeah,” the dog-girl nodded. “Was on a team. Didn’t last.” The girl blinked, then shot to her feet, snarling. The dogs nestled around the crate joined her, growling as one. “Told you I’d break your jaw if you did that again.”

Taylor sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry,” she held up her hands, leaning backwards, away from the approaching villain. “Sorry, I can’t control—”

Her head flew back as the dog-girl decked her. It was a strange sensation, feeling her jaw break, then reform in an instant. Taylor crumpled to the floor, exhaustion growing faster and faster.

She groaned as she pulled herself to her feet, palms scraping over the concrete, legs shaking as the battery drained. “ Jerk, ” she hissed, rubbing her face.

The dog-girl was already back on the crate. She sniffed once, then looked away. “Whatever.”

“I was gone for a minute,” Lisa said as she hurried back toward the two of them. “How do you fuck things up in less than a minute!”

“It’s fine,” Taylor waved her away, propping herself up on her knees. “It’s whatever,” the gaunt girl gave a heavy sigh. “Looking forward to…” she rolled her hand in front of her. “Beating up nazis together.”

The dog-girl stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Fuck nazis.”

“See?” Taylor said, wobbling in place. “It’s fine.”

Tattletale just rolled her eyes, glaring at her before stalking away. “Idiot,” she mumbled under her breath. “I swear.”

Taylor turned up her nose, then leaned toward the dog-girl, speaking in a mock whispering. “And don’t go near the white dust. It’s Asbestos.”

Tattletale rocked her head back and forth. “Ha, ha,” she said, “very—” the blonde girl paused, then whirled to face Taylor, mouth gaping. “Wait, wait, actually? You’re not— Asbestos? ” she said, jaw hanging open. “Why didn’t you—”

Taylor nodded. “Yeah. It’s an old building,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You never thought to mention that before!? ” Tattletale hissed, utterly mortified.

Taylor just shrugged, staring off into the distance, fighting the smile playing at her lips. “You didn’t recognize it?” she said.

“No!” Tattletale answered immediately.

Taylor did her best to look surprised. “Really? I—” “Yes!” “—thought you knew everything,” she said, then pursed her lips, trying hard to look less satisfied than she was.

The blonde villain stomped toward her, rolling her eyes, voice dripping venom. “ Gee, if only we were all so lucky as to grow up living near Asbestos, maybe we’d all recognize it.” She held out her arms, twirling in place as she spoke before stomping her foot again. “What, do you recognize black mold too?”

Taylor narrowed her eyes as something burned in the pit of her stomach. “Well I’m sorry I didn’t grow up living in a three-hundred thousand dollar mansion or whatever, but—”

Tattletale jerked back in shock, like someone had punched in the nose. “Three-hundred thousand is not— that is not enough money for a mansion!”

Taylor and Tattletale stood face to face, nose to nose, speaking over each other, both of them getting louder with every word.

“Oh my god, how poor are you?” “ I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you? ” “Yes! I would, that—” “Just shut up already!” “What are you—” Tattletale cupped her hands in front of her lips. “What are you talking about!? What are we talking about right now!?”

“You! Being a bitch!” Taylor pressed her forehead against Tattletale’s, eyes flashing in rage.

Tattletale snarled, face going slack, ever so slightly. Taylor had been around the villain enough to recognize when her rival was using her power. It wasn’t when she focused, not the way Taylor’d always imagined thinkers looking when they used their abilities. Maybe Taylor only picked up on it because of her memory, but anyone should be able to tell when Tattletale was using her power from the way she relaxed, like she was unclenching a muscle.

You could also tell from when she started pissing you off. That was a pretty good indicator.

“I wonder how your dad’s going to handle it once you’re gone.” Tattletale spoke casually, like she was discussing the weather. “It took him years to bounce back after mommy bit it. How long will it take this time?” She gave a mock gasp. “Maybe he’ll never recover. Wouldn’t that be sad?” Tattletale leaned closer, lip curling. “Maybe he’ll decide—” the villain paused, then bit her tongue. She looked away, suddenly guilty, though she covered it up fast.

Taylor stood staring at her, blood pumping faster and faster, a low roar, like a river in the back of her head. Somehow it made Taylor even more angry, that Tattletale had the gall to say that then look guilty. She wanted to strangle this girl. Suddenly, she’d give anything to wipe that smug expression off Tattletale’s face.

She knew one way that was guaranteed to work.

The sound of the slap echoed off the high-vaulted ceilings. Tattletale stared, scandalized as she held the red-welt on the side of her face, 

“You little—” Tattletale sneered, then returned the favor.

Taylor slapped at Tattletale. Tattletale slapped at Taylor. Taylor shoved her palm against Tattletale’s cheek and shoved her away as the villain pulled at Taylor’s hair.

“What are you even—?” Taylor ground out.

“It’s Asbestos, you sad little—! ” Tattletale stared at Taylor, cooing in mock sympathy. “Oh, you poor thing… did you get lonely at your chemo sessions? Were you really that desperate to have a friend to go with you?” The villain pouted, eyelashes fluttering.

Taylor grit her teeth, jerking her face away as she hissed. “It’s a long-term risk, you—”

“What, and you won’t live long enough to suffer the consequences?” Tattletale moved closer, one eye shut tight as she ground her teeth.

Taylor just laughed, grabbing Tattletale’s wrist and holding it in the air. “Oh, come on, the way things are going, you won’t live long enough for that either,” she said.

They grappled, breathing hard, growling like wolves as they shouted at each other.

“Just shut up, you—you windbag! ”

“Windbag…? Seriously? Windbag!? ”

“Tell me… Did your dad ever hug you on days that weren’t your birthday?”

“Nope! Good thing you got that diagnosis, or you would’ve ended up the same way. Lucky, huh?”

“You stupid—-! ”

“Wow, how sad… did anyone care about you before you became their little charity project?”

“How did your mom treat you!?”

“Shhh–she– she only cared about me when she could show me off! Your dad didn’t even do that much!”

“ Tell me more! ”

They shouted at each other until they were red in the face, spittle flying against each other’s cheeks. At one point, Tattletale pulled a chunk of Taylor’s hair free, then jerked her face to the side to try and bite the curly-haired girl’s thumb. Taylor countered by jabbing her in the eye.

They only paused when the dog-girl cleared her throat.

Taylor jerked towards the muscular girl, breathing hard, glasses askew, Tattletale’s hand on her throat. “ What? ” she all but screamed.

The dog-girl didn’t hesitate to respond. “Bathroom. Where.” Her words were clipped and short.

Taylor took a moment to catch her breath, then jerked her head toward the far wall. “Up the stairs,” she gasped. “Then to the left.”

A grunt was all the dog-girl gave to acknowledge her.

Barely a second passed before Taylor and her rival were tearing at each other once more.

Chapter Text

The next day, Taylor still felt pretty good. She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her sea-green pajama bottoms, lightly drumming against the small logo for the Brockton Bay Sharks on the side. Her dad had a pair just like them. She thought for a moment whether Tattletale somehow knew that when she got the pair for her. She definitely picked the sleep-shirt on purpose, a picture of a kid in a wheelchair, saying ‘Armsmaster says I’m a superhero too!’ set on a pale blue backdrop, the color of the hero’s armor.

Taylor actually felt good enough that it didn’t annoy her.

She grabbed the hem and pulled it out to stare down at the picture as she turned to the villain.

“Hey, did you pick this shirt on purpose? ” she said.

Tattletale snapped her head to the side as Taylor interrupted her conversation with the dog-girl. “Yeah,” she said. “Obviously.”

Taylor nodded slowly. “Oh… how did you know about that, though? ” she said, pulling on an answer as gently as she could. She’d been working on that lately. Once Circus—and now the dog-girl—started sticking around, she actually had a reason to try and learn how to go easy with her power.

Tattletale didn’t flinch as she answered, but she did look at Taylor like she was an idiot. “It’s kind of obvious?” she said. “What, did you really think the wheelchair was hard to miss?”

“No, no,” Taylor shook her head. “About Armsmaster.” Tattletale stared at her blankly, and Taylor continued a moment later, pulling on the hem once more. “He was my Make-a-Wish.”

The villain’s eyebrows jumped as she studied her quietly. Taylor studied her right back. The blonde girl still had a mark on her face from where Taylor had slapped her, and small scrapes on the side of her head where the nails had dug in. 

“Oh,” Tattletale said, finally, then huffed as she turned away. “Shitty choice.”

Taylor just shrugged, and went back to occupying herself. She wasn’t jogging in place anymore, or doing jumping jacks just because she could, but she still felt well enough to walk in slow circles, holding her head high as Tattletale discussed the plan with the dog-girl.

“Okay, anyway, ” Tattletale said, shooting Taylor a look. “Just grab this guy,” she jabbed her finger into the worn table, digging through the mess of files to tap a picture of a balding man. “And bring him to us.” She nodded toward Taylor. “Confidante’ll get him to spill the beans about where the rest of their operations are, capiche?”

The dog-girl stood across from Tattletale, arms crossed, eyes hard. She glared at the blonde girl for a long moment, before finally nodding.

“Good,” Tattletale drummed her fingers against the rough wood. “Remember it has to be this guy, ” she said, tapping the picture again. “Him, specifically. Confidante can’t get info from someone who doesn’t have any.”

The dog-girl snarled, shoulders tensing. “‘m not an idiot,” she said.

“Not saying you are,” Tattletale held up hands, shooting the girl a friendly grin, before dropping it immediately.

Taylor paused for a moment, watching with interest as the dog-girl went stiff, then relaxed again. Then Taylor sniffed, and returned to walking in slow, meandering loops around the two villains, humming, off-key and content.

“Alright. We’ll meet up in…” Tattletale checked the display on her flip phone. “Seven hours?” she said, glancing toward Taylor and the dog-girl. Both of them shrugged. “Seven hours, then.” She nodded once, then tapped the photo again. “Remember, this guy. Only this guy. His name is—” 

The dog-girl cut her off before she could finish. “Don’t care what his name is,” she said, practically spitting the words. Tattletale shrugged as the girl turned away from the table and bent down to inspect one of her dogs. A beat passed, and she whistled for the rest to come.

Taylor did a small, slow spin on her heel, hovering next to Tattletale as she addressed the dog-girl. “You really might need his name, you know,” she said, grin tugging at her lips. “Nazis all look the same.”

The dog-girl glanced her way, eyes burning, cheeks red.

“She isn’t making fun of you either,” Tattletale held her arm out to the side, in front of Taylor’s chest. “She’s making a joke,” she said, then added “I think…” leaning forward to speak in a mock whisper. “She’s only just now learning what those are.”

The dog-girl stared, blank-faced, then grunted once and turned away, slowly gathering her things as she prepared to leave.

Taylor frowned, tilting her head to the side as she watched the girl work. “So… are you sure— ” she began, then cut herself off. “Um… would you like to— ” she took a deep breath, then let it out. “I want to know whether your boss’ll be upset about doing things on your own.”

The dog-girl watched Taylor suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. “No,” she said slowly. “She doesn’ care as long as I’m screwing with the right people.”

Taylor nodded. “Good,” she said. “Good. Good.”

Silence descended upon them. The dog-girl watched Tattletale. Tattletale watched Taylor. Taylor watched the dog-girl.

It was a little awkward.

“ You’re cool with being unmasked to us? ” Taylor said, almost before she realized. She used her power as little as she could. It was a strange feeling, like the sensation of forcing her muscles to relax, concentrated solely in the back of her mind and in the bottom of her throat.

“Don’t have a secret identity. Never had one,” the dog-girl said, speaking easily, like she didn’t even notice Taylor’s power.

“That must be hard.” Taylor hummed thoughtfully.

“Whatever,” the dog-girl grumbled, then went quiet.

Another awkward silence descended. Tattletale held the table. Taylor pursed her lips.

“So… what’s it like working with the Teeth? ” she said.

The dog-girl stood slowly, rolling her shoulders. “S’fine. If anyone pisses me off I can kick their butt. No one bothers me much, and no one asks me any stupid questions,” she said. “Bye.” The muscular girl gave a sharp whistle, then left, her dogs padding after her.

Tattletale sagged slightly as the heavy metal door slammed behind their newest ally. She let out a breath, then leaned back. “Please don’t piss off our guests,” the blonde girl said.

Taylor rocked her head back and forth, revelling in the warmth in her chest at a successful social interaction. “You’re right,” she said, voice teasing. “I forgot. That’s your job.”

Tattletale sagged even further, head lolling back as she stared at the ceiling. “Well, I guess you really are in a good mood.” she mumbled. “Usually everything you say is super depressing.”

Taylor pursed her lips. “Well, sorry, ” she said. “I’m a little out of practice.” She looked away for a beat, then said, a little quieter, “Other than my dad, I’m pretty sure the conversations with you are the longest I’ve had since the diagnosis.”

“See?” Tattletale said. “Stuff like that.”

Taylor’s nostrils flared as she moved away, spinning in circles as she walked. “Well, I’m sorry my good mood is annoying, ” she teased.

Tattletale swept the papers on the table into a neat pile, then tapped against the wood to straighten the. “Apology accepted,” she said. “Believe me, it’s a worthy trade-off for not having to give you ‘sponge baths’,” the villain shuddered dramatically, then smirked. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a steady stream of reprobates for you to traumatize, ‘kay?”

Taylor froze as something uncomfortable squirmed in her stomach. “W-well… I haven’t really decided if I want to do it again… I mean, I don’t…” Taylor’s words trailed off as Tattletale slowly turned to face her. “I don’t know if I want to have to keep doing that,” she finished softly, staring at her feet.

Tattletale said nothing. She watched Taylor closely, eyes shining in the dim light.

“Okay,” she said, finally.

🟂

Taylor gasped for breath, shivering as she pressed her cheek against the cool window. Her entire body ached, a bone-deep pain shooting from the tips of her toes up to the top of her skull.

Tattletale watched her nervously out of the corner of her eye. “You’re sure you don’t need the chair?” she said. “I can—”

“I’m fine! ” Taylor hissed, louder than she intended. Tattletale’s voice scraped against her ears. Everything hurt. The lights in her eyes, the sound of the radio, even the slight breeze from the air conditioning. Ants crawled beneath her skin. She could feel them. And if she let her eyes blur she could almost see them too, tiny bumps, darting back and forth just below the surface. “I’m fine,” she gasped. “I have the cane.”

Tattletale watched her quietly, radio pounding in the background.

“Okay,” she said.

They sat in silence.

Minutes crept by, agonizingly slow, until finally—

Something in Tattletale’s utility belt went off. She clicked it off a moment later. “That’s the cue,” she said, then swung the door open and climbed out. She came around to the passenger side and offered her help just in time for Taylor to wave her away.

“Don’t need it,” she said. “I’m fine.” Her knees wobbled as she clambered onto the curb. Her fingers twitched as she white knuckled the gnarled knob of the heavy wooden cane.

Tattletale huffed, blowing hair from her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, then sauntered away as Taylor hobbled after her. The villain was wearing another one of her disguises, short shorts, a crop-top, and a purse from a brand Taylor didn’t recognize. She fit in well.

Taylor fit in less well. 

It was hard to fit in anywhere when she was still wearing her pajamas.

Trash littered the street, gathering in the gutters and pressed into the hollows of the curb. The buildings loomed over them, apartments that were never more than three or four stories tall, made of a coarse, gray cement and little else, pressed so tight together light could barely reach the street.

Taylor stumbled slightly, drifting into the wall of a building and dragging her shoulder against the rough material. Tattletale slowed imperceptibly as Taylor limped to let her catch up.

Her legs screamed. Her arms screamed. Everything screamed. Taylor grit her teeth as she wandered forward. She didn’t actually feel any worse than she did just a few days ago, she didn’t think, but that just made her wonder how on Earth she’d stomached it before then.

Slowly, at first, then faster and faster. She could feel that tiredness creeping in, the exhaustion soaking into her body.

“Come on girl,” Tattletale said, tapping her lap and whistling. “Here, girl. Not that much farther.”

“Shut up,” Taylor grumbled. Her eyes sank into her skull. Her teeth writhed in her mouth. Somehow, someway, her blood had been replaced with molasses, so thick and soupy and she could almost feel it clogging her veins.

A block of struggle later, and they turned down a dark alley to wait in silence for the dog-girl to bring the target. They didn’t have to wait long. Barely a minute later, a massive beast galloped in from the other entrance, gripping the bald man tight in its jaw. It shook him like a chew toy, then dropped him on the ground next to a dumpster the moment the girl riding on its back gave the word. The dog-girl leaned over her beast’s head to leer at the two of them. “Go. Do it,” she said. “Got him on his smoke break. Maybe 5 minutes ‘fore they notice.”

“With pleasure,” Tattletale took a mock bow as Taylor struggled forward. 

Her breath came harder. Her limbs fought against her. She could almost feel her heart beating slower as she approached their target.

The man howled in pain, holding his leg tight and grimacing as blood flowed through his fingers, weeping from the massive bite wound around his thigh. He struggled to climb to his feet. Another whistle, and the monster laid a heavy paw on the man’s stomach, pressing him back to the ground. “You little shits,” he squealed, pale face going red, sweating like a pig. “You little—”

Taylor pressed her cane into his shoulder, and leaned all her weight against it, breathing almost as hard as him.

“ What’s your name, ” she said, pulling as hard as she could. Her voice echoed forth, like she was speaking through a bullhorn.

The man ground his teeth, pink tongue squirming against them like a worm trying to twist its way up from the soil.

“P-Patrick,” he gasped. “Patrick Grayson.”

Taylor pulled harder with her power, pressed harder with her cane. “ You help run distribution for the dog-fighting rings? ”

“Yes!” he screamed, holding his leg tighter as the blood pumped faster.

She leaned over the man, matted her tangling over her face. One eye flashed in the shadowed alley as she pressed closer, closer.  “Where are they?” She hissed. “What are the addresses? How many dogs in each?” She asked question after question. The man answered, again and again, eyes bulging as he spoke until he ran out of breath. Tattletale scribbled furiously at a pad and paper, writing down everything.

“Moore avenue. Th-th-three–oh–nine. There’s one in the back of an old antique store of Tambridge. Smaller. O–one on Beeker. One of the warehouses. We–we–we—” he threw his head back, howling, letting out a low, gurgling scream as the dog pressed harder, and Taylor twisted the cane in her palm, digging it deeper and deeper.

The strength came back, little by little. Not enough to make her stop hurting. Not enough to let her feel good. Just enough to keep her from keeling over.

Just enough to keep her out of the chair.

She breathed harder, faster, spittle dripping past her lips.

“Th-there’s one on—” he twisted on the ground. “Morehouse. It’s hidden. Below a laundromat. Exclusive. Just down—”

“That’s just down the block,” the dog-girl said, sitting up straighter, eyes wide behind her mask.

Taylor glanced toward her, then nodded. “ When are they using it next? ”

“Now!” the man howled. “They’re using it now!”

“What!?” the dog-girl shrieked in rage.

Taylor leaned back, watching Tattletale out of the corner of her eye. The villain was doing her best to hide her smirk. She probably would’ve succeeded with anyone else.

“ Are there any capes there? ”

“One! V-v-viktor!”

Taylor took a step back, staring up at the dog-girl. “I think that’s enough.”

The girl breathed heavily, holding the spikes on the monster’s back. Taylor listened close, certain she could hear the girl’s teeth grinding behind the mask.

Tattletale sauntered forward, then presented the notepad to the dog-girl. “There you go,” she said. The dog-girl girl reached out for it, and Tattletale pulled it away, up into the air. “And you’ll help us out if we need it?” she said. “A favor for a favor.” She smiled wide, and the dog-girl tensed.

They stared at each other, a challenge in their eyes.

“And we’ll keep helping you with this, of course,” she kicked the man’s leg, drawing out another scream.

Each of them held their breath.

The dog-girl let hers out first, then ground out “Fine,” and snatched the notepad away. She looked at it, up close, then further away, then put it away in one of her coat’s dozen pockets.

Tattletale bent low and pulled a pair of handcuffs from her purse, then clicked one end around the man’s wrist, and the other around the dumpster’s leg. She glanced back toward the dog-girl. “Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for? There’s dogs to save.”

The dog-girl breathed harder, faster, staring straight through Tattletale, before finally peeling way. One sharp click of her tongue, and the dog was bounding back out the alley.

“You’re welcome!” Tattletale called after her. She waved as the dog-girl disappeared. “Just trying to help.”

Taylor sighed, then joined her in waving. “That’s us,” she hummed. “Good Samaritans”

They waved together until they were sure the dog-girl was gone. A brief look was all they gave each other before diving back into the questions.

“ Where does that location keep the money? ”

He jerked his head back and forth. “A b-back room… the fancy office… a safe!”

“Ask him what the combination is,” Tattletale whispered in Taylor’s ear. Taylor jerked away, rolling her eyes.

“ What’s the combination? ”

His eyes were bloodshot as he answered, choking on the words. “Twenty-three, Forty-one, Nine, Twenty-seven.”

The two of them leaned over the man, digging the cane in deeper, grabbing his face when he tried to look away.

“ Which entrance has the least security? ”

“ Is the safe wired? ”

“ Are there any other security measures protecting it? ”

“ How many guards? ”

“ How many— ” Taylor cut herself short as a loud crash echoed from down the block, followed by screaming. Tattletale grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away.

“C’mon, hun, that’s our cue.”

Taylor took another deep breath, fingers shaking. “W-wait… just, one second.” She wobbled backward, then pressed closer, raising her cane, then bringing it back down on the bite wound.

“Tell me…” she hissed, voice thrumming with power, practically drooling over the prospect of relieving this pain. “ What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? ”

The man jerked his head back and forth, sweat flying as he struggled to keep his lips shut tight. He kicked his legs, pulled against the cuffs, fought tooth and nail to keep his mouth closed, but finally—

“My-my girl cheated on me,” he said, letting his head hang. “I—” His head drifted back and forth, like he was drunk, before he suddenly shouted. “I forgave her,” he said. “I shoulda killed her.” He shook his head faster and faster. “I shoulda fuckin’ killed her!” he howled.

Taylor and Lisa stared blankly, blinking at the man.

She waited for the pain to leave her, waited for the blissful relief to come back.

It didn't.

There was nothing.

“ That’s it? ” she said, flatly.

The man pressed the top of his head against the side of the grimy dumpster. “Yuh,” he croaked. “That’s it.”

Taylor watched him quietly. 

She barely felt different

Her lips curled up in a snarl. “ Are you— ” she shook her head, then shook off Tattletale’s hand as the villain tried to drag her away again. “ What was the worst day of your life like? ” Taylor said, staring at the man through her curls.

He croaked as he answered. “I-I got up… i-it was a normal day, until… this monster kidnapped me. Almost ripped my leg off. Then these crazy bitches started interrogating me, and then they—”

“Oh my god,” Tattletale said. “Oh my god. ”

Taylor asked again, desperation creeping into her voice. “ You’ve killed people, right? ”

“Y-yess…”

“ How many? ”

“Twenty-four.”

“ That’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done? ”

The man’s eyes burned as he stared at her, defiant. “They deserved it. Each an’ every one.” A series of slurs tumbled from the man’s lips, as if those were actual reasons.

Taylor held her hand open in front of her, staring at her palm, flexing her fingers.

“I don’t feel any better,” she said. “I should feel better.” She held the cane tighter, harder, leaning over the man. “ You don’t feel guilty? ”

The man shook his head. “Nothin' to be guilty for.”

She stared at him, bile pooling in her throat.

“ What the fuck is wrong with you…? ” she said softly.

“Nuthin’ wrong with me,” he answered immediately. “I see things as they are.”

Taylor took a breath, then another, then another. No matter how many she took, her lungs wouldn’t fill. The ache in her bones wouldn’t leave her. She felt a little better. Good enough to walk faster, good enough she wouldn’t pass out, but—

“Why isn’t it working?” she drove the cane in deeper, screaming in frustration.

“C’mon, hon, let’s go! ” Tattletale grabbed her again, finally managing to get her away. “We’re on a short timeframe. You’re good to run?”

Taylor gasped for breath. “I think.”

“Good,” Tattletale nodded. “Good.” She pulled her out of the alley, and down the street. Distant barking and screams echoed up the boulevard as smoke curled in the distance. “C’mon,” Tattletale said again. Taylor stumbled as the villain pulled her along. “We’ll think of something else,” the blonde girl said. “Right now, we’ve got work to do.”

Chapter Text

Taylor followed Tattletale as close as she could. Her top speed was only a little faster than a leisurely jog, and she limped slightly every few steps.

“C’mon!” Tattletale shouted behind her. “Hurry up!”

Taylor wheezed, leaning hard on her cane. “I’m—” she huffed. “Trying.”

Tattletale groaned loudly. “Well try harder!” she said, before taking a sharp right turn into an alley.

The street was chaos. Bodies poured out the front door of the dog-fighting ring, skin-heads shoving the workers aside as they hacked and coughed. Thick clouds of steam curled up from the massive vents on the roof. Before long, smoke joined the steam, and screams joined the smoke. The far side of the plain brick building had a hole the size of a minivan smashed into it, probably where the dog-girl had made her entrance.

Taylor and Tattletale chose a more subtle route.

The gaunt girl tottered after the villain down the narrow alley, two buildings down from the laundromat itself.

“C’mon,” Tattletale mumbled to herself, hefting her bag on her shoulder as she speed-walked. She paused when she reached a staircase, rusted iron rails on either side as it stretched into the ground. A moment later, Taylor caught up, breathing hard.

“Think this is it?” the villain said, nodding toward the heavy metal door at the base of the stairs.

Taylor swept her gaze across the rest of the alley, eyesight blurry. “Not much else it could be,” she said.

Tattletale nodded, then made her way down, Taylor a step behind. The blonde girl leaned close to the worn keypad and punched in the code their hostage had so helpfully provided.

“Nine—Nine—Three—Oh—Five,” Tattletale mumbled under her breath. A beat passed, then a light on the keypad glowed green and the heavy door unlocked. Tattletale smirked as she hefted the door open.

Taylor struggled to stay on her feet.

The smell hit her first. 

She leaned back on her heels as she was attacked by the odor, blood and dog and the unmistakable scent of fear. Taylor hadn’t learned that last one until recently, but now that she had, it was hard to miss. The hallway stretched further into the ground, rough walls and rougher floors leading deeper into the dark. The dog-fighting ring must’ve been built in a maintenance tunnel of some kind. Taylor couldn’t think of much else that belonged underground in the middle of a city.

They glanced toward each other, then shrugged.

Tattletale waved her inside, and Taylor tried her best to breathe through her mouth as they entered.

Whimpers and whines echoed down the long corridor, then gunshots and a bark so deep it made Taylor’s teeth rattle.

She held her cane tighter, leaning on it more and more.

The corridor went even further down, slick stairs ending at a long hallway, lit only by dim tube lights. Vents and pipes wound across the ceiling, made of metal and something shiny like foil. The temperature dropped more the further they went, until Taylor had to fight to keep from shivering.

“Why would they have a secret entrance anyway?” Taylor said, as quiet as she could.

“The Empire usually does,” Tattletale said immediately, dragging her hand along the wall. “It lets capes enter without drawing attention to the building or themselves. They’ll come in through the back way, then change into costume in private.” The villain glanced back at Taylor, eyes twinkling. “Plus, it lets the higher ups sneak out if anything ever goes sideways.”

Taylor nodded, then stopped nodding when her head started swimming. Taylor thought for a moment, watching Tattletale’s hair swish behind her.

“We should have a secret entrance too,” she said.

Tattletale laughed once, barking like one of the dogs.

Before long, they came to a heavy metal door, latched from their side. The hinges whined as they opened, and the smell immediately got worse. They pushed on anyway, moving as fast as they dared. The corridor took a turn to the right, then to the left, then split in two. Tattletale only paused for a second before taking the left, whispering to herself as she moved.

Taylor hoped the girl knew where she was going. 

The structure went on and on, larger than it had any right to be. Or maybe it just seemed like it when she was having so much trouble walking. Her feet wore to the bone, and a part of her regretted spending so much time moving yesterday and today, whispering she would’ve conserved her energy if she’d been smarter. A bigger part fumed that she had to worry about ‘conserving energy’ at all.

She leaned against the wall for support, dragging her hand along the concrete. “Tired,” she said.

Tattletale glanced behind her and looked Taylor up and down. “You’ll be fine.”

Taylor scowled.

Further on, doors appeared on either side, rooms with food and rooms with tools she didn’t recognize, hanging lightbulbs casting stark shadows over the twisted metal. Past them were bigger rooms filled with cages. Taylor couldn’t bring herself to look very closely at them, or listen very closely to the helpless whines. Blood squelched beneath her shoe, leaking out the door, and for a moment Taylor’s heart stopped, playing dead in her chest. Then she realized she wasn’t looking at the inside of the shed. She’d never even really seen it. 

That was Trudy’s story, not hers.

She stuttered to a stop, feet catching as Tattletale pushed her into the wall, one hand on her lips. Taylor opened her mouth to ask what was the matter when two voices came from down the hall, getting closer and closer. The villain dragged her to the side, leaning hard against a door. Taylor pushed it open a crack, then whispered.

“Is anyone there?”

The only one who answered was Tattletale.

The voices got closer. Closer.

Taylor threw the door open and hobbled in first, then closed it behind Tattletale, as soft as she could. Filing cabinets lined the walls, and a heavy wooden chair sat next to a heavier wooden table. Other than that, there wasn’t much else of interest. Taylor considered barricading the door, then pressed her ear to the door as their time ran out. Tattletale joined her, listening close to the footsteps rushing past.

“—out we were here!?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! Someone had to have snitched!”

“I’m telling you, it was—”

Tattletale grabbed Taylor’s shoulder and mouthed ‘No one we have to worry about.’ The voices got harder to parse as the distance grew. Taylor held her breath, waiting several seconds to make sure it was safe before pushing open the door and moving deeper, deeper.deeper.

A right turn, a left turn, a right. Tattletale checked each room as they passed, one after the other.

“Not the office,” she mumbled. “Not the office. Not the office.”

More cages, more filing cabinets, more screaming in the distance, and even more gunshots. Smoke twisted around the ceiling, a thin layer pressed against the pipes.

Taylor leaned on her cane, then leaned on the wall, then leaned on Tattletale.

“Tired,” she whispered.

“Just a little bit more,” the villain hissed in response.

Taylor slowed to a stop as the corridor opened wider, and the sounds and screams suddenly a lot less distant. “Not this way,” Tattletale hissed, pulling on Taylor’s sleep-shirt as she backed away. Taylor shrugged out of the girl’s grasp and hobbled forward, pressing herself against the wall as she peered around the corner, into a massive arena. 

This room was larger than the others, almost twice as tall, with a massive cage in the center, and seats lining all sides. A fire roared in the corner where a generator had busted open. Dogs threw themselves against the mesh, howling in fear and pain as they struggled to escape the blaze. The concrete floor was wet, spattered with blood, and somewhere on the far side of the room, a man screaming, holding his stump of an arm. Most of the people inside had already escaped. Most, but not all. Screams of pain and rage from the brave and stupid poured out the wide-open door.

That wasn’t what made Taylor stop.

In the center, the dog-girl’s massive mount bounded in circles, smashing into some of the few gangsters that were willing to stick around. The dog-girl herself was nowhere to be seen. One of the gangsters held a burning table leg up to the monster, swinging it around as the monster sank away.

Tattletale grabbed her again, trying in vain to pull her away. “What are you doing, girl?” she hissed in Taylor’s ear. “Wrong way, wrong way! ”

Taylor grabbed the rusty frame to keep herself steady, scanning the room for the dog-girl. She found her after a few seconds, on the ground, fighting with a man in a red and black bodysuit, wearing a simple domino mask.

Viktor.

The dog-girl punched the nazi in the chest and shoved him away, squirming across the slick concrete. Whenever she got her footing, Viktor would break it again in barely a second. He moved fluidly, slipping past the dog-girl’s defenses, patient and calm as she only got angrier.

“Brutus!” She shouted, “H— grhk! ” Her words died in her mouth as Viktor struck her throat, and the monster across the room barked even louder. The dog-girl growled, wiping her lips before grabbing Viktor by the shoulders.

Taylor held her breath as the girl picked him up and threw him like he was nothing. She’s strong, she thought, nodding in approval.

Viktor flew through the air, landing in a heap on top of one the fallen Nazis. He moaned loudly, writhing as the dog-girl stomped towards him, then, when she was only a few feet away, he snapped to attention. Viktor rolled away, snatching a gun from the belt of the body on the ground and firing before anyone could react.

The bullet hit the dog-girl in the shoulder, and she fell back onto the ground.

“ Taylor, ” Tattletale hissed. “C’mon, we have to go! ” she pulled at Taylor’s shoulder even harder.

Viktor got to his feet, walking slowly as he approached the dog-girl’s prone form. 

“We have to go!”

The dog-girl tried to scoot away, clutching her shoulder. She wasn’t fast enough.

“She’s not our problem!”

Viktor stood over the dog-girl, smiling down at her.

“C’mon! What’re you doing!?” Tattletale said, louder.

He raised the gun towards her.

“She’ll be fine!” Tattletale lied. “You’re gonna get us killed!”

Taylor jumped from behind the wall straining her power to its limit. She focused solely on Viktor, eyes narrowing to pinpricks as she stared, and pulled as hard as she could.

“What’s everything you’ve eaten over the past two weeks!?”

The lights overhead grew brighter, then dimmed before returning to normal. The chairs sat around the cage rattled slightly.

Viktor started speaking.

“I ate an omelet, two slices of uncured bacon, a piece of toast, a tuna melt, a bag of chips—” he twitched as he struggled to stop himself.

That little distraction was enough. The dog-girl kicked up at her attacker, nailing him in the groin, and Viktor curled in on himself as he fell to the side. He kept speaking, even as his voice got higher and higher.

“— omelets again, and oatmeal. Some Texas toast, and corn pudding. And a BLT. Then—”

“You stupid idiot!” Tattletale grabbed Taylor as a few of the men in the arena looked their way and started moving toward them. 

The dog-girl gave a sharp whistle and pointed their way. “Hurt!” she shouted, and the monster obeyed, diving toward them. Almost all of the nazi’s scattered as the monster tore through their ranks.

The dog-girl paused, and gave Taylor a sharp nod.

Taylor nodded back.

Then the dog-girl returned to attacking Viktor, and that was that.

“Oh, how wonderful, you made a friend,” Tattletale said, practically hanging off Taylor’s body. “Now can we—” she went quiet as one of the men broke away from the monster and charged their way.

Tattletale stepped away, holding Taylor’s elbow. This time, she let herself be grabbed, moving backwards, away from the nazi and further down the hallway.

He came around the howling, roaring like a steam engine, pipe raised high. His wife-beater was stained with sweat and soot, and his face was so round and red he looked like a cherry.

Tattletale skipped backwards as she sucked in a sharp breath, holding her arms up for protection.

Taylor didn’t move away. She stuck her cane out towards him, and let him run straight into it. The impact knocked the air out of him, but it didn’t stop him, and the pipe came down on Taylor’s wrist a second later. A sharp crack came as the bone broke, then mended itself.

Taylor ground her teeth, fighting through the pain. She stumbled away, leaning against the wall for support, and then—

“What’s your biggest fear?”

The nazi stuttered, legs twisting as he lost his footing. “Clowns,” he said, knees buckling. Taylor pulled harder. “I’m fuckin’ terrified of clowns,” he said, face going white. Taylor pulled even harder. The nazi dropped to his knees, holding his throat as the pipe clattered to the ground. “My parents hired one on my fifth birthday. I was so scared. He started runnin’ after me, giggling like a psycho, and no one would help me when I started screaming.” Tears welled in the nazi’s eyes. “My dad wouldn’ help me.” He bent down, voice breaking. “My mom wouldn’ help me. They just kept laughin’ like I was the one bein’ weird. Like this was normal.”

Taylor slowly rose to her full height, standing over the man. The tube lights glowed brighter as he spoke.

She hefted the cane in her hand, strength returning.

Just enough to leave her hungry.

Just enough to make her want more.

She wouldn’t get it here, though, Taylor thought to herself. Somehow she knew… this man was shallow. And now he was empty.

She could smell it on him.

Tattletale and her stood side by side, watching the man collapsed beneath them, staring as he rocked in place.

A beat passed.

“Wow,” Tattletale said. “That answer was really lame.”

Taylor nodded. “A bit.”

The man shot his hand out, grabbing for Taylor’s ankles. Taylor jumped away just in time, shouting “Where’s the office!?” 

The man twisted again, seizing as he answered.

“Down the hall. Behind you, then a left. Third door on the right.”

“Thank you!” Tattletale sing-songed as she darted away, running side by side with Taylor, only this time, the villain was the one struggling to keep up. 

Taylor moved even faster, legs pumping down the hallway toward a bend. The man climbed to his feet behind them, legs wobbling, and Taylor paused for a moment to shout behind her “What are you most ashamed of? Tell me everything. Tell me all about it.” 

The man fell back to the ground as the question hit.

Taylor only got to relax for a moment. Before long, another nazi’s appeared from the wide arena. He glanced down at the first, then raised his weapon toward Tattletale.

Taylor only had a moment to react before she jumped to the side, in front of the villain. The bullet hit Taylor in the chest, spraying blood across the wall, only for the wound to close a moment later. The bullet ‘tink’-ed against the ground as her body pushed it from the wound.

The man fired again, missing by a wide margin.

He didn’t get to fire a third time. The monster surged from the mouth of the arena, and the man shrieked as it dragged him back inside.

Taylor stumbled after Tattletale for a few steps, then kept running, slower now.

More screams echoed behind them, even more smoke poured across the ceiling. 

Tattletale stared at her as they jogged, annoyance clear on her face. “I guess you’re just saving everyone today, aren’t you?” the blonde girl said, mocking.

Taylor glanced back and forth as the villain glared. “What? ” she said awkwardly. “ What’s wrong?”

Tattletale pushed her hair out of her eyes as they ran, then scrunched up her nose. “You better not do that again,” she said, in between breaths.

It took Taylor a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. “Saving you?” she said, confused.

“Uh, yeah? ” Tattletale said it like it was obvious. Tattletale glared at Taylor like she was an idiot. Taylor looked at Tattletale like she was insane.

“What?” Tattletale said, breathing harder as she pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“You’d seriously rather you just die than have me save you?” Taylor said, limping a little as she followed after the girl, past another series of doors.

The villain threw her head back, groaning in annoyance. “Oh my god, obviously! ”

Taylor just shook her head in disbelief. “You’re the worst,” she grumbled. 

Tattletale rolled her eyes, then froze. She sucked in a breath and grabbed Taylor’s arm, pulling her to the side. “Here it is!” she said, shoving one door open and dragging Taylor inside.

Taylor gasped along with her. The office was nicer than she’d expected. Nicer by far. A fancy mahogany desk sat on an even fancier carpet. Across from the desk, a faux-mantle squatted against the wall, covered in trinkets and knick-nacks, with a picture of a lighthouse hanging over it. And to the right, in the corner next to the desk was a plush armchair, studded with brass, with cushions colored a deep blue.

And behind that—

“The safe!” Taylor all but shouted.

Tattletale leapt over the desk, and slid to a stop in front of their target. “Yes, yes, yes! ” she chanted.

“Work fast,” Taylor said nervously, glancing toward the door as two more gunshots swept through the halls, closer than the rest.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Tattletale said, twisting the knob back and forth as she muttered under her breath.  “Twenty-three.” A few turns to the left. “Forty-one.” Back to the right. “Nine” And… “There!”

The door to the safe swung open. Tattletale cackled.  Taylor gaped. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much money in my entire life…”

Tattletale grinned like a maniac, sweeping the stacks of bills into her purse. “Oh man, yes! Yes! ” She looked back at Taylor, pure joy on her face. “There’s gotta be two-hundred-thousand here!”

Abruptly, the villain’s face fell.

A shot cracked behind them as Tattletale leapt to the side. She wasn’t fast enough to dodge. Her legs tripped over themselves as her thigh ripped open. The blonde girl screamed in pain, holding the wound as she dropped onto her side, letting the purse fall to the ground beside her. Taylor whirled toward the source of the bullet. Her heart caught in her throat. Viktor stood just outside the entrance to the office. The barrel of his revolver peeked around the doorframe, aimed squarely for Tattletale’s back.

Taylor lashed out immediately, hooking her cane around the muzzle and pulling it free. The man in the bodysuit let himself be dragged forward, into the room. He fought to keep hold of the weapon, but Taylor was still stronger. For now.

Before long, the revolver slipped from his hand and spun across the floor, clattering as it slid under the plush armchair. Viktor didn’t even seem surprised. He immediately pulled a knife from the bandolier wrapped around his chest, momentum carrying him forward, faster than Taylor could react.

She hissed in pain as he lashed out with the blade, slicing open her hand, then her throat a moment later. Taylor tried to gasp in surprise, but only made a shallow croaking noise. Viktor twisted the knife, holding her close as a feral smile stretched across his face. Blood sprayed from the wound, dripping down the front of Taylor’s shirt, and splattering the man’s domino mask. The wound healed instantly, the moment Viktor pulled the blade free. He startled at the sight, eyes going wide. Taylor took the moment of surprise to shove him away, catching her breath.

The shock didn’t last long, and a moment later he was advancing on her again.

Taylor stumbled backwards, arms aching with exhaustion. She held her cane tighter and swung it at him like a baseball bat. Viktor ducked under it easily, then stabbed her again, this time in the stomach. Taylor sucked in a breath, stumbling away as her world spun.

Pain.

So much pain.

She grit her teeth, fighting to keep her eyes open. Just because she could heal didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

A pair of scissors tapped against Viktor’s shoulder, and both of them turned toward the source.

Tattletale stretched from the floor to grab a stapler off the desk and tossed it at Viktor’s head. The heavy metal ‘thunked’ against his temple, and Taylor struck in the brief moment of distraction.  Her muscles screamed as she slipped the cane under his jaw and pulled tight. “Just— stop! ” she hissed.

Her strength left her fast. Viktor drove his elbow into her stomach and Taylor wheezed. He did again, then once more before breaking free and shoving her away.

Tattletale grabbed another object, this time a paperweight, and threw it again. This one missed by a mile, knocking uselessly against the painting of the lighthouse. “Oh, balls. ” She hissed, dragging herself behind the desk and biting her lip to keep from screaming. A moment later, she poked her head out from the other side, plugging her ears as Taylor used her power.

“What’s your biggest fear?”

Viktor didn’t react. The man in the bodysuit swung the knife, and Taylor tried her best to block.

 Her best was little more than an inconvenience to someone who actually knew how to fight.

The taste of iron filled her mouth. Her head swam. She tried her power again.

“What’s your biggest regret?”

He kept quiet, knife flashing as it shot towards her.

Taylor’s eyes went wide as she finally noticed the blood trickling out from either of his ears. Quickly, she put the pieces together, connecting it to the two gunshots from earlier.

“Fucker burst his eardrums!” Tattletale shouted, then gripped the desk’s leg to keep herself steady. 

“I could’ve told you th—” Taylor words cut off in a low gurgle as the knife stabbed through her throat again. “ Ough ghahk— ” she whispered, holding her neck. She tripped over herself, flailing wildly as she crashed into the wall. Her shoulder buzzed with the impact, and she swung the cane once more, only for Viktor to catch it easily and toss it away.

“I told you helping bitch was a stupid idea!” Tattletale shouted.

Taylor opened her mouth to respond, but Viktor attacked again before she could. She held her hand up as the knife came down, swallowing her scream as the blade pushed straight through her palm. Taylor struggled to keep her arm up, knees wobbling as she pushed against someone who was bigger than her, and by now, stronger than her. She drove her forehead into his nose, imitating something she’d seen in one of her dad’s movies. They pushed away from the wall, then immediately fell to the floor, scrabbling at each other. Taylor gasped again, wheezing as the impact knocked the wind from her chest. She lay there, flat on her back, gasping for breath, counting the stars in her vision. Viktor tried to pull the knife free, and Taylor twisted her wrist, driving the blade deeper, catching it on her bone.

A second of struggle was all it took for Viktor to change tactics. He straddled her, knees on either side of her hips, pushing all his weight onto the knife. Taylor fought as hard as she could, muscles straining, lungs screaming. It wasn’t enough, and before long, the tip of the blade was creeping closer and closer to her ribcage.

Taylor threw her head back, screaming as it broke the skin.

“Oh god,” she hissed. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” More spots filled her vision, and she blinked them away, staring helplessly as the flesh of her palm tried to heal itself, only to be ripped away immediately by another twist of the knife. Little by little, her strength left her. 

Viktor leered over her, looking her in the eyes. He wore a cruel smile as the knife moved closer, as something in the back of her mind fizzled away, little my little.

“What’re you doing?” she croaked.

He didn’t respond.

She tried to push harder. It wasn’t enough. Adrenaline screamed through her body. It wasn’t enough.

The knife pushed further, deeper. Taylor gasped as Viktor reared back, then brought the full weight of his body down on the handle. Slowly, it pushed past her ribs.

Taylor looked across the room for something to help her, some way to get out of this. Her muscles grew weaker by the second, her eyesight grew blurry, and the ache in her chest only got worse.

The knife pressed closer. Taylor could almost feel the tip scraping across her heart, though she knew that wasn’t possible.

I might die here, she thought.

The thought was hollow, and cold. Out of place. But somehow… it didn’t worry her too much.

Viktor reared back again, then slammed himself down on the knife a second time. Taylor coughed once, and spat blood in his eye.

She struggled more, fought harder, but little by little, the empty space in her chest grew. Pure exhaustion spread through her body.

I wouldn’t be that bad if I died here , Taylor reasoned. She’d been expecting it for a long time now. At least she got to have one good day before it happened. Taylor took a deep breath, limbs shaking as the last of her strength fled. She stared at the ceiling, imagining the tube lamp was the light at the end of the tunnel she’d heard everyone talking about. She let out a small sigh as her eyes fluttered, and only opened them again when she heard a small gasp. Slowly, she swept her gaze across the office, toward the far wall, over the painting of the lighthouse, complete with a brand-new dent, then finally craned her head to look at Tattletale. Her head spun as she stared.

The blonde girl’s lips were moving.

Taylor tried hard to understand what she was saying, straining to read the villain’s lips.

Tattletale’s face was pale, shock and terror coloring her face, worse than Taylor had ever seen. Her eyes were sunken, and her lips were trembling as she said ‘Ask me how I’ve been handling everything.’

Taylor stared for a moment more as the words registered, then finally, she spoke.

“How have you been handling everything?”

Tattletale took a deep breath, and gave a shaky smile.

“Honestly?” she said with a laugh. “Not very well.”

Taylor nodded, small scraps of strength coming back to her.

“I’m terrified,” Tattletale whispered. “I have no team, no allies, no friends. Not really.” Her breath caught, and she held the desk leg tighter, tears pricking against her long lashes.

Taylor pushed harder, slowly, the knife slid from her chest.

“I feel like I’m only barely holding everything together,” Tattletale shook her head, freckles creasing as she grimaced. “I’m in way over my head. And I try to hide it but…” she laughed once, cheeks growing wetter by the second. “Oh, god it’s all borked!”

Taylor nodded slowly. Her flesh knit itself back together as the blade pulled free.

“I’m screwed,” the villain said. “And all I’ve got for company is Little Miss Make-a-wish!” She shot Taylor a teasing grin, smiling through the tears. “And worst of all, I think I might actually care whether you live or die.”

Taylor nodded once, then squeezed her hand. The knife bent in half, and Viktor screamed as she crushed his hand in her palm. He pulled away, straining to free himself, kicking her once when she wouldn’t let go, then clawing at her eyes when that didn’t work. Finally, he broke away and stumbled to his feet. Taylor shot forward immediately, grabbing one ankle and squeezing until she heard a sharp ‘snap’ . The villain screamed again and drove his boot into the gaunt girl’s nose. He hopped backward, pulling another knife free as Taylor struggled to push herself off the ground. Her heart pounded in her ears. She could hear every single breath she took.

She was stronger than him now, but he was still a better fighter. Way better.

Taylor grimaced.

She raised her fists in front of her, in a mock-boxer’s stance.

Viktor spun the knife between his fingers, sneering.

Taylor grit her teeth.

Viktor took a single step forward, and then—

A loud ‘crack’ echoed through the office and Viktor fell to the floor, totally limp. Tattletale sat on the floor next to the armchair, holding his revolver. The muzzle was smoking.

“Guess he couldn’t hear me.” she gasped, then let the gun drop to the floor. “Go figure.”

Taylor stood over the body, staring at the hole in the side of his head, totally still.

A moment passed, then she bent double and emptied her stomach onto his body.